It struck me that this is rather an epic story and I thought that Flish should be remembered. So I present to you The Tragic Tale of Floor Fish, an epic narrative that will hopefully pay honor to the memory of poor, heroic Flish.
The Tragic Tale of Floor Fish
‘Tis a dark and dreary tale I have to tell today,
After hearing, you’ll wish you’d stayed away.
It was a bright and sunny day,
Just the fourth or fifth of May,
When seventeen fine fishy friends were all together in a cart,
They were being taken to their new home in bright Wal-mart.
In that intrepid bunch were found
Bill, Fred, Kate, George and Drew,
Gavin, Pete, and Trudy-Lou,
Marlene, Fredericka, Sue,
And lots and lots of others too,
But our tale does not concern these watery friends,
‘Tis toward another that our story bends.
Among these wondrous creatures lived our hero
Bright of eye, quick of fin, his shiny scales did sparkle like the rain,
But sadly, among his friends he was considered as a weirdo,
For you see, our friend the fish, he did not have a name.
His friends would laugh and taunt and jeer,
“Hey FISH,” they’d call; he’d shed a bitter tear.
For forty days our fishy friend lived each day and night,
Hoping, praying, that some kindly friend would save him from his plight.
A name was chiefly what he needed, but still his prayers remained unheeded.
“If only,” he thought to himself, “I could be adopted,
why then I’d have a proper name; my dreary life co-opted!”
‘Tis here our tale turns most morose, in fact you might just think it’s gross,
It was a hot and sunny day quite late in June,
Our fishy friend was swimming ‘round and ‘round, humming a fishy tune,
When out the corner of his eye, he spied a horrid sight,
Indeed, it gave him quite a dreadful fright.
It rose before him till it filled his field of vision,
A human child, making his final fish decision.
Our hero swam and swam and swam away, but the scooper had its way.
Quicker than a shot, our friend was caught, his fate was sealed—or so he thought.
“Oh no,” he thought, “it is no use! This child will doubtless name me Bruce.
I’d rather have no name, than to be saddled with such a shame!”
But fate, it seemed, had other plans, depending chiefly on two clumsy hands.
For as the child turned to go, his new fish safely in tow,
Out slipped the baggie from his grasp, and from his throat slipped a ragged gasp.
The bag fell to the floor—what a blunder—and with a splash it burst asunder!
Our fishy friend lay gasping on the tiled floor, about to be a team member’s chore.
“Ah what an inauspicious end,” he thought, “I had so much to do, my lifetime still to spend.”
The rotten child turned to run, for courage he had none.
All seemed hopeless for our friend, so this was how it was to end.
Then to his rescue sprang a spritely shopper,
She scooped him up, thrust him into the water,
“Poor little fishy,” she sighed, “you almost, almost died.”
Our friend the fish, now had a hero, his life no longer was a zero,
His kindly benefactress had saved him from the utter blackness.
With a smile she bent close and whispered, “you are just what I had pictured.”
Our hero’s fishy heart began to soar, could life be this and so much more?
Perhaps, he thought, the time had come; his heart beat like a drum.
Again he saw the scooper, this time he acted like a trooper,
Into the baggie he was plopped, she held him close; he was not dropped.
To his fishy friends a parting fin he raised,
A brand-new trail his fate had blazed.
She took him home and placed him in a brand new tank,
With a contented sigh, he looked into her eye with thanks.
“Now ‘Fish’ simply will not do, you need a name, this much is true.”
She thought and thought and with a smile she said:
“Floor Fish shall be your name, and for short I’ll call you ‘Flish’.
You are quite the little critter; you’ll be popular on Twitter!”
Our hero’s heart was filled with pride, he very nearly cried,
His haunting shame, it was no more; he thrilled to his very core.
Though he wanted to swim fast, he could only take a short repast,
He had faced a huge ordeal, he could barely see or feel,
You see, our fishy friend was sensitive, and his ordeal had made him tentative.
This had been a banner day and it was time for him to hit the hay.
Despite his happy circumstance, poor Flish was in a trance,
He just knew that things weren’t right, and that haunting thought led to his plight.
For two days he fought and fought. He tried and tried to buck the plot.
But his psyche had been damaged and it simply wasn’t bandaged.
Poor Flish held on, he had a courage that seemed unstinting,
But when he woke, he couldn’t see or feel a thing,
Inside his fishy ear there rang a hollow ring,
He knew his time had come; to life he simply couldn’t cling.
And so our fishy friend passed on to immortality,
Just another victim of life’s cruel brutality.
His kind friend, she shed a bitter tear,
Whispering a sad goodbye inside his unhearing ear.
When she was sure his spirit indeed had flown,
She laid him down to rest, inside the porc’lain throne.
Filed under: Humor on June 21st, 2011