#new fish

Wake the up new pufferfish just dropped🔥🔥🔥

This tootie is Pao Wesleylongi and has been discovered in Lake Singkarak in Indonesia.

We're still a little shy.

The Cherry Barbs have adopted the new Neon tetras.

The Adventure Begins

1.

Brendan M. says:

These days, everything happens online.  After I sold my company and took the profit, I lived at the lake house and basically didn’t need to go anyplace or see anybody.  After 12 years of corporate meetings, that was fine with me.  And there were plenty of online buddies to chat with.

My favorite was Blake.  He was into all the hot prison photos, sites, and stories.  We’d spend hours late at night, talking about how great it would be to “do prison,” as he put it, actually instead of virtually.  “No more role play.  Just real steel—the real deal.”  Nothing but uniforms, restraints, cellblocks, and being transported in big ugly buses (“diesel therapy”).  “Nothin but a number, Jack!  And you know what?  There’s an outfit that can put you there.  Just saw it online.”

That’s when he told me about Your Prison Profile.  A hot idea, of course—expensive, but they’d find a place for you in prison, and nobody would know how it happened.  When I contacted them, they put me through to Cody, a chill young guy who made everything easy.  I didn’t mind that he kept telling me to think about this or that, and we could talk about it tomorrow.  I really got off on thinking about my “requirements”: “which level of security is necessary for you,” “are you looking for hard labor,” “single cell, double cell, pod, or dorm,” and so on.  We did it all by online video, and I liked the look of Cody sitting at his desk and talking in a calm, level voice about what I wanted to “get out of” my “prison adventure.”  Blake and I spent every night imagining our way through the various options.  Next day I’d talk it over with Cody and click on the one I wanted.

Then in a couple of weeks Cody came online and told me, “Hey, based on the data you’re giving me, I found you a prison.  It’s the same security you wanted, same labor options, the whole nine yards.”  I was excited; I wanted to hit Blake up right away and tell him.  The problem was—this looked like my last visit with Cody.  He needed to know if I’d click on the box that said, yeah, I accept the offer.  Which I’d never intended to do.  I’d just wanted the fantasy.

I made up an excuse to go offline, and I got back to Blake.  “What do you mean?” he said.  “You don’t want to go through with it?”

I was ashamed to admit that I didn’t.  But I was so excited, I couldn’t let it go.  “Maybe for six months,” I said.

“Don’t be a wimp!” he replied.  “Besides, you can’t go to a real prison for six months.  They won’t let you in.  It has to be for at least a year.  You know that.  And what else are you doing that’s so important?”

“All right,” I said.  “I’ll tell him a year.”  By that time, I barely knew what I was saying, I was so turned on.

But when I got back to Cody, he said, “I’m sorry.  This is a serious facility.  They don’t do one-year sentences.  Try three.”

“Three?” I answered, like a dumb ass.

“Three years.  Or you can sign up for five or ten or fifteen or twenty.  But listen, if you’re having trouble making up your mind, you can do two to life.  That’s for first offenders who, like, did something pretty bad, but they’re still first offenders.  So if you’ve got a good record in the facility, they’ll let you out in two.  Otherwise, they can keep you.  You understand how that goes?”

“Right.  I understand.  I’ll get back to you.”

“Thanks.  But I gotta tell you, this offer won’t last long.”

“What do you mean?” Blake said.  “You’re not gonna turn that down, are you?  Two years from now, you’ll still be sittin on your deck, growin your fat ass, wishin you’d had enough stones to click that box.”

I spent a worried, sleepless, and very excited night, and the next day I got with Cody online and clicked the box that said Two Years to Life. 

After that it was easy.  I sent a check for 50K, and 5K more as a tip for Cody.  I made arrangements with my lawyer.  I leased my house.  I put my stuff in storage.  I waited for my order to report to prison.  When I got it, there were two weeks to go.  I spent them chatting with Blake and alternating between excitement and fear.  But I couldn’t deny what he said: “In fourteen days you’ll be livin the dream.”  Then it was ten, then five, then one, and I went online to say so long for the next two years.  For some reason, Blake wasn’t on.

Next morning I left the hotel where I’d been staying and took a taxi the 50 miles to the Regional Headquarters of the Department of Corrections, where I was supposed to turn myself in.  I don’t know what I was expecting, but all I saw was a dumpy little building with a walk-up window and a sign saying REPORT FOR IMPRISONMENT.  OK, that was straightforward.  I wished I’d seen that sign years before.  A twenty-year-old with ear rings was sitting on the other side of the glass.  “Driver’s license-Order to Report-cellphone.”  I’d never thought about that, but yes, I’d lose my phone.  I slid everything through the little slot in the window.  The young man tossed my phone to one side of the counter, where I could see it land on a pile of other cell phones.  Then he compared my license with my Order, pushed the Order back through the slot, and said, “Give this to the officer at the gate.  Next!”  I turned and saw that I was part of a line of other men, there to REPORT FOR IMPRISONMENT.

The officer at the gate, a fifty-something with a big gut, took my Order and beckoned me through.  “Face to the wall,” he said.  There was a brick wall on the left, and I put my face to it.  “Hands on your head.”  I put my hands on my head.  Then I heard the double click of the shackles being attached to my legs.  This was the moment I’d been waiting for, and I almost lost it right there.  Even more when he turned me around and cuffed my hands together.

“Transport cage over there.  Get in and line up.”  A younger officer who might have been hot but wasn’t opened the second steel gate and let me in silently.  It was a cage, all right—concrete floor, and steel fencing all around.  It looked like they’d spent twenty bucks on it.  There were about 40 guys in the cage, lined up in their go-to-prison clothes, which must have cost then about ten bucks.  So these were my fellow convicts . . . .