Rockstar: Mum! My blue (fighting) fish died!
Me: <cautiously, worried he might be upset> Um… Really?
Rockstar: Yeah! Wow it stinks!
Me: Um… Yeah…
Rockstar: Come smell it! Come smell it! It stinks!
Me: <thinking At Least He’s Not Upset> WHY would I want to smell your dead fish?!
Rockstar: Because it stinks! It really stinks! Come! Smell!
Me: No that’s yucky.
Rockstar: <like it took me so long to “get” it> Yes!! Co-ome!
Kings (without looking up from laptop on desk way across the room from us): EEE! Smelleeee!
Me (to Kings): Why didn’t I think of that?
(Kings gives zero indication he’s heard)
Me (to Rockstar): No eulogy? No last respects for the dead? It was a nice fish?
Rockstar: <pause> <seriously> It really, really stinks.
Ps: No, he didn’t abuse it. Fought The Good Fight Fish lived a full life near the tv, sharing a large fish flake with the other two every day… Rockstar thinks it died of old age.