Seasonal Replies!

Dear 'True Love'

Thanks so much for the recent spate of gits you have bestowed upon me. I'm guessing that the court restraining order didn't put you off then? May i take this opportunity to discuss with you the choice of gifts you have sent to me:

A partridge would have been fine. I cook and could have probably roasted it or stuffed it with something nice and had it for lunch but i really could've done without the pear tree. I live in a flat on the 18th floor and it's currently standing in my kitchen. What were you thinking?

2 x Turtle Doves - Not edible nor do they even look all that exciting. Do you still have the receipt? I'd prefer a chinchilla.

3 x Hens (French) - i don't even speak French and my tenancy agreement stipulates i cant keep fowl.Especially foreign fowl.

4 Calling Birds - Great thinking. They call up their friends about 75 times a day using premium rate chat-lines and i now have a phone bill of over 12 grand. Cheers!

5 Gold Rings. I'm keeping these regardless.

6 geese that appear to lay almost 24 hours a day. If they're not laying they're sh*tting everywhere. You didn't really think this through, did you?

Swans.... seven bleedin' swans that like to swim. I'll point it out again, i live on the Chesney Hawke's Council Estate in a high rise building. Where the hell did you expect them to swim exactly? Currently they are stuffed into my bathroom and the noise is unbearable.

8 Maids-a Milking. I'm not sure i even know where to start. I don't own a cow and so the maids began to 'milk' each other. They also attempted to 'milk' me but since i bought some pepper-spray they appear to have backed off.

9 Dancing ladies? My landlord seems to be under the impression that I've opened a lapdancing bar that caters for men who like girls and avian perversions. I've got three weeks until i'm evicted.

10 leaping lords! Do you have any idea how much noise they create? When they aren't leaping, they're eating the contents of my fridge. The people living on the 17th floor complained that the leaping was knocking their ornaments off their bookcases. The damages bills just keep piling up.

If it wasn't already chaos in here, you also decided i needed 11 pipers who..well...'pipe'. This would be fine if it was just once a day but unfortunately they seem to have more wind-power than 295 grannies stuck in a baked-bean factory.

And you really outdid yourself with the 12 drummers. My eviction was brought forward to next Tuesday. If you'd like me to send you a diagram of exactly where i think you should shove your pear tree, just let me know...

He's Behind Youuuuuu!!!

Once upon a time down in Dingley Dell there lived a boy named Jack. Jack was a bit of a numbnuts and was often found eating paint chips, trying to lick his own elbow and attempting to catch his own shadow in a net on sunny afternoons.

One day Jack's mother (who was on government benefits due to her hip and also for having a slightly stupid son), asked Jack to take the cow (who incidentally was probably smarter than Jack and definitely better than him at clog-dancing) to market.

The Cow was happy to be sold off as she knew that as soon as Jack realised that there was more than one use for the 'magic sausage' in his trousers, she'd probably be violated in an uncomfortable place.

A strange and mysterious man approached Jack at the market and offered Jack some 'Magic Beans' in payment for the cow. Jack, being as he was a complete and utter womble, decided that this offer was too good to pass and immediately handed over the cow and skipped home with the exciting news of the sale to his long suffering mother.

'Oh Jack, you really would be out of your depth in a car-park puddle, wouldn't you?' His mother exclaimed and tossed the beans out of the window before heading off to Threshers to pick up her booze and fags order.

Jack was far too stupid to let this get him down and he spent the rest of the evening attempting to count his toes but at around midnight, he heard quite a rumbling and a grumbling from outside. He poked his rather silly head out of the window and to his surprise, he saw a giant beanstalk!

Being as Jack wouldn't know a health-and-safety pamphlet from the February Otter Festival, he immediately decided to climb the huge growth to see where it went. Atop the beanstalk was a cloud and upon the cloud was a beautiful castle which was the size of a small moon.

Jack scampered inside the castle whereupon he found himself surrounded by beautiful treasures - a golden harp, a stunning collection of coins and jewels, the director's cut of Star Wars where Han and Greedo organise a frat party and force Princess Leia to do unspeakable things to an ewok.

Jack was already filling his pockets with gemstones when he heard a thundering voice from overhead "Fee-Fi-Fo-Fumm! I smell the blood of someone really dumb!'
Jack began to drool uncontrollably for the 72nd time that day and tried to compose himself by repeatedly squeezing his nipples as hard as he could. He leaped behind a nice big golden ashtray and waited for the Giant to pass.

After what seemed to be an eternity to Jack's tiny brain (it was in fact 31 seconds), he slipped from his hidey-place and once again began to stuff his pockets and coat with exciting things. A stunning harp was quickly snaffled followed by a large hen who appeared to lay golden eggs (though Jack hadn't noticed this and simply wanted the chicken because he liked its beaky little face). Both the harp and the hen began to cry out 'Help....Hellllp us! We're being stolen by a mendicant!"

Jack dived for the beanstalk and reached the top just as the Giant had finished lacing up his Reeboks. The giant shook his fist at Jack who slid down the beanstalk and, as he reached the bottom, began to chop it down using a spoon and a small rock.

Jack showed his mother the spoils of his adventure and she seemed most pleased -until the day she saw Jack on Crimewatch and her joy turned to tears as they were both arrested for possession of stolen goods by the Badger Fairytale Police. The Giant recovered his things and gave his chicken a nice big hug and they lived happily ever after.

Smy's Christmas Poem

T'was the night before Christmas and all through Smy's pool
Not a creature was stirring in case they became food

Smy hung up his stocking and grinned happily
Hoping for beach balls or an otter dvd

The little fish snuggled up in their sea-beds
and hoped naughty Smy would eat mince pies instead

But later that night as the moon rose his head
A loud splashing noise woke Smy from his bed

Using his flippers to rub sleep from his eyes
Came a sight that totally took him by surprise

Santa and reindeer all making a fuss
had crash-landed their sleigh (which would soon shortly rust)

T'was Prancer's fault -oh he is such a rebel
He'd become fascinated by Smy's mysterious pebble

And now Santa sat on the pool-edge, what a hoot
to see him pour water from out of his boot

Smylexx pondered the scene and then offered help
'A talking fishy!' said Rudolph who then started to yelp

An hour passed slowly as Smylexx explained
and ordered a nurse-fish to tend to the bits that were sprained

One hour became two but soon all was well
Smy fixed up the sleigh, including the bell

With a hearty hug and a whole lot of kisses
Santa jumped on his ride and thanked all the fishes

The morning came fast and Smylexx felt pleased
'Was it a dream? Should i stop eating cheese?'

But pinned to his stocking with special elf glue
a note -'Merry Fishmass dear Smylexx...from You Know Who!'

Rudolph!

10 Things Rudolph probably doesn't want for Christmas:

1. Hay -this is provided free by Mr and Mrs Clause and also forms part of their contractual obligation to Rudolph and the other reindeer (see section 5.403.2 for further information).

2. Carrots -Also provided by The Clause's and also given out by over 20 billion children on Christmas Eve. I'm quite sure Rudolph doesn't ever want to even look at another carrot until at least March. For this reason, i always leave him a carefully wrapped turnip near my Christmas List each year.

3. Hoof Varnish /Antler Glitter- Rudolph is not homosexual despite once being found in a compromising position with Blitzen who claims he was just administrating the Heimlich Manoeuvre when Rudolph swallowed a carrot a bit too quickly.

4. Nose polish -Rudolph needs no more attention being drawn towards his proboscis than he has already thankyouverymuch.

5. Bells -It's a known fact that despite having bells on the sleigh and bells around his harness and bells on his flippin antlers, Rudolph despises the noise of bells and secretly listens to Simon and Garfunkel on his i-pod for the duration of the journey.

6. A subscription to Otter Monthly Magazine - he borrows mine but complains that they are usually a bit too soggy to read and so seems to have lost interest.

7. Diet books - a rigorous 11 month fitness regime is administrated by the elves for each of Santa's Reindeer. This include star jumps, squats and stretches which ensure that no one pulls a muscle while carting 480 million Nintendo Wii consoles to fat kids in Florida on a sleigh pulled by a festively plump man with a beard who smells of gin.

8. Antler grooming kits - Rudolph's antlers are cared for by Mauricé of Lapland.

9. Novelty socks - Even Rudolph's gran stopped buying these for him after a few years. you should too. He does not wear socks -especially socks with pictures of snowmen, characters from The Simpsons or Betty Boop on them.

10. A torch - Really, think about it...he can do without one.

Workshop Elf Contractual Obligations

This contract states that you will be entered into full-time employment of the Clause Society Industries (CSI). By signing the below contract, you will be obliged to perform the tasks and duties of your work-role and will be subject to adhere to the strict dress-code policy and behavioural requirements as mentioned in section 2.5.64c

As well as the terms of conditions of service which are outlaid in your Welcome to CSI pack, please also ensure that the following guidelines are adhered to at all times:

1. Always look cheerful -you're elves and should never look grumpy or you could be mistaken for goblins. As we all know, Mr Clause does NOT like goblins since 'the incident'.

2. If working on the naughty and nice lists, please ensure to check them twice. This is not a request but a prerequisite. Twice. Not once. Not three times. Twice. Rhymes with 'mice'.

3. If Mr Clause has been drinking and Mrs Clause is not around, please remember never to make direct eye-contact with Mr Clause as this will lead to an awful thing happening to you in one of the storage cupboards. Details and diagrams of the 'awful thing' can be found on page 61 of the handout given to you during orientation entitled 'Why Sitting On His Lap Isn't a Good Idea'.

4. When feeding the reindeer, please never be tempted to use Rudolph's nose as a make-up mirror. He doesn't like it and he bites. Hard.

5. Although the dress code should always be observed, we are glad to announce that three items of 'flair' can be added to your uniform. These can include bows, patches and earmuffs but please refrain from wearing anymore than the assigned 37 bells on your uniform for health and safety reasons. Over two thirds of the workforce were off sick in 1997 with symptoms of Tinnitus.

6. As elves, it is expected for you to laugh, giggle, chuckle and squeal for at least 17 of your working hours per day. Please ensure that laugh-breaks are taken at the appointed times only to ensure a constant stream of festive cheer is upheld throughout the day. These will be assigned to you by your giggle co-ordinator on your first day of business.


7. Mobile phones are not permitted in the Radio-Control Robot section of the workshop. For further details on why these devices are banned, please see Lefty, Stumpy or Limpy who are usually found hobbling around the coffee machine and admiring each others scars.

Signed ______________________

Date ________________________


See? Still no otters!

December!!

Got your attention, eh? Thought so...


December is upon us like a pervy uncle in a game of hide and seek when your parents are out. Where did the year go? Perhaps it went shopping for shoes or maybe it's gone to make jam in a convent in southern Spain.

All i know is that December means one thing and one thing only...no, not World Aids Day, i'm talking about Christmas! I'm so excited that I've been doing laps of my pool and i refuse to stop until Christmas morning when i get to open all my presents.

Anyway, apart from the aforementioned, there are apparently some 'other' fascinating facts about the month which i feel contractually obliged to tell you about.

Hannukah, which starts in December, is the Jewish 'Festival of Lights'. This means that fatties can't join in and only Ryvita can be eaten can be eaten until all the little candles are lit on those funky 8 candle holding Jewish thingymajobs.

Independence Day is celebrated in Finland (the place where dolphins obtain their fins) and Joulokuu is the word for December there which translates into 'month of Christmas' and can also mean 'Time to buy Smy presents' depending on how you say it.

In Xhosa (don't tell me you've never heard of it), December is called ngeyomNga which means 'month of the mimosa thorn tree'. I wonder if the mimosa thorn trees appreciate this.



*see? I can go an entire post without mentioning otters...oh, wait.... damn!

3-D

Well hello my little gummy-bears. Has it really been 8 days since i posted? It appears so!

Where have i been?

What have i been doing?

Who have i been 'doing'?

If anyone knows the answers to these questions, please let me know and i promise to take notes.

In more pressing matters, a movie named Beowulf was recently released in multiplexatoriums around the UK. Despite being full of semi-clad men and monsters, the entire film appears to be too stunning to be able to avert your gaze from...annnnnd it's in 3-D!!

Every film would benefit from being in 3-D and below I've listed just a few examples of how this would enhance the cinematic experience of even the dreariest movies:

The Care Bears Movie would come to life in whole new ways as their rainbows burst from their chests in full 3-D as the audience ducks for cover and just imagine the little dance numbers! Tiny furry folks all waltzing and shuffling around your brain! It would be more awesome that the time i was left unattended in the otter sanctuary for a whole 23 minutes.

Free Willy would simply make you squeal with excitement like an over-tickled basket of kittens as Willy leaps towards you, the salty spray appearing to cover the audience before willy goes deep..but not before spurting liquid from his spurty-hole!

Hardcore Porn - see above.

It's time we took a stance and DEMANDED that Hollywood makes every film this way! If they refuse, we should stamp our feet/flippers/hooves and threaten to hold our breath until we die!

Fantasy Novels

Of course, the only thing i ever read is OtterPedia and the back of Findus Fish Finger packets but i have it on good authority that there are books about subjects that don't include marine mammals and fish-based snacks.

According to a friend of mine, many people like to read about dwarfs and elves (but not gnomes, obviously) and these creatures usually get themselves into a spot of bother with a big dragon or a selection of trolls with dietary issues who they have to fight for a bit in order to claim the treasure which generally has a name like 'the mighty crown of Sockzillia' or 'the sacred charm-bracelet of the high-elder-queen Snifflepops'.

Unfortunately, the writing style of most fantasy authors seem to fall into two distinct categories-

Tolkien Stylee: The inability to ever get to the point. A typical sentence in a Tolkien book goes something along the lines of 'And Lo, The Hobbits began their journey and as they walked they passed a tree which made them all sigh a bit as the tree had at least twenty seven branches and on each branch, their were quite possibly over two zillion leaves which might have been really nice to eat if you were a Caterpillar or something but probably less nice if you were a wolf called colin or something and the tree was also a bit crooked-not in the way that it might sell you a dodgy Rolex, but in the way that it leaned a bit to one side...maybe at 12 degrees...possibly 13...Frodo couldn't be sure without measuring it and he had forgotten his compass and his notepad..the blue one, we mentioned it earlier..on page 184 i think..you can check....I'll wait..'

Alternatively we get Dave Eddings Stylee which is exactly the opposite of the above and amazes me that most of his books appear thicker than a post-it note. A typical passage from his work would be 'Geoff the Warrior Elf saw a demon. The demon saw Geoff. Geoff took out his sword and hit the demon with it 'til the demon died. Geoff was pleased. The demon was not pleased. Geoff went home for trifle.'

There must be some middle-ground somewhere. I'd write one myself but, well, if i did that then who would eat all these salmon?

Action Man!

In the 1970's -when disco ruled and Bird's Trifle was the epitome of style and sophistication, little boys played with Action Man.

No that isn't a euphemism for masturbatory pursuits, I'm talking about The Greatest Hero Of Them All (tm).

During his heyday, Action Man came in a variety of exciting flavours and despite looking decidedly camp, he was hard as nails-no really!! The range of products included the SAS Elite Soldier who came complete with pistols, grenades, piano wire and a pack-lunch.

There was also Basic Squaddie Action Man who came with a nice green sweater, a plastic beret and a guilty expression on his face from playing the Biscuit Game with his fellow bunk mates until 3 a.m.

These days, however, we are much more p.c. and therefore Action Man has had to change with the times. With this in mind, I have decided to construct some new editions to boost the flagging sales of every one's favourite neo-nazi.

We start with Iraqi Veteran Action Man who comes complete with three anti-war protesters who pelt him with soft fruit while he tries to defend himself with a copy of Michael Moore's latest book.

Touchy-Feely Action Man is a big hit with the ladies. His uniform is always neatly pressed and a touch of a button makes him burst into tears as if he's just watched a nature program with baby otters in it. By pulling his pull-string, he says one of the following phrases-

'Ooh, How much did you pay for those curtains?'

'Have you lost weight? You look Fabulous!'

'Can you direct me to the nearest animal shelter please?'

'Can't we just talk this over? Fighting is soooo aggressive!'

Guaranteed Christmas joy for any young soldier-wannabe. I'm already looking into the patent...

critics

Everyone's a critic, aren't they?

Just this morning i was leaping majestically through my hoop when a small angel fish named Norris swam past and said 'Ooh, that splash was a bit big, wasn't it? Probably 'cos you're putting on weight..in fact, i'd go as far as to say that you're looking a bit fa...'

The end of this sentence wasn't audible as by this point, i'd realised that i hadn't eaten in the last 23 minutes and so i ate him. But the point is that the birth of the artist must also have coincided with the birth of the critic.

I would imagine that even in caveman times, the first prehistoric artist (let's call him Uggy), probably finished a fabulous painting of a jurassic otter only to hear some critical 'ug ug uggity ug' noises from his less arty friends as they informed him that 'there should be more gore around its fangs' or 'the knees look more hairy and less fuzzy than they should' or 'Tsk! Uggy has painted the Sabre-Toothed Otter in brown and not purple with blue stripes...what a fool!'

One day, all critics will be made to line up in a huge queue and forced to draw a nice picture of a happy, dancing badger. Those that can do it properly (and remember to include a nice pair of dancing clogs) will be allowed ice cream. Those that can't will be forced to watch The Star Wars Holiday Special over and over again until their ears melt off.

Whizzzyyypop-pop-pop!

Yes kids, it's Bonfire Night. This is the night that people across the UK 'celebrate' the failed attempts to blow up the Houses of Parliament by setting off fireworks and then jumping about a bit.

I'm pretty sure this must be a British thing. I'm not sure of any other country that celebrates the failure to do something with quite so much enthusiasm. Since all the British folks are obviously a bit funny-in-the-head, perhaps we could add a few more new Failure-Holidays to the calendar too!

I'm all for Eddie The Eagle day where we all celebrate the fact that we're rubbish at winter sports by attaching planks to our feet/flippers and leap off the top of a steep hill ...or speed bump if you're not brave enough.

How about Frank Bruno Day in which we all lay down on the floor of a boxing ring and stare up at the ceiling -much like Frank did in most of his fights?

We could have a Gemini Festival in which we celebrate getting zero points at the Eurovision Song Contest by sticking cheese in our ears and then screeching in a hideous way at visiting tourists.

There are so many reasons why Britain is just a teeny bit rubbishy so why don't we start a petition to get our favourite crappy events on the calendar?


and while were at it, can we have a National Otter Appreciation Day too?

Novembrrrr!

'Where did October go?' You ask but before you can get an answer, you hear the screeching sound of tyres and whip your head around to see that October has borrowed your car keys and zoomed off into the distance throwing its head back and laughing and playing the Best of Huey Lewis as loud as possible on your stereo.

But wait, what's this? A parcel? For you? You tear at the paper and open the box to reveal November. Its big shiny eyes look up at you longingly as you read the attached note which tells you to look after the infant month for the next 30 days and reminds you not to feed it cookies after midnight.

Yes kids, November is here. This is the month in which Santa pays for an advert in Elf Weekly for extra help in the toyshop and it's also the month in which we see a whole lot of fireworks, explosions and bangs...but enough about my love life.

There are some fabulous dates to note in November including the Day of the Dead festivals in Mexico which involve dressing up as a spooky thingy and eating pretzels or something and also Veterans Day which should never be confused with Veterinarian's Day which is only celebrated by folk who spend half their lives with their hands inside cats bottoms while mopping up tortoise sick with a little cloth.

In history, Columbus discovered Puerto Rico in November. It was down the back of a sofa along with a kazoo, an old television remote and 27p in loose change. He subsequently misplaced Puerto Rico three days later but found it again in some grass clippings taken from his hover-mower.

In Australia it is customary for menfolk to sport a moustache for the entire month. I'd love to be able to grow a moustache. I'd look so dignified and intelligent but sadly i don't think it's possible for dolphins to have facial hair.....unlike otters who have lots. Ahem.

A Creepy Tail.

Ahh the crackle of the fireplace, the smell of pipe smoke mixed with leather bound volumes of Otter Bi-Monthly Magazine. Welcome to Smy's study.
It's time to curl up at Uncle Smy's feet..erm...tailfin and prepare to have your pimples well and truly goosed as we begin a frightening tale of dread and fear!!

On a dark and gloomy Halloween night in the deepest, darkest section of the pool, a happy little dolphin named Smylexx was splashing around, making friends with a small salmon named Giles and dreaming about hoops. As he swam along his eyes became transfixed on a pebble...a mysterious pebble which seemed too compelling to ignore.

Smy gingerly nudged the pebble with his beak (yes dolphins flippin' have beaks, ok?) and before he could say 'otter-cornography' he was transformed by sinister powers into a hideous beast; aSmypire, a Dolphinstien, a were-dolphin!!

Instantly he felt the dark energy inside him..it felt a bit like the time he'd eaten three pot noodles in a row while watching a Jennifer Lopez movie. He felt unclean and nauseous but also a little bit pervy and tingly around his dorsal fin area.

The other fish dived for cover, cowering in the seaweed and, since they couldn't close their fishy little eyeballs, they wrapped their heads in duct tape as the evil Smypire swished through the water. Of course, this was pretty much the reaction they always have to Smy since he tends to eat at least one fish out of every group he sees -two if they're salmon.

Soon though, it became apparent that things were now much worse for the other pool users as the sneaky dark dolphin had begun to build a shrine to Marilyn Manson and had started to install speakers in each corner so he could listen to the most evil music in the world - Mmm Bop by Hanson.

One night, as Smy the were-dolphin was slinking around his castle, the other fish grouped together and formulated a plan to put an end to his naughtiness. One of the smarter seahorses had the perfect idea-a secret weapon but just as he was about to show the others the door to the castle burst open and the terrified group were confronted by the Smypire!!!

Smy had invested in some rubber fangs and was finding it hard to speak but he whipped his makeshift cloak around for added effect and began to hiss " Tho..you have come to dethroy me? Me? Thymlexthh the motht thexthy and deliciouthly yummy dolphin in the whole world? How very DARE you!?"

The fish tried not to giggle and slowly backed away but Smylexx lunged towards them, whisking his cape about a bit more and adjusting his fangs. The plucky seahorse dived towards the evil dolphin and threw his weapon at him - an Abba CD attached to a picture of that dude who played Anakin Smywalker in the crappy Star Wars films that no one likes.

The weapon plunged into smy's heart and, in a blinding flash of light, he recovered...immediately he transformed back to his usual self and quickly ate one of the bewildered salmon. "But how?" He lisped, "How did you turn me back?"

"That's easy." Said the seahorse, "My weapon transformed you into a Bjorn Again Christensen!!"


You may have just groaned... this is normal.

York

While my pool was being de-scaled, my scientist friends bundled me into a makeshift tank and trundled me further north to the Government Research Facility for Smart-Arsed Fish (York Division). I stayed there for a couple of days while the cleaners removed the ooze that had collected on the coral. Clear instructions were left behind so that they would not touch the mysterious pebble, my case of crabs and my secret(ish) room in my fake plastic castle.

While in the area, i decided to take a look at my new surroundings and can now offer you, dear bloggies, my guide to this fantastic city.

First up is Cliff's Tower which was named after Cliff Richard in AD 71, the year of Cliff's birth. Inside the tower is a museum in honour of Cliff where you can purchase Cliff calendars, Cliff mugs and Cliff anti-haemorrhoid cream from the gift shop.

The Jorvik Viking Centre is also a must see! Painstakingly reproduced down to the last detail, this accurately portrays life in York as seen from the Viking point of view by whizzing you around a little track on a mechanical raft while looking at puppets and cityscapes that smell vaguely of turnips and poo. Should you wish to endulge in the full Viking experience, for an extra £3.50 you can be raped and pillaged by the staff. The helmets are guaranteed to make you horny!

York Railway Museum is as exciting as it sounds and is a fabulous way of making yourself feel better about yourself as you walk around it spotting trainspotters and marking your sightings in a little book with tick-boxes to check if the nerd in question has a wooly hat, mittens with string on them, a flask of weak lemon drink, a Star Trek badge on his/her jacket and their name sewn into their socks.

York Minster is gothtastic! If you like emos, enjoy cutting yourself or simply adore the music of Slipknot then this place should give you hours of solemn, sniffly pleasure as you slope around looking at exquisite monuments of death and slightly disturbing statues of long-gone priests.

As well as the above, there are also about 286 zillion pubs and a McDonalds which is open til late. When are we going?

Mushroom, Mushroom...

Badgers aren't exactly having a great time at the moment.

A few of the stripey woodland folk turned up dead over in Norway recently after deciding to drink the local water.

This is highly unusual as usually the Norwegian badgers prefer to drink only cherryade or, if celebrating, a vodka-redbull with an umbrella and fruit in it...but only after 9pm...and only if they aren't the designated driver that particular evening.

Now in Britain the government is deciding on whether or not to cull them.

At first i thought this was a spelling mistake. Surely they meant for the Britain-folks to cuddle them over and over again until the badgers start to squeak a bit and lick your eyeballs in fear.

But no; apparently the government thinks that the little furry fun machines are linked to spreading diseases in cattle which might be contaminating the food chain.

Once again, this is most untrue! Badgers don't go anywhere near cattle until July-the month that the otters hold a woodland rodeo for all the critters to join in, ride bulls, eat pork chops and corn cobs and then sit around telling stories around a campfire -generally about monkeys or marshmallows.

Perhaps we should raise awareness about the plight of the badger. Would anyone like to organise a parade?

Handbags

There are some mysteries even more mysterious than a mysterious fishtank, some questions have puzzled mankind for millenia.

Why is Jade Goody still famous?

How do The Krankies have sex?

Why does Donald Duck wear a towel after a shower?

These are all super-puzzling but, perhaps more perplexing than all of those questions is 'what is inside a ladies handbag?'

I sent an undercover seahorse to investigate and the results were as follows:

One elastic band type thing -possibly to tie hair back with but could quite easily be used to strangle a weasel or as a makeshift bungie cord for assassin otters.

Just over £3.27 in loose change - the exact amount required to buy a nice piece of cod and a can of mushy peas.

A photograph of Neil Diamond -compulsory.

A packet of Polo Mints - which COULD be eaten or used as lifesaving rings for drowning butterflies.

A small device which we couldn't categorize -looked like a small pretend mouse in a tiny telescope. We're guessing it came from a Kinder Egg.

With the above knowledge in our heads, I'm pretty sure we can all sleep much more soundly tonight. I'm going to have an early night just to check.

Hug Your Boss Today!

According to the fountain of all knowledge, Wikipedia, where facts are completely and utterly true and can in no way be altered by just anyone at anytime, today is Boss's Day in the United States.

Although many people consider this to be nothing more than a convenient way of selling additional greeting cards, many people celebrate this by giving their employer a gift to celebrate just how lovely, fluffy and perfect their boss is.

As a dolphin, i don't actually have an employer but i do have many scientist acquaintances who seem to think that because they cut their food up before they eat it and can operate a mobile phone without spilling water on it, they are somehow superior to me.

With this in mind, I've asked my fishy friends and a few small water based mammals to come up with some lovely gift ideas to offer to 'the perfect employer'. We came up with the following:

A pebble wrapped in seaweed with a cheeky smile drawn on it with a crayon - the perfect companion for any boss as everyone knows that bosses don't have any real friends.

A lump of poo with some twigs sticking out of it (ideal paperweight once the poo has 'set')

A selection of fish heads attached to a coat hanger - a great makeshift 'dreamcatcher' for dolphins on a budget.

Or, if you're feeling particular devoted, perhaps you could give your boss a case of crabs. I have a spare case here if anyone needs one.

Cheeeeeeeeeeeeeese!

Personally, I like nothing better than smearing a small squishy shrimp on my crackers at the end of a hard day of leaping majestically, looking beautiful and being smug. For you bipeds, however, it would appear that you prefer the accompaniment of cheese on your Jacobs.

Cheese is so popular in some countries that they have entire festivals to celebrate it. Some Europeans like to roll it down a hill and many people like to spend their Sundays feeding it to little animals such as mouses (meece? Moose?), squirrels but never otters as we all know that they prefer crumpets with a little bit of jam on them.

Many of the most popular rock and pop entertainers sing about the stuff too. My favourite fromage related tracks are as follows:

Neil Diamond - Forever in Blue Cheese

Elvis Presley - Jailhouse Roquefort

Bon Jovi - Wanted: Cheddar Alive

The Beatles - Cheese Got a Ticket to Ride

Shania Twain -Edam, I Feel Like a Woman

Don McClean -Bye Bye, Miss American Sliced

Travolta/Neutron-Bomb - Gouda One That I Want

Robbie Williams - Brie's the One

There must be quite literally three or maybe four others I forgot to mention but all this talk about food is making me hungry and I've just spied a little salmon that owes me money so erm... back later!!

Radiohead make me happy, ok?

Dolphins like Radiohead.

That statement may come as some surprise to you but when you think about it, it makes perfect flippin' sense. Thom Yorke's wailing noise reminds us of the exact sound that whales make when their big fat bodies try and squeeze into jeans that are three sizes too small and that makes us chuckle and squeak and throw our beach balls up in the air.

Radiohead's new album is currently only available by downloading it directly through the intertubeywebthingy using, what we dolphins like to call, 'magical fairy powers'. Uniquely, the album does not have an official price but instead offers you the otter-tunity to choose how much you wish to pay.

Now, obviously, i don't have pockets or even a little plastic purse with a butterfly on it to keep pennies in and if i did, i would probably spend it all on internet corn and tuna paste so i was unable to actually offer anything to Thom. If there'd been an option of paying by fish or maybe performing a little back flip as payment, i would have gladly agreed!

I've been playing the album underwater and i personally feels that adds something to it. I'd highly recommend everyone takes their CD player and a host of other electrical items into the bathtub next time they go for a splish-splash as i can guarantee that it will make bath time much more interesting for your rubber ducks.

So anyway, the album is called In Rainbows which regrettably has absolutely nothing to do with George, Zippy and Bungle and fits right in alongside Kid A and Amnesiac with its floaty cerebral musings mixed with dreamy strings and trippy beats. Buy three copies today and maybe put a long overdue smile on miserable old Thom's spooky face.

Sploshhhh!

Politically Correctomundo!

Everything is so PC nowadays, isn't it? I mean, only yesterday i was allowed to ask for 'that nice jam with the golly on the front' but now I'm told that even shaking my flipper in the direction of the words ' thieving pikey scumbag' is asking for trouble and will result in me only getting half my fish rations for a week.

Many of the beloved TV shows of yesterday wouldn't stand a chance and would need to be considerably re-vamped before getting approval from stripey-shirt and braces wearing studio executives who, as i type are probably licking white powder off the brim of a hat worn by a dancing midget while getting their nipples squeezed by a leather wearing Thai girl with an otter tattoo on her ankle.

With this is mind, I've decided to re-write one of my favourite shows for a new generation. Ladies and Gentlemen and Seahorses, may i proudly present... The GAY-Team!

Led by HandyBalls, the Gay-Team stride into town wherever there is trouble and help redecorate the place, pop in a few discos and teach the local men how to dance properly.

Handyballs would be the planner. He'd always be one step ahead of the Anti-Gay Police and two steps ahead in the queue for free baby oil.

His team would also consist of B.A. (This would probably be revealed to stand for something like Banana Allergy, Bottoms Ahoy or Bouncy Anal...but not until the 32nd episode). B.A. would be in charge of the heavy lifting, the wearing of lots of bling and the growling at young inexperienced gay men. He'd also hate flying until offered a 'milkshake' from a teammate.

The most likely candidate to offer the aforementioned 'milkshake' would be Murdick. He'd be the crazy one who likes nothing more than wearing a dress and talking in a silly voice....a bit like Sarah Michelle Gellar but with a less stupid looking nose, obviously.

The final member of the team would be Facial, a smooth operator who likes fast cars and faster men. Probably played by someone dead cool and sexy....maybe Dale Winton.

You're already setting the 'record' button on your digital recorder, aren't you?

Halo 3

There's nothing dolphins like more than fitting in with others. We are very social creatures who enjoy a game of Twister or a dinner party even at short notice.

In order to fit in with every-other-website-on-the-interweb (tm), I've decided to review Halo 3.

Before i begin, i must point out that i only played Halo 1 and 2 casually and was not impressed enough to do a cartwheel or anything immediately afterwards. Thus, when Halo 3 was available to purchase, my first reaction was not to froth at the mouth or do a little dance of purest joy. In fact, I've been more excited at the prospect of meeting Stormtrooper 329 in a shopping centre, but anyway..

Initially after i carefully loaded up the game (while trying desperately not to splash water over the console), i liked the look of the menus. All shiny and blue like an alien robot otter or something. Unfortunately, the feeling passed and i soon realised that the game was incredibly average at best.

The guns are, for the most part, useless. Many of them are just variations on the same gun with a different coloured light beam or a little bulb on top to signify that this is undoubtably of alien design. The majority of weapons don't allow you to look down the sight and so they all blend into one another as you concentrate solely on the little crosshair in the middle of the screen.

The same can be said of the enemies, a mixture of 'scary' brutish aliens and smaller 'comedy' aliens come at you growling or making little quips respectively which means the whole tone of the game is unbalanced. Imagine playing a more serious shooter like Rainbow 6 or Call of Duty; a legion of troops spill out of hiding, many of them rush you with machine guns shouting something threatening in a foreign tongue but then, suddenly, four of them stop to tell you a joke about badgers* or starts to make fun of your trousers while poking you with a spork. Confused? You should be!

The vehicles are nicely designed but each one is mapped to the joypad in the exact same way which means they have less character than vehicles in other shooters.

Some levels offer truly stunning set-pieces. A huge crab-like machine attacks you at the end of one level and its metallic sheen and animation was beautiful. I stood in awe for a few seconds before grabbing one of the least irritating guns and rushing into battle.

but that's about all i can say. The gamescores on other websites all suggest this game is the greatest thing since Pac Man threw on some makeup and wore a bow on his head and became 'Ms Pac-Man'.

Overall it's a vacuous experience. I feel nothing for my character- who happens to be a Master-Chef or something and his plight is so generic that i find myself not caring if he wins or if he is torn apart by vicious zombie weasels.

Personally i think this is some sort of crazy mass-hysteria and in a few months time when a real FPS comes out, we'll all look back on this moment and laugh and buy each other a beer while we discuss how best to destroy our copies of Halo 3.

You know I'm right. Deep down, you know.

*Whats black and white and makes a lot of noise?

A badger with a drum-kit...i thank you.

The Elves and the Shoemaker

Another fabulous fact about October is that it is National Children's Book Week in the UK. To celebrate this, i have decided to write a totally original story which bears no resemblance to any other story you may have read already...

Once upon a time there was a shoemaker.

Cobblers! you might say, and you'd be quite correct too.

So poor was the shoemaker that he only had enough leather to make one pair of shoes. While sniffling loudly and leaving long streaky snot cobwebs all over his sleeve, he carefully cut out the leather so that the next morning he'd be all set to make the shoes.

The next morning he woke early and was astonished to find that the shoes were already made. Rather lovely they were too with a fantastic leather otter embossed near the heel. The shoemaker woke his wife (for he was married -which was a total surprise to everyone in the village as they all suspected him to be a raving homosexual) and showed her the shoes.

"Ooh lookit! Lookit! Lovely perfect wickle shoooooooes!" He squealed in his most manly way.
His wife clapped her hands and looked very pleased but her smile was only skin-deep - she secretly suspected the same thing as the rest of the villagers and was dead grateful for the magic vibrating banana she had obtained in a card game with some lesbian witches.

The shoes were sold within minutes of opening the shop - in fact, it was a boutique...or 'boot-ique' as the shoemaker referred to it which was amusing the first time he said it but not quite as funny on the 402nd time.

With the money, the shoemaker bought enough leather for two pairs of shoes and once again, before bedtime (9pm sharp-just after Sex and the City finished), he laid out the cut outs of the shoes and slipped off into dreamyland where he enjoyed a fabulous dream about dancing badgers.

In the morning the shoes were ready once more and they were as pretty as the last pair. Within minutes of the shop opening they sold and the shoemaker ran around the store squealing and skipping and playing his favourite Abba tracks before buying enough leather for four more pairs of shoes.

When nightfall came, the shoemaker turned to his wife and said 'why don't we slip downstairs and see who's making our lovely shoes?'
Since his wife wasn't doing anything else in the bed that night...or any night since the wedding (much to her disappointment), she quickly agreed and they both sneaked downstairs.

In the light cast by the streetlight outside the shop, they spied tiny little elves all busying around sewing and knitting and cutting and stitching and using their tiny hands to make the gorgeous shoes. It took the shoemaker's wife every ounce of strength to stop her husband making an excited squeaking noise by squeezing his ears between her fingers and they both crept from the room silently.

The next morning, after the shoes had sold once more, the shoemaker bought a little extra leather. He had decided to make little outfits for his little magical workers. This was a dream come true since his wife had forbade him from buying a poodle last year and then spending all their spare cash on little clothes for it.

The evening came and the shoemaker and his childless wife laid out the clothes then hid behind the counter. Since this was only thing being 'laid' that evening, the wife had decided to pop the banana on 'charge' while they waited.

The elves turned up around midnight and the couple watched as they studied the clothes for a second before jumping with joy and popping the little outfits on quickly. Once the clothes were on, they danced and skipped and sang Abba tracks as they scampered out of the shop and were never seen again.

Though they never returned, the shoemaker was satisfied that he had rewarded them fairly He was also so inspired by their work that his own shoes began to sell again and his money worries were no more.

His wife died a few years later in an unfortunate electrical/fruit based accident that took place late one night and the shoemaker was distressed for almost a week. His spirits seemed to lift, however, when he took in a young strapping boy named Bob as an apprentice to 'help him' in the shop.

October!

OK Star Trekkers, set your faces to 'stun' cos, by some crazy miracle it appears to be October!

September is just a distant memory in our brains and we can probably erase it from the contacts list in our mobile phones for another 11 months.

October, as we all know, comes from the latin Octo-Bear, a mythical 8 limbed teddy that can hug four children at once while singing a happy song about treacle on toast.

The astrological sign of Scorpio comes into the spotlight during this month. If you are a Scorpio then, as you read this, you are probably sending a letter to the mayor of San Fransisco made up of little letters cut out from magazines or holding up a school bus full of terrified children as you force them to sing 'Row, Row, Row Your Boat'.

There are many fantabulous events that happen during the month including Columbus Day which is not to be confused with Columbo Day in which we all have to squint, wear a nasty looking raincoat and irritate shifty looking butlers in nice houses with irrelevant questions.

On the 21st, it is Apple Day. No, really, it really flippin' is! On this day we are all allowed to legally throw an apple at any politician we want to while squealing 'Pip! Pip! Pip!' in a high pitched voice.

Halloween makes an appearance at the end of the month but let's discuss this later, maybe when we're alone and wearing something less comfortable.

UFOs

Once upon a time it seemed that the only people seeing UFOs were hillbilly types from backwater parts of America and Kippax and hobos who would immediately look at the bottle they had been drinking from for a second before throwing it over their shoulder while mumbling 'never again....bleughhh....' or something.

Flying Saucers can be seen just about everywhere these days and they are not constrained to Hell's Kitchen either! On an average week of televisual delights, one can see half a dozen repeats of X-Files, Taken and a bazillion other sci-fi shows featuring spooky visitors from outer space.

I have nothing against this. In fact, i feel it's very important that we ARE prepared for the arrival of beings from other worlds. However, the important questions must be answered in advance to avoid one of those awkward silences that happens when someone makes a joke about a Polish penguin just at the moment that Krzystof Pinguski comes through the door (we've all made that mistake, right?).

Anyhoo, below are a selection of questions i believe will be imperative to get the answers to before little green men set foot on our lovely planet:

1. Bourbon or Custard Creams?
Can you imagine if they don't like either or if they have a nut allergy or something? We'd have to serve them Jaffa Cakes or those little pink wafery ones that no one really likes (apart from freaks...you know who you are).

2. Coffee or Tea?
To serve the wrong one might mean certain death to the Prime Minister or President who's serving it. What if their alien DNA evolved from coffee beans? Is it polite to offer someone a drink made out of their dead relatives? Do they like sugar? Cream? Nutmeg sprinkles? The list is endless...

3. Should you offer them a Golden Otter now...or later?
When IS the best time to present someone with the greatest thing on the planet?

4. Shake hands/Flippers/Tentacles?
What if they greet one another by shoving a small selection of fresh fruit into each other's cavities? We all know how much they enjoy 'probing' humans... should we simply be naked from the waist down and walk backwards towards them while clutching a tube of Vaseline?

5. Tongues or No Tongues?
Is it polite to go for the full-frenchie on the first meeting? Perhaps it's rude NOT to. Either way, it's probably best to have some Mintoes handy just in case.

6. Kylie or Jason?
Background music for that monumetal moment is very important but does one play the soothing, slightly chipmunk-y sounding pop-beats of Miss Minogue-the wonder midget or the painful, screechy, no-talent mumblings of every one's 18th favourite Australian named Jason? Decisions, decisions...

Haribo

"Kids and grown-ups love it so."

Well, that's what it says on the packets anyway. In reality, unless they invent an entirely fish-flavoured chew, i wont confirm to 'loving it'.

Haribo sells about twenty gazillion bags of chewy thingies every day apparently and they come in a cornucopia of assortments such as:

Starmix - A mixture of stars, i would assume.

Mao mix - A mixture of sweety things which are popular with the 1960s New York streetgang, the Mao Maos.

Fantasy Mix - A mixture of fantasies in a bag. This would hopefully include my personal fantasy of being supreme king of the Otter Planet and another one which involves a lot of latex,some ice-cream and a small selection of primates. I wont go into detail.

Liquorice - Only freaks like liquorice.

Jelly Babies - The tiny defenceless babies of jelly families are snatched away in the middle of the night by evil Haribo Gnomes and are suffocated in plastic bags before being smothered in sugar.

Gold Bears - Very disappointing. The bears aren't REAL bears at all, they're made of chewy jelly stuff and not even a trace of gold or porridge in the entire bag. Rubbish.

The other exciting fact about Haribo is that they're based in Pontefract which is just a small swim from where i live. I can confirm that Pontefract is a bit smelly and full of chavs that would probably pull my flippers if i let them near my pool.

Spam Mail

When I'm not swimming around chasing a small salmon named Gerald, i like to spend my mornings by flippering away at the keyboard of my Dolphin-O-Type 2000 computer. Unfortunately there is one thing that can really ruin the excitement of fondling my inbox and that's JUNK MAIL!

Who are these people that spend their days writing this stuff and sending it to me? Why do they feel I'd be interested in Viagra, Hot Cheerleaders indulging in an act that will probably make them go blind, a brand spanking new credit card or an invitation to claim a fortune that belonged to a Nigerian king who (with just my bank details and passwords) will be happy to pass it along forthwith?

Don't they realise that i get my Viagra free from my scientists friends?

Don't they understand that i can intimidate Gerald and three of his salmon friends to perform any act i want by just glaring at him?

Cant they see how pointless it is to offer me a credit card? How would i sign the back? I cant hold a pen for flips sake and the ink would run!

As for the Nigerian king, see above. No bank would offer me an account as the only proof of identity i have is a little tag on my flipper that reads 'specimen 1138/b - pet daily and do not feed it chili sauce'.

All spam-mailers should be scraped with the mysterious pebble then made to jump in a giant bag full of bleach. Twice.

Ghosts!

Ever found yourself alone at night when suddenly you feel all creeped out and your skin begins to crawl? Well this could be because you have a ghost or it could simply mean that you're watching any film with Adam Sandler in it.

Ghosts are apparently the undead spirits of people and pets (and otters) who have not found peace in the afterlife. The main characteristics of ghosts are as follows:

A slightly transparent appearance a bit like those emo kids have that hang out near the supermarket.

A fondness for rattling chains and saying 'whooooOOOOOoooooooh!' which sorta reminds me of an ex....but let's not go there.

The ability to walk through walls. I would imagine this would be a fantastic ability to have - especially if you're a bit pervy and happen to be haunting a ladies lingerie shop. It would also grant you free access to any Sea Life Centre to go and enjoy the otters whenever you please.

If you own a haunted house and don't wish to accommodate your see-through tenant anymore, you can hire a professional ghost hunter to come in and get rid of them for you. According to cheap digital channel television programmes, this MUST be done in the dark while holding an night-vision camera that makes people's eyeballs look all reflective - a bit like a startled kitten's might look like if you'd found him in the corner of your very dark handbag.

I thought my pool was haunted once but it turned out to be a bad case of wind. I've since stopped eating beans.Long story..let's pretend i didn't mention it, OK?

Game Show Hosts

At least one romantic relationship of mine has ended with my 'special friend' mentioning that i exude the characteristics of a game show host.

Although i took this to mean that i am suave, sophisticated and quick-witted, there's always a slight nagging feeling in the back of my brain which makes me wonder 'did they mean that i was irritating, cheesy and own some particularly bad ties?'.

Of course, we all know that couldn't possibly be true but it made me wonder what other exciting characteristics game show hosts have. I would imagine the main points to include on the c.v. would be:

The ability to 'smarm' - whether the member of the public (eww) is a fat, ginger girl from Glasgow or a stunning Norwegian foxette, you must maintain eye contact while simpering, flirting and generally oozing all over her while you read out her 'interesting statistics' from a little card.

Look earnest - Ohhhh Nigel from Hull just missed out on the trip to Hawaii by naming only 6 of the 7 dwarfs within the allotted time but now is not the time to smirk or laugh until milk comes out of your nose. No no, sir! You must look like you've just seen Bambi's mother brutally murdered and offer a consolatory hug.

Be sexually excited by old ladies - there's something about game show and grannies. They never miss the opportunity to make rather crude double-entendres or pinch their wrinkly bottoms at any given moment throughout the show.

Be multi-talented - The best game show hosts can't JUST schmooze! Many of them have a huge array of skills. Brucie can tap dance, Monkhouse can remember over a zillion jokes and Winton can be gay on cue! Amazing!!

Make people laugh - for the most part, they'll be laughing at you and not with you but that's fine. Just keep on mugging to the camera as you tell Colin from Dorset all about the features of the Moulinex Multi Speed Blender and try to conceal your own bitter tears of self-loathing.

To be orange - Although not compulsory, let's face it, all the best hosts are a lovely shade of tangerine. Brucie, Monkhouse, Winton... you know, 'the greats'.


See? I can write an entire post without mentioning otters...oh, wait... damn!

September

There we all were getting comfortable with August, joking and laughing and offering it coffee and buns when there was a knock on the door and in walked September!
"Goodness, look at the time!" Said August and left out the back door with a promise of calling and writing and sending us a thank you card for the coffee.

Since it IS September and there's very little we can do about it, we may as well have a few factoids to try and get ourselves familiar with this naughty little month.

In Germany, September marks the beginning of Oktoberfest. Makes perfect sense, right? I thought so too but before we start tutting and making insinuations about Germany's lack of timing, let's remember that the country is practically fuelled on beer and therefore it's amazing the German public can even stand or see let alone know what month it happens to be.

Similarly, in China, September is the month in which August-Moon Festival is celebrated. The traditional food to be served at this festival is 'Mooncake' which is flown in especially from the moon and is made by The Clangers - the little sock-like creatures that inhabit the moon and make little whistling noises... they look a bit like otters if you squint your eyes and turn your head to one side.

In the Netherlands prinsjesdag occurs which, from what i can gather, is when the queen arrives in a coach made from pumpkins, turns into a talking cartoon mouse then reads out her plans for the coming year (probably with the aid of some marker pens*, a flip-chart and an overhead projector).

Libra is the star-sign of the month and anyone born under this astrological sign is meant to have scales or something. Fish have scales, you know...and tasty underbellies and stoopid swishy left-to-right moving tails and fat eyeballs. In fact, don't get me started about fish or we'll be here for weeks.


*supplied by kangaroos

Blobfish

In today's world it's all rush, rush, rush isn't it? Sometimes even the prettiest dolphins such as myself never get time to really look our best before being put in front of a crowd of nerdy scientists and ordered to leap though a hoop, ring a bell or balance a beach ball perfectly on our delightful beaks.

However, spare a thought for the blobfish. No amount of Maybelene is EVER gonna help him get a date.

Since he is often mistaken for a stale blancmange, the blobfish always try their best to avoid being found in kitchens and the supermarket dessert section. Never mistake the blobfish with the Dumbo Octopus though. They're entirely different and can be found in the next Mathmos Lava Lamp catalogue.

Both of them taste vaguely of lemon sorbet.

Bioshock

After my human captors have stopped poking me or asking me to point to the card with the picture of the fishy on and gone home for the day, I like to play the occasional videogame.

Although most game controllers don't fit well in my flippers, i struggle on and often get scores of 3 or 4 points..sometimes more! I happen to be very good at Track'N'Field though as i get Geoffrey the goldfish to hit the 'Jump' button for me at exactly the right time.

While playing Bioshock late into the evening, it occurred to me that those slinky marketing types have missed a fantastic otter-tunity and so i decided to drop them an email...

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Dear Take 2 people.

I love the idea that more and more game developers are taking the extra time to offer the game buying public deliciously exciting 'Collectors Editions'.

Bioshock, as I'm sure you're aware, comes in a variety of flavours including a metal tin with a Big-Daddy statuette inside.

Although i was initially upset to find that it wasn't 70's wrestler Shirley Crabtree (aka Big Daddy), i soon pulled myself together and stopped crying.

Would it be possible to offer the public something that would be more useful than a statuette of a fat bloke in a diving suit? Something much more important?

While playing Bioshock yesterday, it occurred to me that i had to stop playing every 28 seconds to ensure i hadn't wet myself in fear therefore i would like to suggest the following exclusive pack idea:

Bioshock in a large waterproof tin including the following items -

-One adult sized nappy

-One spare set of brown trousers (elasticated waist to ensure one size fits all)

-A Teddy Bear with a friendly smile(probably named Colin or Nigel)

-A blanket (to hide under) with a nice picture of Paddington Bear on the front.

-Periscope - to search for monsters with while safely under the blanket.

-A Care Bear/My Little Pony DVD for settling the nerves afterwards.

I'm pretty sure this would be a huge success and i for one would probably order 2 copies.

Regards

Smylexx the Dolphin

-------------------------------------------------------------------

**BIG SHINY UPDATE**

On the 9th day of our lord's September, Take Two Interactive sent me a quick reponse!

It reads as follows:

Response (Gary Webber)	09/09/2007 12.26 PM
Hi Smy. Thanks for the suggestions, I'll pass this on to the relevant people. Incidently, thanks for providing some much needed humour.

------------------------------

Does this mean that they aren't taking my requests seriously?

Windmills

According to the slightly camp song, Money Makes the World Go 'Round. This statement is, of course, complete rubbish and also piffle!

From just a few minutes of flippering away on my Dolphin-O-Type 2000, i can confirm that the reason for the Earth's spinnyness is all down to windmills.

'Oh but Smy, you naughty (but ever so sexual) fish-like beasty, windmills are simply dotted around to make grain and suchlike'.

No, no, no! My research was in-depth and faultless. I must have typed for almost 72 seconds before i was satisfied with the results! Windmills are lined-up precisely for maximum wind-propulsion power, linked to a series of undergound pulleys and levers and operated by registered Earth Spinny Supervisors.

Hundreds of years ago, when the Earth was just a little baby planet inhabited only by prehistoric otters and slimy lizardy things, the windmills were simpler in design and operated by tyrannosaurus-rex who had specially evolved feeble hands and silly little arms to hold the gear-sticks with.

The prehistoric otters had better things to do, obviously.

Over the years, the windmills have become more sophisticated and super-sleek and funky and are now, more often than not, powered by nuclear-weasels. Small mammals trained by scientists to push the buttons at the right moment in exchange for a small fish.

I envy those weasels.

Pot Noodles

Since 1979, the mighty Pot Noodle has been a requisite in every student's dorm. This fascinating snack's appeal has not wavered over the years despite tasting like mouldy textbooks and a lack of fish flavoured varieties.

The Chicken and Mushroom version appears to be the most popular but since it launched, many alternatives were less successful.

The Otter and Crab stick flavour launched briefly in 1983 (after the great otter uprising of 1982) but were pulled from shelves a mere three months later for 'containing fur which might constitute a choking hazard'.

The Essex Special was also removed from supermarkets as the hoopy earrings and 'extra added bling' coupled with the Burberry packaging was deemed tasteless in every other part of the UK.

The Pot Noodle continued its success around the world with specialty varieties introduced to match the tastes of the local population. In Austria, the Pot Strudel was a big success and, in Korea, the Pot Poodle was received warmly and was also the first snack that would 'roll over', 'beg' and 'sit' on demand.

The company did have a brief shock in 1992 when it was discovered that one of its varieties contained actual beneficial properties and was a valuable source of protein and nutrients. The offending snacks were recalled immediately, the nice bits were removed and a lump of pure Kryptonite was added to the recipe to ensure they tasted awful once more.

Despite being totally inedible, the Pot Noodle is not without uses. The container can be used as a makeshift party hat, a small house for a family of grasshoppers and as a receptacle to keep Gran's teeth in at night.

Three cheers for La Noodle De La Pot!

The Church of Smyontology

Let us spray...

Oh Smylexx, who art in water
Smylexx be thy name
Smy will be fun
In puddles and in fish tanks
Give him this day his daily fish
lead us not into temptation
to eateth John West tuna
for brine is his kingdom for ever and ever

amen.

Let's face it, I'd be an ACE god. I'd issue all my followers (di-smy-ples) with a fantastic alternative to the Bible - a 'Smyble' which would not only be dead interesting, contain thousands of otter related factoids and be completely water-resistant, but it would also have bits to colour in and a crossword at the back (5 across: four letters, tastes nice, rhymes with 'dish').

And unlike similar religions or c*lts, i wouldn't threaten you if you tried to leave. I'd simply follow you around for about three months, poking you with a spoon every two minutes while asking you why you left until you realised your mistake.

I'm pretty sure that I'd look fantastic in a robe with some nice tassels on the front and the lucky chosen few in my congregation each week would get to ring my bell and gaze upon The Mysterious Pebble for up to thirty seconds.

My commandments would be dead fab too!

Thou shalt not eat the fishy that Smy wants

Thou shalt not touch the fishy that Smy wants

Thou shall always offer Smy a fish finger before having one yourself

Now, does anyone know anything about how to achieve deity status? I think it has something to do with being a carpenter or something. Does that mean that Harrison Ford is a god too?

Kangaroos

Oh you silly things! Kangaroos are NOT just big fat mouses (meece? mooces? mousii?), they are, in fact, a completely different species altogether!

This may come as a shock to you, as it did to me, but it's completely and utterly-butterly true!

The main differences between a kangaroo and a mouse is that you can never catch one in a mouse trap, they dislike cheese (they prefer pickled onions and marmalade) and they have a pouchy pockety thing on their tum-tums.

Scientists and philosophers have, for centuries, wondered what is kept inside the pouches of the kangaroo. Now, for the first time in history, i can reveal that the contents are as follows:

1 x plastic hairclip - you never know when you're going to need to look stylish at a moments notice and so a glittery plastic hairclip is essential when meeting new marsupials at the water cooler.
1 x Darth Vader lunchbox - keeping an apple, a bourbon cream (with the regulation 10 holes-not those cheap ones), and a marmalade sandwich cool when hopping around the Outback would be impossible without a blue plastic lunchbox with a picture of every one's favourite Sith Lord on the front.

2 x marker pens (blue and red) - only weirdos use green ones.

1 x pad of Post-It notes - to ensure other giant mouse-like beasts remember to attend your meeting about littering, quarterly sales figures or hopping-comparison charts.

1 x packet of McCoys Ready Salted Crisps - ridged for her pleasure.

1 x purse/wallet - for storing loose change, not so loose change, incredibly unloose change, two stamps and a small, undisclosed amount of blue fluff.

With the above knowledge embedded in our brains, we can all feel a small step closer to our antipodean, springy chums and, just maybe, learn a little about ourselves too.... erm.... err.... or something...

Kinder Surprise!

Contrary to popular belief, dolphins do NOT lay eggs (nor do we mate via osmosis or design tiny otter sanctuaries in our spare time). It's a myth!

But the one egg we do find fascinating is the Kinder Surprise egg. Not because the egg itself is exciting but simply because it's possibly the least surprising thing on the planet and demands a name change at once.

When you open a Kinder egg, there's a high probability of finding a small capsule inside which contains one of the following:

- a small plastic car which needs to be assembled with tweezers or the tiny hands of a 3 year old girl. Inevitably, the car will always have one wheel which sticks and refuses to turn therefore making the car useless.

-a small plastic crocodile/hippo/animal of the month which will be amusing for 12 seconds and, according to Kinder, will be 'a collector's item'. Frankly, the kind of people that collect plastic hippos are probably not the type of person you want to have at your dinner party, right?

- a 'working' compass (plastic). Unfortunately the sticker will have been badly placed in the Kinder factory and so the needle always points to the word 'East' (held up by a hippo/crocodile/animal of the month).

In order for Kinder to actually be 'Surprising', i would like them to consider putting the following alternative things inside their eggy-wegs.

-a diamond encrusted Fabergé egg with a RRP of around £450,000.

-a cure for all known diseases written on parchment with a picture of a hippo/crocodile/animal of the month at the bottom.

-a portal to a different universe. One where otters are plentiful and will lap dance for a penny preferably.

-another Kinder Surprise...a solid one with extra creamy chocolate containing over 12,000 calories per bite.

-an apology written by the managing director for all those rubbish plastic toys he's inflicted upon the world over the last 25 years.

Go on Kinder, Surprise me!

Klikkity Skreee Klikkity klik!

Well, I'm sure since you're visiting the blog of a rather sexual dolphin, that you're interested in all things cetacean-related, right?

On the BBC website today it was announced that the Yangtze River Dolphin is now semi o-fish-ally extinct.

This is terrible news as at least three Yangtze River Dolphins owe me money from a bet we placed as to whether Graham Norton was gay or not back in 2003.

The Latin name for the Yangtze Dolphywoos is Lipotes Vexillifer which sounds like something Harry Otter would say before stroking his wand. The literal translation means 'Squeaky, Lovable Fishy Beastys'.

The Yangtze dolphins should never be confused with the Yahtzee Dolphins who spend all their time throwing dice around in a pitiful attempt to score a winning hand...err... winning flipper while wearing jumpers, being incredibly middle-class and squeaking 'Yahtzeeeeeh!!!' at the top of their klikky voices every so often.

Those dolphins suck.

Let's all spare a thought for the Yangtze Dolphins today before we tuck into our Tuna and Mayo Baguette.