Babies Having Babies: The Platy Brothel Has Gone Completely Off the Rails

I have made a discovery.

A disturbing discovery.

Apparently, my babies can have babies.

I don’t mean the adult platys. I knew they were out here making terrible reproductive decisions. That’s how we got into this situation in the first place.

I mean THE BABIES.

The little fishlets.

The ones I still mentally categorize as children.

The ones who are not old enough to drink, vote, rent a car, establish credit, or make any other meaningful contribution to society.

THEY ARE PREGNANT.

Every single fish I currently have reserved as sold appears to be pregnant.

Every. Fucking. One.

So apparently when these people come to pick up their fish, I’m not actually selling them a platy.

I’m selling them a Platy Brothel Starter Kit™.

Congratulations on your purchase. Your complimentary grandchildren will arrive shortly.

Meanwhile, several more litters have already dropped in the tanks because apparently nobody in this aquatic household has heard of contraception, abstinence, personal boundaries, or STOP MAKING FISH.

At this point I don’t even know how many platys I own.

I have adults.

I have teenagers.

I have babies.

I have babies having babies.

There are probably fish in there right now whose relationship to White Panda requires an Ancestry.com subscription and a flowchart.

And while I’m standing there trying to process the fact that my aquarium has somehow become a multigenerational maternity ward, the newest little criminals are completely unconcerned with the population crisis.

They’re busy riding Roomba the snail.

Yes.

Roomba, whose only job was supposed to be quietly wandering around the tank cleaning shit, has apparently been promoted to aquarium amusement park ride.

The fry swarm him.

They follow him.

They climb all over him.

They hitch rides on him like he’s public transportation.

And Roomba just keeps moving along at approximately 0.0004 miles per hour, presumably wondering how his life came to this.

Honestly, same, Roomba.

Same.

I started this whole adventure thinking I’d have a cute little breeding project.

A couple tanks.

Some pretty platys.

Maybe sell a few babies.

Very wholesome.

Very manageable.

ADORABLE, EVEN.

Instead, I appear to be operating an underwater compound where everyone is related, everyone is pregnant, nobody respects occupancy limits, and the snail is being used as playground equipment.

I don’t run the Platy Brothel anymore.

The Platy Brothel runs me.

And judging by the number of tiny eyeballs currently swimming around those tanks, I believe we’re going to need more tanks.

Again.

WTAF. 🤷‍♀️🐟

Watch the latest episode of How Many Fucking Fish Can One Woman Accidentally Own? here:
[Babies Having Babies — YouTube]

And please enjoy Roomba the Snail, who did not consent to becoming a children’s carnival ride but is handling his new responsibilities with admirable professionalism.