Drinking and thinking. This post will be interesting to almost no one. I once had a cat. Had to give it up when I joined the Marine Corps (they don't take cats at boot camp). Later I got a fish--a betta--thinking it would be less work and responsibility than a cat. Fish are a pain in the ass. OK, goldfish are relatively simple, but bettas can be a pain. They need to be fed twice a day. And they live in a little dinky bowl, so delayed feed options don't work well. But I kept the bugger alive for some time. But there were no jobs in Oregon. And I was running out of money. So I took a job in Hawai'i. This was post 9-11, so there were liquid restrictions because some retard tried to blow up a plane with liquid explosive. And the logistics of checking a $2 fish and keeping him alive didn't seem credible. So I got Kyle to adopt my fish. At this point he'd been alive for years and it was a constant struggle with fin rot and other exotic maladies. So he had some weird swelling/growth on his head when I left Oregon and Kyle conceded that the fucker had died--possibly even on the way home. I just wanted to tell Kyle that I was going through old links on my browser and by betta standards, the little bastard had lived a long, full life, and he probably would've died of old age no matter what someone would've done. I probably should've just flushed him--but that would've seemed cruel.
Volpone, glad to see you again! My family had a betta that lived long and prospered as yours did. Also, yeah, all it takes is very few people to ruin something for everyone…
