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Let me break this down for you: just because some carny scumbag hands you a plastic bag with a fish in it at a fair does not mean that you have to accept it.

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Excepting two horrific incidents involving goldfish that wished for their own demise, I had an idyllic childhood in one of the (surprisingly numerous) parts of New Jersey that could be confused for Kansas. However, these incidents still haunt me — making me question my existence, and what goes on below the surface of fishbowls across the world.