Throughout my lifetime, I have been lucky enough to own a fair amount of pets: I've had dogs named Barney, Dagwood, and Molly; hamsters and gerbils named everything from Shadow to Fluffy (hey, come on, Fluffy was a good name" besides, I was little. And by little, I mean last year); and a particular fish dubbed Poop.

Poop and I first met a few years ago at a high-class carnival up in the Adirondack Area of New York. I knew this was a well-to-do carnival due to the fact that every single Carnie still had all 10 fingers, both eyes, most of their teeth, and only smelled a little bit. As I was walking in between the rusty Tilt-a-Whirl and the Ferris Wheel that was making way more noise than normal, I saw the game that would change my life forever: the throw-a-ping-pong-ball-into-a-fishbowl-and-subsequently-win-a-fish-that-normally-would-have-been-food-for-a-bigger-fish-game. I think that's what it was called, anyways.

I stepped up to the booth and handed the fresh smelling Carnie $2.00, cupped the balls (yes, I cupped the balls" people can be so immature), and took a shot. Missed. Shot again. Missed. Now I was down to my last ping-pong ball and was starting to get worried. I mean, I had taken more shots than Charlie Sheen on a dry day. I closed my eyes, threw the ball up, and prayed. It trickled along the edge of the fishbowl for a few seconds, taunting me, before finally dropping into a cup. Poop was mine.

Why name a fish Poop? I think the real question you should be asking is why not name a fish Poop?! Think of the endless possibilities:

"