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The Fish with No Name

I have so much homework to do that the fact I've even typed this much (pause, consider just how little I have typed to this point) is ludicrous. Then consider that I am going to talk about my fish, and all hope for my future (a M.L.A. degree) is lost.

Look, I don't have time to charge my camera and take a picture right now, but I will later; however, I just don't understand my new fish. He is anorexic. Seriously. I've never seen him eat one food pellet. Periodically I drop a few pellets into his bowl just like the food container recommends. Every time, he goes through the same routine. He swims up to smell (do fish smell?)/ consider the food, pauses for a seconds, and swims away.

Scribbles, my last fish, would eat every pellet I dropped into his bowl. I mean, I could drop like six in there and he would eat every one of them. Of course, the container only recommends two to three pellets every few days. I think Scribbles might have died of gluttony.

My new fish doesn't have a name, but I'm not sure he is going to live long enough for it to matter.

Most. Pointless. Blog. Ever.

Anyway, back to the fishbowl of literary criticism.

Comments

Lynne Walker said…
Pointless, but funny. Enjoy your blog and am following it.
May 7, 2010 at 11:40 PM

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