Ever since Andrew Stern’s wife br left him for guy living br next door br he couldn’t shake the blues br well, eleven years of marriage br down the drain br so one day Henry F br trying to be helpful said, br “When my pet goldfish br Mr. Ben Brilliant br passed away I was thrown br into such agony br as few men have ever known br cause the joy his swimming around br gave me can’t be put into words br at least not my words br so I’ll just say watching br Mr. Ben Brilliant gave me delight— br joy, joy’s the word br and such a golden orange he was br to dazzle the eye br for two days he floated br on the surface of the water br finally my dear wife said, br ‘Enough. He’s garbage.’ br I was taken aback br by her cruelty. br I said, ‘Mr. Ben brilliant is getting br a proper burial.’ br so at once I went to br the Yellow pages br and looked up Pet Cemeteries br closest one being in Huntington, Long Island br I dialed br then heard the toilet flush br such a sound the human mind br cannot imagine br so to make a long story short br I sunk into a catatonic coma br for three days br and three nights br then br the great Rebbe Nachman of Breslov br told me what to do in a dream br and I did it br straight-away racing br to the pet store br and bought a Mr. Ben Brilliant Jr.” br “The point, ” moaned Andrew Stern, br my wife ain’t a goldfish.