james is having difficulty finding a mate for his rare tropical fish. he sold most of the male fish months ago to buy alcohol and pizza and sculpture supplies. and although he did keep three males for breeding, they all died mysteriously. three dead fish. unexplained.
and now it is mating season and he is in a fix. the pet store that purchased his males has a breeding program of their own and dislikes competition. the nearest available male is in dubbo.
james can’t get it together to put in his dole form, how is he going to get a fish to dubbo? he feels frustrated and useless, mopes around his aquarium with a sour face.
‘I have to go five hundred miles to get my fish fucked.’ he says. ‘fuck that, i’ll fuck it myself.’
(‘This unpublished fragment was deleted from snail by my editor at the time. it was probably a wise decision.’ Eric Yoshiaki Dando)