Betta Than Eva

Fuji the Koi Betta

Ey. You. You lookin’ at me? You intimidated by my beauty? You betta be.

Do these shiny scales make me look like a pansy to you? Well, beneath ‘em beats the heart of a bruiser. I ain’t called “fightin’ fish” for nothin’. Folks would be wise to remember that.

I remember the last wise guy who wasn’t so wise. Tried to come into my house and start clownin’ around like some kinda clownfish. Let’s just say he ain’t clownin’ no more.

Now, this whole tank is my turf, see? And anyone who’s thinkin’ of bein’ a tankmate of mine’s gotta play by my rules. Rule number one: No tankmates.

OK, maybe I got a coupla tankmates. There’s these four snails down at the bottom with the rocks an’ such. They mind their business, and they clean up my messes, capisce?
They can stay.

You? You can’t stay. Matter of fact, I’m already sick of lookin’ at you. You’re lucky I can’t come outta this tank, because if I could, why I oughta…

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