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Harold couldn't really remember when Freddy had started talking to him. Well, it wasn't really talking, it wasn’t something anyone else could hear, it was more like telepathy. Obviously, Harold couldn't share this with anyone. He’d already had numerous sessions with the talk doctor, and he didn’t relish the prospects of more. They never helped him much as far as he could tell, and the most recent doc was just plain creepy, wearing a thong bikini instead of a lab coat. Plus, he couldn’t think of any other doctors who gave him therapy while doing table dances. In fact, she didn’t believe him at all when he casually mentioned he was starting to pick up radio signals through the fillings in his teeth. Truth was, he hoped that those damn hostages never got released. Harold had tried to help, he truly had. Was it his fault that nobody in the neighborhood spoke Farsi?
No, it would have to remain their little secret. The world wasn't ready for Freddy, and that suited Harold just fine. Freddy didn’t have the highest opinion of the world, either. He possessed keen intellect and a sharp wit, too. Freddy maintained an appreciation for the arts and loved to watch television, although he tended to be a bit critical of the writing, especially regarding sit-coms.
As they sat together on the couch, Harold placed Freddy’s bowl strategically on the end table. Proper stationing allowed him to watch TV and eat Snickerdoodles without having to look away when Freddy implored him to change the station. Freddy refused to allow Harold to stop for more than a few seconds on any station, until HE gave the word to stop. That fish was a world-class channel surfer, even if he didn't actually hold the remote himself. Lately, Freddy had shown an appreciation of M.A.S.H., and he loved to watch back-to-back episodes on FX every day. It was amazing how quickly he developed an affinity for the Frank Burns character. Freddy mentioned once that he regarded Frank as the reincarnation of Atlas, forced by circumstance to stand by meekly as the evil Hawkeye and Trapper John heaped scorn on Frank’s sloped shoulders. Harold had never really thought about it before, but Freddy was right. M.A.S.H. was an object lesson in the subjugation of the proletariat by the privileged rich.
Could Freddy be a Communist? Harold didn't think so, but he did find some of Freddy’s attitudes a bit disquieting. He didn't think he'd ever really known a Communist, at least not one who had ever expressed it openly. But, given the political climate in the United States in the new millennia, it wouldn't seem to be too much of a stretch, if Freddy really was of that persuasion. If Harold had learned anything of the shenanigans taking place on the Potomac during the last several years, it was that almost anything goes.
Freddy had pointed out after a Nightline segment a few nights previous, that it was no mistake that Koppel was of German ancestry. Apparently, his selection as anchorman was all part of some great Trilateral Commission plot to eventually overthrow the American people, after their decadence and moral decay had collapsed their infra-structure and left them disillusioned and defenseless. Koppel’s contributions to all this were somewhat less well-defined, as Harold recalled, but Freddy seemed to be pretty sure that it all fit together just a little bit too smoothly.
And what’s with that Alex Trebeck? Smug bastard. He’s not even an American. As Freddy had so accurately pointed out, if he didn’t have a lot of contacts in high places, he’d be shlepping drinks in some Montreal bistro, looking for Mr. Right. The man just stands there parroting answers that other people write on cards, then feigns irritation when the unfortunate contestant gives a wrong answer... and he talks funny, too. Harold chuckled under his breath, as he mouthed ‘out and about’, making it sound like ‘oat and aboat’. Damned Cannucks... Harold hated it when Freddy chose Jeopardy. It was bad enough having to sit and listen to Trebeck mouth that damned Canadian jibberish, but when Freddy knew the Double Jeopardy questions before Harold did, it was more than he could stand. In fact, if Freddy hadn’t threatened to stomp him like a narc at a biker rally, he’d have just turned the damn TV off and gone to bed!
But what could he do about it? “Yes, that’s right, Officer, I WAS screaming at my fish bowl, but, you don’t know how annoying it is to have to sit and listen to a know-it-all fish!”
No, he’d have to find another way.
********
Hi... I see you looking at me. Yea, you, with the big nose and glasses, you disgusting old fart! That’s right, tap on the glass... what a putz you are!
Oh, for God’s sake, get your nose off the glass, you’re embarrassing me! What’s next, are you going to stick your hand in the water and try to pet me? Jeezuz, you are pathetic! I’ll tell you what, drop your willie in here and I’ll teach you about pain!
On second thought, never mind. I’m not a piranha. My tiny dentition is suitable for grinding the flaked nutrients that you dole out from time to time, but I doubt they’d have much impact on your weenie. Plus, I don’t want to get any of that weird stuff started... I’m not sure I can trust you to be discreet.
What the hell are you staring at? I’m a fish, or more specifically, a goldfish, for those non-ichthyologists in the crowd. Dumbass Harold here, calls me Freddy... Harold seems to be quite taken with my ability to communicate with him. Actually, it’s very simple for me, but it seems to work the best with those humans who are a little “light in the gray matter”, so to speak...
I’m not overly enamored with his selection of names, either... Freddy. Doesn’t show an inordinate amount of imagination, does it? I presume the name holds some significance for him, in some totally inane way. It’s harmless enough, I suppose, but I think I’ll have him start calling me Precipio. Get it? Probably not, but then if you did, we wouldn’t be having this conversation, anyway, now would we?
I gotta tell ya’, folks, you’re really not all that impressive, as a species. Oh, you’re mildly amusing when you’re not trying to show off. But, honestly, your constant attempts to try to be something you aren’t, are annoying. Take me for example. I’m a fish... and not a particularly awe-inspiring fish, either. I’m not beauteous like the tetras, and I’ve never been outside this bowl that Dumbass has provided for me. But, I know who I am, and I make the best of it. Maybe some of you could do that, too... No, you say? Oh, I’m shocked beyond all belief! Yea, right.
I've had my say... I guess I'll just do what I always do, and sit right here and watch you and your fat-ass mate snore. At least you turn the lights off and spare me having to watch your pathetic sex life. Honestly, you really should take some lessons or something... maybe you could keep your old lady at home in the evenings. Do you realize that you are the only species on the planet that makes love face to face? You may want to consider asking the little woman to apply a bit of make-up before your hormones kick
in again. On second thought, ignore that last statement. It’d be cheaper to just buy her a mask. And while you’re at it, buy yourself one, too. One or the other might fall off.
I do have one small request, though. Could you do me a favor and move the boob tube around so that I could watch it, too? I can only hear it, and I'd really like to know what that Homer Simpson looks like... I'm willing to bet you're probably brothers.
Well, that’s why I talk to Harold. He’s fat, stupid, and lazy, but he’s the only horse I got, so I intend to ride him all the way to Scarborough Fair. You know the old saying... when in Rome, do as the Romanians do! Besides, if I work this right, I think I can convince him to get me that 50-gallon tank I got a glimpse of while watching The Rockford Files.
Aquarium life isn't really all that bad... a bit confining, perhaps, but, hey, I'm not complaining. At least you dump some of those yummy protein flakes in from time to time. I guess I should be grateful. It’d be nice to have a mate, or for that matter, just a pal to talk to... I wouldn't even mind if it were a guppy. I’ve heard they’re charming conversationalists, even if they aren’t much in the looks department. You know, just someone to chew the fat with, would that be asking too much?
Hey, Harold, what’s that you’re sticking into the water? What’re you doing? What’s that net for? Don’t be putting that thing in the water. Harold, I was just kidding about that “Dumbass” crack, honest... can’t we talk about this?? Get that net away from me! Harold, I was just kidd---
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