Inside Fishtank: The Extreme Reality TV Experiment Pushing Boundaries]

Some trolls experience buyer’s remorse, according to Margera, who recalls a man from Texas emailing the morning after spending $5,000 to send messages yelling, “Wake up, pussy!” When asked about the complainant’s explanation that he was drunk and blackout, Margera dismissed it: “Eat a dick! That’s what you get.”

The production team escorts me into their control room, where multiple producers work behind custom multi-monitor setups. The fish tank feeds display continuously on various screens. The space resembles a command center, complete with cables, whiteboards, guitars, and remnants of meals. At least eight producers move between workstations or spin in chairs throughout the largely windowless room.

Neptune guides me through the setup: One monitor configuration shows the interior of the house, while another displays the exterior to provide advance warning of police arrivals when fans call them as jokes. A dedicated desk manages sound effects and advertisements, while another controls paid fan messages. Much of this infrastructure was built using AI assistance, staff tell me. When I ask where the team sleeps, Neptune points to couches and the floor beneath his desk.

“Luckily the carpet is nice and soft this season,” Ottman notes.

“I like sleeping on the floor,” says Taylor, who wears a knit cap, an untucked dress shirt, and Japanese-inspired slippers. His beard is full and his eyes appear tired.

“It’s nice and debasing,” Neptune observes.

“It’s punishing,” Taylor agrees. “I don’t want to sleep on a bed anymore.”

“It’s nice and soft this season,” Ottman says.

“I like sleeping on the floor,” says Taylor, who wears a knit cap, an untucked dress shirt, and Japanese-style slippers. His full beard and dark, tired eyes complete his haggard appearance.

“It’s nice and debasing,” Neptune observes.

“It’s punishing,” Taylor agrees. “I don’t want to sleep on a bed anymore.”

“I don’t deserve it,” Neptune says.

“I don’t fucking deserve it,” Taylor echoes. “When we’re filming, I feel so masochistic. It’s like, fuck it.

“Fuck my stupid life,” Neptune says. “I’m just an idiot who sleeps on the ground.”

They laugh before falling silent. A printer in the corner beeps, spitting out fresh pages. With ChatGPT’s help, they’ve composed a love song for Landon, a fish named after a Wisconsin janitor in his early twenties who the team considers their favorite cast member to torment. Earlier, Taylor had challenged an intoxicated Landon to a boxing match and beaten him severely. Today, Landon seeks comfort from another cast member, Vimp, while viewers shame him from afar.

“Do we want this to end with Landon getting his kiss?” Taylor asks the room.

“I want it to end with it getting worse and worse and him never getting his kiss,” Neptune responds. Everyone agrees, deciding to encourage Landon’s hopes by telling him Vimp is playing hard to get.

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