I forgave you when you didn’t give me food scraps for 2 days. I forgave you when you placed that bitch starfish in my tank after I explicitly waved at you not to. I even forgave you when you decided to use the aquarium walls as a support pillar when you conducted that poor attempt at mating with the janitor (you could do better, I think). But this. I can’t let this sit. You have not changed the water in 3 months. 3. Months. No. I cannot swim around with water that is this acidic. Larry (that stupid starfish just won’t get the hint that I don’t want him near me no matter how much I keep relocating him to that uncomfortable spot in the corner next to the large rock) recently pissed me off enough that I released a bit. Now, it is partially my fault, but the stress of the acidity combined with Larry’s bitchness resulted in my side (yes, MY side, Larry) of the tank being considerably darker. Do you think this is alright? You think my people swim in the depths of the ocean constantly coverred in ink? Think again, you lazy, irresponsible excuse for a minimum-wage employee. I’m going to say this again. Clean. The fucking. Tank. Do it. Or else I’ll crawl all the way to your office and discharge all over those pictures you keep of your supervisor’s cousin (yes, I know. I have eyes). So unless you want my tentacles rummaging through your degenerate stash of questionably-candid photos, then do. your. job. That’s all.