This weekend, tragedy struck when what seemed like a fun bonding activity for the residents of Clifton Tower 303 took a turn for the worst.
According to one of the residents, it all began on move-in night in the awkward silence after naming their groupchat “da roomiezz!!!” One question would change their lives, and the world, forever: “You guys. What if we got a fish?”
“I honestly think I blacked out after that,” croaked Iris Pönsiblepetöwner [26C]. “Everyone was just saying how much fun that would be. Someone suggested we name it Gillary Clinton. It might have been me, honestly. It’s just all a blur now.”
Soon after, Gillary took up her residency in the dorm. The first few days were blissful: “We bought her a tiny pagoda for her fish tank. We watched Finding Nemo with her. We made Amanda move her desk into the living room so her tank would have more space. It was perfect,” recounted one of the roommates.
That Friday began like any other. Quiet. Peaceful. But it wouldn’t stay that way; at precisely 9:13 AM, Iris stepped into the living room and unleashed a blood-curdling scream. What did she see? Gillary, floating at the top of her tank. Dead. Natural causes? Or was it… murder?
It was not murder. Unfortunately, all of the roommates inexplicably assumed that it was Amanda’s job to feed Gillary, except for Amanda, of course, who was under the impression that fish could photosynthesize.
After a quick toilet-side funeral for Gillary, the girls decided that, forgiving as she was, Gillary would not want them to grieve. They returned to Petco within the hour.
In a classic case of overcorrection, though, all six girls began independently feeding Gillary Clinton II breakfast, lunch, and dinner (roughly 80 times the recommended serving for a fish of Gillary’s size), causing her to implode within the week. This time, the girls didn’t even have to look at each other to know that Gillary II, who was known to be even more compassionate than Gillary Senior, would also not want for them to feel sad or to reflect on the consequences of their actions.
Gillary Clinton III met her untimely doom on the Toco Hills shuttle when the driver hit a pothole, sending her flying into the windshield. Agreeing “that one didn’t count,” the girls bought a fourth fish, who quickly taught them a valuable lesson in not buying an aquarium-power filter for a fishbowl with a 6-inch diameter.
After scraping the fish scales from Gillary IV from their walls, the roommates bought two fish at the same time, incorrectly assuming that loneliness was causing their fish’s demise. The Emory Spoke has elected not to share the details of the deaths of Gillary Clintons 5 and 6 because they are simply too gruesome for the general public, but what I can tell you is that their deaths involved half a bottle of Pink Whitney, a microwave burrito, and the following riddle: A man goes out for a walk during a storm with nothing to protect him from the rain. He doesn’t have a hat, a hood, or an umbrella. But by the end of his walk, there isn’t a single wet hair on his head. Why doesn’t the man have wet hair?
Soon after, maintenance was called in response to a clog of fish parts in the toilet. A brief chat with the beleaguered RA later and the girls were banned from bringing more fish into the apartment. “It’s just so unfair,” cried Pönsiblepetöwner. “We were made to be fish parents.”
Gillary Clinton has declined to comment.
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