I Killed My Fish

Last night I got home from the Cayman Islands to find that my house was in usual condition. The fish were swimming happily, the birds calling for attention. So I did what any good dad would do. I cleaned the bird cages, gave the children the love that they reminded me I had denied them for several days. As I surveyed my domain I was reminded how thankful I am to have a close friend that would care enough about me to watch my 'children'. Even my fish were doing wonderfully. I settled in to sleep and decided that I would further my cleaning escapades the following morning.

Dawn broke this morning and I chose a nice little outfit to do my cleaning in, a pair of Calvin Kliens and black mesh shorts to go over top. With this maid outfit dawned I began the cleaning. First the bird cages needed an over hall. Then on to the floors and windows. As the day drew to a close I thought, 'hey the bottom of the fish tank is looking a little dirty. Why not clean out the tank!' So with the best intents I did a partial water change. I noted that the side of the glass had some brown algae growing so took what I thought to be a clean sponge and removed the ugly growth. I filled back up the tank and examined my handy work. Little did I know I had just become a Mass-murderer. I left the apartment quite happy with all the cleaning I had done. Off to the gym I went like a good little wanna be bunny. An hour later...

I walked into my apartment enjoying the clean smell in my domain, walking into my bedroom I glanced over to my glorious 45 gallon hex to check in on my little darlings. Gasp! I cursed to God and used his name in conjunction with bodily waste as I netted out not one, not two, but over eight dead bodies. It was like the Charles River at summer time, dead things floating everywhere and those surviving victims looking traumatized as they gasped desperately for air. One by one I watched helpless as all but the damn groumais that Harry gave me died. An additional water change only exasperated the problem leaving the groumais to swim around as if to say, 'at last our we can rule our domain again!' Was it traces of cleaning fluids on my arms, the Aramis face lotion residue on my hands, or just plain bad tap water.

So now I have six happy groumais and one sad blue ram swimming short breathed in my tank. So next time you go to sip the Boston city water I want you to ask yourself... Was it the water that killed the fish? Or just a dim-witted gay guy with Aramis on his hands...