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.