|OM NOM NOM|
I went into one of these bars about a year ago. They’ve opened one in my local town right underneath Tesco (yes, the Tesco in our town is large enough to have a range of shops underneath it. It blots out the sun and plays supermarket jingles across the entire town into the ever-present darkness) and Mrs Addman really wanted to try it.
There were some ground rules before you get to dip your toes:
1) No nail varnish as this can poison the fish.
2) No fake tan as the fish might become offended with your miscoloured, orangey skin and mistake you for a massive twat. It’s poisonous too.
3) Don’t kick, punch, bite, or grapple the fish. Although that one wasn’t a rule, I feel that it’s worth pointing out as some of the kids in there had an overwhelming urge to try and grab the fish and take them out the water, or kick their legs wildly.
Considering that you are essentially paying to have flesh ripped off of your feet, it’s surprisingly not painful. In fact it’s a slightly ticklish sensation, but that’s about it. They’ll get right between your toes if you let them. Some of the dumber ones end up latched onto your ankles and you have to shake them off when you take your feet out. Afterwards, we got a souvenir towel to remind us of our lovely 15 minutes with the fish (I’d have preferred an on ride photo) and were left with smoother soles for the rest of the day.
|A fish bar for people who are scared of water|
There are many annoying trends these days, but fish bars are difficult to condemn. The fish involved get fed regularly and customers get a pedicure. It’s a beautiful cycle, like the circle of life, or a perfectly spherical breast.
Animal rights activists might point out that these fish would rather be out in the open water sucking on a shark’s gills or something, but at least they are in gainful employment. A steady job keeps them off the streets, scraping for change or offering unsafe backstreet footjobs to fund their crack habits. The only hesitation I have is the welfare of the fish in the busier stores. Surely those fish that are eating flesh 400 times a day are in danger of becoming obese, and all the health complaints that can come from overeating. No doubt some careless hambeast will drop a glazed doughnut in there at some point, instantly giving the fish diabetes.
I decided to write about this phenomenon because I noticed that a rival fish bar is now opening up. In a comparatively small town like this, competing chains of this nature shows that they are successful and are opening up nationwide. Soon, you won’t take your date to a bar or a poorly lit cinema screening of a movie you don’t intend on watching. You’ll be booking her in for a romantic evening of having her legs chewed instead.
So in conclusion, I guess fish bars are a good thing? I’ll give them one thing; it cleared my genital warts up a treat.
The talented Mr Flip over at Hill Blocks View has been kind enough to give me a guest blog spot. Nip over there if you fancy reading it, then read all of his other wonderful writings too. I guarentee at least 137% satisfaction.