Momo doubting her skills and worth at first but eventually becoming a confident leader who followed her plan down to the last second and didn’t even waver when she realized it had failed. Granted, the Blobfish is pretty hideous, but if we killed things because they were ugly, then we’d never have the comedic stylings of Gilbert Gottfried or Jay-Z’s genius. Bakugo becoming more level headed and beginning to think more tactically and showing a surprising skill in leadership. And here’s a surprise: we’re killing it! By accident! The poor little sea-loogie is bordering on extinction, as far as we can tell. It calls the Southern Ocean and the Tasman Sea home. But it never does.īut it would have to be watching an Australian version of Judge Judy, because that’s where it lives. Afterwards, I imagine it pants through its gills for a while, then sits on a couch and watches Judge Judy thinking about how it should really get to the gym or go for a run or something. It waits for anything edible to float in front of it, then sucks it in. It floats almost motionless above the sea floor, expending no energy on that silly swimming motion that fish usually do. More than me, even, and I once tried to get bedsores for three months just to see if I could. The density of their pudding-body is just less than the water they live in, allowing them to be one of the laziest creatures in the world. This is because its flesh is basically pudding. Because of the immense pressure that it lives in, their gelatinous bodies keep at least a semblance of non-blob shape. The Blobfish would stay at the bottom of the sea, sadly blowing bubbles up at Jacques, wondering why everyone runs at the sight of his horrible, gum-wad body.īut there is some kind of saving grace, at least. “THAT’S THE MOST DISGUSTING THING I’VE EVER SEEN!” Of course, I’d say all this in french, but I don’t speak french and you don’t understand it, so it doesn’t matter. “DID YOU SEE THAT!?” I’d ask my shipmates on my arrival at the surface. If I were Jacques Cousteau and I ran into one of these things, I would throw my little beanie at it, climb out of my submarine, and, after imploding from the pressure, swim for the surface in a mad-panic. How deep? It’s deeper than Atlantis. Home of the scandalous, big bad Los Angeles.” Thank God. Blobfish, either in an effort to hide their good looks from the media or as an effect of evolution, live mainly at incredible depths: around 3000 ft. My prayers have been answered Twitter goes berserk as John Krasinski returns as CIA hero in Jack Ryan season 3 trailer. But since it’s basically a vile, slimy pile of awfulness, I don’t want to hug it. If the Blobfish didn’t disgust me so much, I’d want to hug it and make it feel better. The Blobfish, while it’s pink and bald and squished, has no loving mum to wipe its mouth, leaving it in a state of perpetual deep-sea sadness, where smiling and playing is impossible. Of course, for the first few years I shit in my pants and had to be spoon fed, but I had a mother who wiped my both my butt and the food from my mouth. Eventually, I started to smile and play and turned into a relatively normal looking human (if devastatingly handsome can be called normal). My nose was kind of squished from being violently expelled from the dark warmth of my nine-month home, and my eyes were squeezed tightly shut. When I was born, I was very pink. I had a birthmark on my head (which has since faded) that made me look even pinker.
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