Well, it finally happened.
Fishtank Season 4 is dead. Cut short. Abruptly ended like a cough during a eulogy. No finale, no redemption arc, no last-minute twists, just Aryeh singing showtunes in the corner, Funyung assassinated from CRACK clan, and the haunting silence of an offline stream. Whatever dreams we had of a blood-soaked rooftop duel or Sam Hyde riding in on a camel to announce the winner have evaporated. The Tank is dry.
So… you know what that means.
We’re back to trip reports.
Compound: Ketamine
Dosage: A “gentleman’s shovel” (approx. 450mg, racemic)
ROA: Insufflated
Setting: My apartment, lights dimmed, Fishtank-themed playlist looping on YouTube, Cracka_Jack teddy bear watching me from the couch like Anisa’s husband.
Mindset: Disillusioned, curious, a little horny but mostly spiritually constipated
0:00 – The Sniff of the Abyss
I chopped the K on an old Season 1 DVD of Fear Factor. Joe Rogan’s smug, pixelated face peered up at me as I racked up what can only be described as a biblical line, enough to tranquilize a miniature racehorse or 4 Fishtank contestants. I took the hit with a rolled-up parking ticket from April. As soon as I sat back, I felt it.
You know that moment when Windows crashes and everything goes gray?
My brain did that. I blinked and suddenly I was:
0:10 – Inside the Loading Screen
Not a metaphor.
I was literally in a loading screen. A translucent tunnel of hourglasses, floating progress bars, and little spinning wheels surrounded me. Time stuttered. Every breath took a full minute. Somewhere in the distance, an 8-bit version of Wes said, “Connection unstable. Please wait…”
I tried to move, but my limbs had copyright protection on them. Every action required a DRM key. I kept shouting “CTRL+Z” but instead of undoing anything, it just duplicated Aryeh’s face in my periphery.
0:25 – The Walmart of Souls
Reality reloaded into what I can only describe as a liminal K-mart-themed purgatory. Endless aisles, flickering fluorescent lights, and faceless shoppers gently gliding like Roombas. Everything on sale was emotionally devastating:
- “Childhood Regrets – 2 for $5”
- “Unused Potential – 50% Off”
- “That Time You Said ‘You Too’ to the Waitress – Clearance Bin”
I tried to ask an employee for help, but he morphed into Jet Neptune asking me if I knew how to patch drywall. I took this as a sign to keep moving.
0:40 – Deep Neural Sinkhole
I sat down on a bench (which was breathing softly), and my ego detached like a USB drive. No warning. Just a little popup:
“You have safely removed Cracka_Jack.”
What followed was pure dissociation. My consciousness folded inward like origami, and I watched a slideshow of all the people I’ve ever disappointed, narrated by a TTS voice that sounded exactly like Simpfart’s stream alerts.
At one point, I was a spoon. Not holding a spoon. I was a spoon. Nestled in a drawer full of resentful cutlery, all whispering about how Angelina was never really that into him.
1:15 – God Is a Security Camera
I remember looking up and seeing God, but He wasn’t a being; he was a Walmart security camera. Cold. Rotating. Watching. No judgment, just data collection. I waved. It beeped.
I think it forgave me.
1:45 – Re-entry
Coming back to my body was like trying to put on wet jeans underwater. I flopped off the couch and army-crawled to the kitchen like I had just fought in the battle of Fishtank Prime. I checked my phone. Four missed calls from a friend who thought I was live-tweeting a hostage situation. My nose was numb. My soul, somewhat realigned.
Final Thoughts:
Ketamine is not a toy, but it is a vehicle. A rusted-out, dimension-hopping Honda Civic powered by unresolved trauma and meme references. I wouldn’t recommend the dose unless you’re:
- Emotionally unhinged
- A fan of internal recursive architecture
- Recently devastated by the abrupt cancellation of your favorite livestreamed psychological experiment
Would I do it again?
Maybe. But next time, I’m inviting Jet Neptune and we’re bringing zip ties.
Fishtank may be over…
but the trip reports are just getting started.
— cracka_jack