December 14, 2005

And Now My Fish Has Diabetes

It all started when my two friends, Jim Screechy and Van Doolu, noted how water my fighter fish, Pixie, (we are trying reverse psychology on him, but it’s not working and he reacts violently when we call him that) was drinking and kept bumping into the glass of the fish tank.

“I tell you it must be diabetes,” said Van Doolu.

Jim Screechy agreed.

So we took Pixie, who was still in a bad mood, to see our resident fish doctor, nicknamed by Jim, Dr. Icky. We’ve been going to Dr. Icky for five years, and it seems like we’ve been buying more drugs from this one company ever since they replaced the former drug rep (a three hundred pound German brunette whose dress used to sweep along the floor of the office) with a sexy, Texan blonde with big breasts and mini skirts up to her navel.

Van Doolu says it’s a coincidence with the new drugs and the new rep, but I beg to differ.

Anyway, Dr. Icky examined Pixie and concluded as Van Doolu had suggested that Pixie had diabetes. He gave us some samples to drop in the water, but when he told us the regular price (they weren’t generic) I was wondering if I could keep up or just let Pixie die. Van said that I was heartless, and only a Jamaican man, who won't allow dogs to lick him in his face or eat from his plate, would do something like that.

"Dog is dog. Man is man. And fish is fish," said Jim.

I agreed, but Van said we were being insenstive to the rights of fish and dogs, and if we hadn't come from a Third World country, we would have been more enlightened.

"What enlightened about dog licking you in your face? You going make dog lick you in you face after him just done..."

I cut Jim off and asked Dr Icky why the drugs were so expensive, and he told me it was because of the research that had to be done to develop the pills.

Jim said it was research on the Texan. Van boxed him over the head.

Anyway, I told Dr. Icky that if it weren’t for my kids who had grown attached to Pixie, despite his evil ways, that I would have let Pixie die because the pills were worth more than the fish. I told him I was thinking of getting the pills from Canada or I was going to move to Canada. Dr Icky said that according to the FDA, the pills from Canada were not safe and that he could not guarantee their effectiveness.

“But they are made by the same company, Dr. Icky," I protested.

“But they are Canadians, and you can’t trust these foreigners," he countered.

“But you are from Jamaica, Dr. Icky!”

“Yes, but these Canadians have long wanted to take over North America. Me, I only want to work here.”

He had a point.

I tried to reason some more with Dr. Icky, but he wouldn’t listen any more. The fifteen minutes that he was going to charge my HMO for the full hour was coming to a close.

“The whole thing is a scandal,” said Van Doolu, who knew a lot about scandals. “I think them playing with these numbers and saying that we have things that we don’t even have yet. But because we are so afraid, we go along with it.”

“No way,” said Jim.

“It comes from watching too much television,” said Dr. Icky, sounding very scientific. “In the past, the fish in his natural habitat would have been fit. He would have been hunting for food or running around so he wouldn’t be someone’s else’s food. Out there in nature, it’s a dog eat dog world.”

I wanted to tell him that it was a mixed metaphor, and ask him how did we get back to the dog argument, but he cut me off this time.

“Now, all the fish does is sit in the fish tank and watch television.”

“Or watch you Googling old girlfriends,” said Van.

“Or himself,” said Jim.

I told Jim that was very rude, and Jim asked me which was ruder: Googling old girlfriends or yourself?

It depends, I told him.

“Anyway, I can assure you," said Dr. Icky, trying to get us back on track, "that everything is on the up and up. And we’re not playing with the numbers."

I still have my doubts.

The good thing is that Pixie’s health has greatly improved and is drinking less water and not bumping into the side of the fish tank. He does, however, suffer from anal leakage (a side effect of the drugs) and may be impotent. We know this because we put a female in the tank with him and all he did was attack her.

Jim had a different theory.

“What day and time did you put the female in with him?”

“Friday night.”

“See, you should know better. A true Jamaican male, fish or man, always beat his female on Friday night,” said Jim.

He may be right. Or he may just be protecting his bottle of Viagra that Van said we should give to Pixie and see if it will work.

If I really had my way, I would do like my neighbors and dump Pixie in a canal so he can end up in the Everglades with the piranha and other flesh eating fish. That would cure his diabetes, for he would now be fit and he would now have a steady diet of protein instead of the high carb diet of fish food we giving him every morning.

‘The whole setup sound fishy to me,” said Jim.

I couldn’t have said it better.

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