Going Backwards...

Well, I've talked twice now about how I got into the open sea. Twice. I guess I'm getting old for a goldfish, as I'm repeating myself. Repeating myself. Repeating myself. Repeating...

Yeah, that joke is getting old, too.

So here I am, in the deep, deep ocean. Actually, being a goldfish, I can't go too deep--the pressure would collapse my little lungs--so I have to keep myself in the shallow end. But there's lots of stuff going on in the shallow end. Sort of.

I found myself, after being spewed out from a large pipe, in the salt water nastiness that is the ocean. Wait, you're telling yourself. How could a freshwater goldfish survive in the saltwater ocean? My answer: It's none of your damned business. Listen, if you believe a goldfish can do a blog, you can accept the fact that I adapted to the salt water. Otherwise go read the Miley Cyrus blog, Science Boy.

Thing is, as a gold fish, I keep myself small because my environment is small. If I'm in a larger environment--and it doesn't get much larger than the ocean for a fish--I start to grow. And I have started to grow.

Now I just need to find something to eat. That is, unless something eats me first.

I found myself nibbling on the seaweed that clung to a large wooden pole. This pole was near other poles, and above me is a long plank. I've seen these things on the TV in my old owner's house: They're called "piers." And guys like to stand and throw hooks in the water.

Fortunately, I'm a vegetarian and no one baits a hook with goldfish food. But lots of predators, eyeing me as a tasty morsel, decided they liked the little piece of something seemingly floating aimlessly instead. And I've watched a lot of the ugly brutes get swooped up from the ocean in a macabre imitation of what your Fundamentalists think the Rapture will be like. Make your own connection here.

What I need, of course, is a friend. Or a lot of friends. A school, to protect my golden butt from bigger fish. And so I'm on the lookout for some companionship. I don't believe I'll find another goldfish here in the big pond, but I'm not in the mood to spawn anyway. All I need is a friend.

And, eventually, I found one. An unexpected friend.

Out the drain

So, where was I? Why do I have to keep asking that question? I know, I know. Goldfish. 15 seconds of memory. That joke gets old after a while. AS do all jokes, like the Smirk whose time is almost finished in the big white house on TV. I see him, still, blaming everyone but himself for the things that go wrong. How did it all go so wrong for him? I'm the one down the drain here, in the dark, smelling stuff that a goldfish is not meant to smell, yet I feel sorry for the Smirk. He's not such a bad guy, really. Just incompetent. The poor child was pushed into becoming something he didn't want to be, and now he's stuck with being it.

As for myself, I'm stuck here in the dark. I feel a swirl and a whoosh every once in a while, but mostly I try to be as still as I can. I sense there are others in the dark here and, being a goldfish, I know that the world tends to look at me as an hors d'ourve.

In fact, as I sat there in the dark, I felt a Presence. It loomed in front of me. I quickly skittered aside. It was a very, very large beast, one of those fish with no teeth but a lot of mouth. One could get sucked in just by being an innocent bystander. It passed by me, blindly, and I felt a cold rush as it did. Only God knows what it was. I left my flashlight in the fishbowl.

Suddenly I felt another sucking. I was too weak to fight it. It pulled me down and down and down. I tumbled and tossed and was sure I was going to be bruised and killed. Oh well, I thought, it's been a good run. Anyway, I was very, very hungry and there are not fish flakes in the dark.

I passed through one, two, three, four different pipes. Finally I was deposited in another, larger bowl. This one, however, was lit. And I was shocked to see others of my kind milling about. Either I was in heaven, or I was in a whole new soup.

Swimming with Predators

It must have been two days that I swam in the darkness, avoiding large pieces of something foul. I don't want to think about it. Really.

Finally there was another push and I felt myself being shoved toward a large whirling presence. I knew this couldn't be good. Sure enough, the large pieces of...something...were being chopped into little bits by what you would call a fan. I called it "death blades of death." Actually, at the time, I merely said "Oh, Sh..." which is all I could get out before being pulled into the blades.

So, did I get chopped to little bits? Did I die? Am I writing this from goldfish heaven?

What do you think? They got the internet in Heaven? Or, for that matter, in Hades? (I have it on good authority that all they have in Hades are telephones that are eternally on "hold" playing Muzak versions of Brittney Spears songs).

No, you idiot, I did not get chopped to pieces. Because I was already a small bite myself and I can move pretty damned quick when the situation calls for it. And if the "death blades of death" isn't a situation that call for quick moves, I don't know what is.

So I was deposited into the dank rushing water that emptied into...the ocean. Yup, that ocean. The one with sharks and barracudas and crabs and squids and even small plants that like to feed on tender morsels such as yours truly.

I really began to miss my fishbowl then. And hoped that the Deacon would be fed to the cat.

Down the Drain

So now I'm spinning and spinning and whooshing and whooshing and, to tell the truth, friends, I get sick to my stomach rather easily, so the last bit of fish food I'd wolfed down came wolfing back up. That was the least of my problems.

I spun and flipped through a long, long tunnel that tasted of metal. It was narrow and there were no other fish, rocks, nothing but a smooth bottom surface rushing beneath me. I kept trying to find some place to hide but there was nothing but the smooth bottom. The water pushed and pushed and I finally gave up and said, "whatever or whereever I'm going, I guess I'm going there. But if I get to heaven before the Deacon, I'm gonna take this up with the Big Guy.

A day and a night I spent in that nightmare, my poor goldfish body being battered and tumbled, but, miraculously, not bruised. Had I been bruised, I'd be fishbait.

Finally, after an eternity in the darkness with that hard, dank water and that metallic tasting tube, I was emptied into a large, dark water. The current in this water was slow, so I finally allowed my reddened eyes to open and looked around the place. There was no light, however, so I might as well have kept them closed.

When I say "no light," friends, I mean pitch black. Not so much as a sliver. But somehow I was at peace. I felt no other fish presences, so at least I knew I wasn't going to be eaten.

Not yet, anyway.

Out of the Bowl

Wow! Has it been more than a year! Time sure flies when you're terrified shitless.

Yes, my friends, the reason you haven't heard from old turtle bait here is that I was unceremoniously evicted from my bowl! By the Deacon, no less!

Happened like this: After my political conversations with the Deacon, he began to give me the fisheye, if you know what I mean. More and more, the Deacon would sneak up behind me and I would turn to find him about to try to flip me out of the bowl!

I determined that I wouldn't get near the top. But you know us goldfish. Short term memories. Like politicians, only less damaging.

Sure enough, feeding time came one day and I swanned up to the top of the bowl to get some food, not keeping an eye on the Deacon. Next thing I know, he's shouting "Death to the Anti-Christ!" ( I suppose that was me) and he flips me out of the bowl.

I go flying and flying and land on my ass out in the air. It was horrible. I kept trying to find some water or something to breathe but all I could suck in was that horrible, poisoned air.

The big guy who feeds us came over and saw me lying there. I was still, about to go under. It all went black. I felt him pick me up and the last thought I had was that he was going to put me back into the bowl. Then I went.

I awoke in water, blessed water. But it was dark, very dark, and I was being rushed along some kind of a tunnel.

Jesus! The stupid son of a bitch had flushed me away!

Finally, after a few days, the Deacon comes out of the hidely hole. If fish slept, I would tell you that it seemed he hadn't slept that whole time. Alas, fish do not sleep--no eyelids, you know--so he was merely cranky.

At first he avoided me. Didn't look me in the eye. I knew I had gotten to him. So I played it cool. Trying to think up what else to say to blow his mind.

"Maybe I was wrong about the Smirk," I said. "You know, he doesn't seem smart enough to be the Anti-Christ."

The Deacon said nothing but swam a little closer. I'm hooking him now, I thought.

"No, the more I think of it, the more it seems to me that the real anti-Christ is the Scowl--the one behind the Smirk. The Scowl likes to shoot people in the face. Likes to give people the finger. Likes to mess with Big Oil. Yet he walks through this world unscathed. You and I would be fish food by now, but the Scowl seems to have something on everyone. Even the Smirk."

"How could the Scowl be the Anti-Christ?" The Deacon finally says. "Doesn't it say in Revelations that the Anti-Christ will be popular."

"You got me on that one," I answer. Guess you're right. It's gotta be the Smirk. Good work, Deacon. What should we do to thwart the Anti-Christ?"

"Eh?"

"You're a good Christian. You know what you're supposed to do. You can't let the Anti-Christ take the world without a fight. Oh, Revelations says you'll be massacred with the thousands of others who oppose him, but what's that to eternal whatever, eh?"

The Deacon turned pale and swam quickly back into the hidely hole. He needs to eat soon or the Scowl won't have to incinerate him and the other righteous. There'll be nothing left to incinerate.

In the meantime I'm 100% sure I'm going to goldfish hell for playing with the Deacon's head. But it was fun.

So one day I'm spinning around the bowl. I'm trying to figure out how to fuck with the Deacon's tiny fish brain. I thought of trying the War on Easter, but that was too easy.

Then it came to me. The fish loves the Smirk, as all beings with a tiny brain stuffed with nonsense seem to. So why not go after the Smirk?

"YOu know, I've been looking over Revelations," I casually said to the Deacon one day. He said nothing. "The big guy with the flakes was reading it to the smaller human and I was listening in," I said. Not a lie. The big guy likes reading that Bible thing to his younglet. To scare him? To discipline him? For laughs? Who can say?

"Anyway, there's this really interesting part about the Anti-Christ. How he'll be really popular and everyone will love him but in his mind he's preparing the world for Armageddon."

The Deacon gave me the fish eye. I had him hooked.

"And it suddenly came to me. Bush is the Anti-Christ. The last Pope thought so, and he was a pretty smart guy. It makes sense. His dalliances with Oil companies and sheiks, his lust for creating war all over the world, his continual attempts to separate the christians from the rest of the world--the man is the demon spoken of in Revelations."

The Deacon looked shocked. He tried to formulate something but his mouth just kept opening and closing.

"Yup. The Anti-Christ. That means end times are coming soon, Deacon. Hope you're straight with the Lord."

At this the Deacon swam into the hidey hole. He didn't come out for another three days.

Thing is, I'm not so sure whose head I was fucking with. Sure, the Deacon is spooked. But the more I thought about it...well, let's just say I'm looking over my shoulder these days, too.