Any friend of mine knows who Sherbert Stewart is. If you do not, then you are no friend of mine. His reputation is not a positive one. He was always hassled for having a serious condition commonly referred to as RBF (resting b**ch face); he was also called a "punk" and some foul-mouthed named as well. I know, deep in my heart of hearts, that Sherbert meant no harm to people. It was not his fault that people were annoying or that he hated them. I mean, who could blame him? All he wanted to do was sit on my desk, chill out and eat. Instead, people had to throw my bedroom door open and it would smack right into him! All he wanted was a spacious area of his own.
Oh, and food.
Sherbert Stewart was the toughest Betta fish and the best friend I could ever ask for. He loved his designated resting area in my car which was in between the seats in the most front cup holder. He traveled from Columbia, South Carolina to Times Square; five hours across Pennsylvania to, through a snowstorm to Chicago, Illinois and another forty-five minutes outside of East Saint Louis; then all the way back.
This fish was even in a car accident with me! I was rear-ended and before I checked on my passenger, I made sure Sherbert was okay. He was. That is pretty awesome (not the part about neglecting my passenger, but his survival in general). How many people can say that their fish survived a car accident and went on to live another five months afterward? He did not panic. He did not swim around crazily. He just chilled.
Not to mention, this dude survived the wrath of four dogs and three turtles. Did Sherbert shy away when a one-hundred and thirty pound fully-bred Great American Pit Bull tried to push his tank off the nightstand? No. Did he even flinch when the morbidly obese dog licked the glass, pushed the lid off, and tried to EAT him? Nah. Sherbert just stared death in the face with his permanent RBF and chilled out. He was not having it.
Sherbert did not have a care in the world except to eat. He swam by the surface when he was hungry; he stared me down at the desk and refused to move when the music I played was not of his taste. This fish had the soul of an angry, bitter old man that would probably vote for Donald Trump and complain about immigrants. He was just pure mean. He hated everything, but I couldn't help except to love him.
I knew Sherbert would not live forever, but I wish he could have. Man, that would have been fantastic, but instead, he is probably swimming around Fish Hell (yeah, 'cause that makes real sense, Eli--swimming in the fiery pits of Hell) and terrorizing demons and whatnot. Heck, he probably be crowned as Satan's fish.
Anyways, Sherbert Stewart's funeral was held around 5:30 in the afternoon on the 17th of May in Columbia, South Carolina. He was flushed down the pearly white gates of the toilet bowl to the bagpipe version of "Amazing Grace" by a veteran of the armed forces (thanks, Dad). Have to keep it classy, y'know, just like Sherbert was.
Rest in peace, Sherbert Stewart. You will never be forgotten by all both hated and loved you. #CureRBF #YouWillBeMissed #NoOffenseToSensitivePeople #IfYouWouldLikeToSendFlowersEmailMe #OrSendAFacebookMessage
