When I was eight years old I won a goldfish at my elementary school’s fundraising carnival. It was a small, ordinary goldfish and my sister and I kept it in its small glass bowl in her bedroom. I named it “Mr. Gobbles”. When asked, I was quick to explain that I named it that because it ate the sprinkled-in fish food with vigor.

While that was partly true, I was also gleefully aware that the name sounded just like the Nazi propaganda minister. I picked the name for the creepy double entendre. It seemed funny to give a name like that to a scrawny goldfish.

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