El Pickerel: Send Back the Carp

As one of the more faithful readers of the Dickerson Pondit blog, I made a request to write a guest piece since I could tell by the tired similes in the Pondit's last few postings that he needed a break. My name is El Pickerel, but my fellow fish (or is it fishes) prefer my nom de plume, Picky. I have been a resident in Dickerson Pond for the past four years – that is twenty eight years in people years or four dog years. Dickerson Pond was a nice place to grow up. Nice until they showed up. Those snooty foreigners with their vegetarian ways think they are better than us true American fishes (or is it fish). They look different than we, they eat different than we, they insist on being among their own. I say, send them back to Malaysia or Uzbekistan or wherever they are from. If living in Dickerson Pond just like we pickerel and perch live is not good enough for them, send them back to south east Asia or wherever. If you are in an American pond, you swim American, you eat American (no nibbling on algae, you chase little fish (or is it fishes), and if we fishes (or is it fish) could talk, you talk English. The Pondit is right, get rid of the carp. [Almost all of us pickerel are not in favor of the alligator solution.]

Life used to be so simple. The water was clear, the little fish (or is it fishes) were plentiful. A meal was always there for the chomping. Occasionally, while sitting in the sea weed – technically it is pond weed, but no one calls it pond weed – and digesting a young perch, I would glance up and see this object float overhead blocking out my view of the sky. One of the pickerel elders, Dick Pickerel, tells us that it is the Goodyear blimp and its appearance most likely indicates the start of the US Tennis Open in Queens. Since none of us argue with Dicky, especially Picky, I am cool with the Goodyear blimp theory. A few seconds after the blimp goes by overhead propelled by these long wooden poles moving in unison, I see this strange little fish swim by with these gorgeous earrings dangling from its belly. Most of you should know that we pickerel have no ears, and it is perfectly acceptable to wear your earrings on your belly. To me it looks like hors d'ouerves time in the pond. So I swim up and take a nibble. Ouch, next thing you know I am tangled up in the little guy's belly ring and this minnow must be spending overtime at the New York Health Club. I start to fight, but this little guy starts pulling me, El Pickerel forward. I say why bother, wherever this little guy goes I will just follow. In about a minute I look up and there is the blimp. Visions of alien abductions fly through my brain. I have heard stories of other fishes (or is it fish) being taken aboard these blimps and never being seen again. I start to fight to get away from both this minnow and the blimp. The little guy is very strong or maybe there is some sort of voodoo ray coming from the blimp and drawing me closer and closer. All of a sudden I am out of the pond. All my life I fantasized what it would be like to be out of the pond, and I now realize that was not fantasy, it was a nightmare.

I finally realize the source of the minnow's power, he was attached to a string and some humanoid was controlling it. I am now flopping around on the deck of the blimp. A big yellow rubber glove reaches down to grab me and some strange surgical pinchers reach for the minnow in my mouth. I go blank for a few seconds or was it hours or even days. Suddenly I am thrown from the blimp back into the pond. I sense something in the back of my head but cannot see it. We do not have any mirrors in the pond. My deepest fear is that they now control who I am and what I do. I am technically free, but cannot help but sense they will be back and the next time there might be no escape. Paranoia strikes deep.

I tell you this story to let you know that I can appreciate that the good old days were not always peaches and cream – to us fish (or is it fishes) minnows and frogs – and if I start carping about those foreigners, you will know it must really be a bad situation. I have very few friends, my type of fishes (or is it fish) left in the pond. Most have moved on to red states to be among their fellow American fish (or is it fishes). Picky is staying on. I now look out for the gaudy beaded minnows and search for the shadow of the Goodyear blimp. It is hard for me. The once clear pond water is now murky. I have started wearing Michael Phelps swimming goggles to help with my vision. My plan is to get abducted and stay abducted. I am hoping wherever the humanoids take me, there will be no grass carp or other non desirables. For some strange reason, I am more comfortable with the thought of living with extraterrestrials than with other fishes (or is it fish) from foreign lands.

If I make it to the other side, I will write. Until then, just keep following the Pondit. If he can resolve the grass carp infestation, maybe I can convince the humanoids to beam me back. Get ready Scotty!