The Epitome of Insult

I recently bred a special breed of fish that could be trained to make a very loud, annoying noise at the same time every day (I did this by breeding an electric eel with a vuvuzela) to replace my alarm clock which was deep fried in batter by the horrendous monstrosity, the Anti-Punctuality demon, who has been plaguing me with lateness of late. The biggest advantages to this eel are its distinct unfryability and its inability to be reset to some erroneous time or stopped from ringing. 

But this eel, it was...it was more than an alarm clock to me. To me it was...it was a friend. It didn't just wake me up every morning, it sang to me every morning, in the single monotonous note that was its voice. He had...a name (it was नागेन्द्र) and to me, he was more than an eel with a name in Hindi, he was an eel, with a name in Hindi. The italics make a big difference, you see. He and I listened to "House of the Rising Sun" together...so many times...
And what did that god-forsaken demon do to my eel, and the friendship that had grown between us? He ate it, the gluttonous barstud!
Now, I'm terribly sorry for the euphemism (me using euphemisms means I'm really going insane) but I am in the deepest shadow of the tallest mountain of despair I have ever attempted to climb, the broadest ocean full of sharks with fangs of depression I have ever attempted to swim. That goose-down demon (Gasp! another euphemism!) has stolen from me the one thing I ever wanted, the friendship of a half eel, half vuvuzela with a  name in Hindi. Oh Time, can you not strike down this affliction which causes so many to waste thee?


(By the way, I am going on vacation, so I may or may not be able to post while I'm gone. Depends on whether or not I have access to the internet.)