I also want to stay on topic for a moment. We men in the Netherlands, but also many women, have a national sport and that is fishing.
We release fish for that in ditches, canals, lakes, etc. That costs a lot of money, but we pay for that through a fishing permit.
The fish are therefore a "kind of pet" for us.
And when we catch them, we throw them back and are also legally obliged to do so. All this to keep the fish stock high so that we do not have to fish for hours to catch something.
When I was a child I caught big fish and sold them to the local Chinese who would give up to 10 euros for a nice carp.
Money keeps the world go round.

But it's the immigrants' fault because they bought the fish and they ate it too. And they fed it to the origional citizens.

What I also did sometimes was go to the Chinese restaurant with my friends. We’d eat the most random stuff beforehand, like a sandwich, a carrot, and a single sip of milk—just to get that perfect "about to puke" combo brewing.
Then, we'd walk to the window, where people were happily enjoying their noodles and sweet and sour chicken, and I’d go full Oscar-worthy performance: holding my stomach, gagging, and then—BAM!—pretending to throw up like I was in some low-budget horror movie. The timing was perfect. You'd see people drop their chopsticks mid-bite, eyes wide with terror, like they were watching a volcano erupt in slow motion.
The real magic happened when the waiters, who clearly had zero patience for our nonsense, stormed out of the restaurant like action heroes—one of them waving around a massive cleaver like it was a scene from a kung fu movie!
You should’ve seen us run! I swear, we could've qualified for the Olympics with the speed we hit after that.
Man, those were the days... narrowly avoiding being chopped up by a chef with ninja reflexes!