Hippo was one of those lonely sorts. He’d been a bachelor for most of his single life. Since the prime of his life had now long passed and his girth was extreme, he knew that no one could ever love him for whom he was. Thus, he never tried to date one of the locals. Instead, he did what his old friend Bill had done.

“Hi, Mail Order Piranhas? Yes, My name is Hippo. I was looking through your catalog, and I think I’ve found the one for me. Her name is Caribe. Yes, the little red-bellied one. Excellent. When do you think she’ll be here? Tuesday? Great. How did I hear about you? Oh, my friend Bill ordered a Piranha a few months back. He just raved about it. He said that it got him back into shape. OK, thanks.”

Hippo thought about telling Bill about his good news. But he hadn’t seen Bill for a while now, and the phone had been disconnected. But then, newlyweds did like to have privacy, or, as they call it, “alone time.” While he waited for Caribe to come, he started trying to get into shape. After all, he didn’t want to just be a tub of lard to her.”

Finally, Tuesday came, right after Monday, as usual. He was holding a sign for her at the station. She walked over to him, and she was prettier than the catalog had shown her.

“¡Que carnudo!” Caribe said to him.

Hippo wasn’t put off by the language barrier, though. After all, love was universal. They went home, and life was great. Hippo enjoyed his new life. He was starting to lose weight just like Bill did. Every morning he’d wake up, and look in the mirror, and he was a little skinnier. In fact, one morning he rolled over, and there was nothing left of him.

Moral: Piranhas don’t make good bed mates.