Slicey Slicey

When you human types aren't killing each other over who's got the best god or who likes oil the most, you also like killing each other over love. I adore otters but have never once wanted to kill anyone preventing me from using my season pass to the local otter sanctuary. Not that anyone would dare.

Anyway, this murderous streak is witnessed in all its lovely detail in the latest Tim Burton movie 'Sweeney Todd' which also carries the subtitle 'the demon barber of Fleet Street' in case we were confusing him with another Sweeney Todd, perhaps.

Personally i think there were many better titles that could've been used instead and i've compiled a list of a few alternatives:

For Your Pies Only

Mr Knife Guy

Live & Let Pie

Conan the Barber

The Wrath of Balm

Foam Hair to Eternity

I Love Stubble

Pies Like Us

In God We Crust

Eat The Parents

Half Baked

Cutthroat Island

Beard Science

I think you get the drift. I'll stop now because i can sense you lost interest after that Wrath of Balm one.

Smy Hard!

Just how many action movies have there been? I'd say at least 41. You bipeds really seem to enjoy watching other bipeds blow stuff up, don't you?

In the case of the ones Ive seen during my monthly barnacle-removal-treatment, there appears to be a set of rules that run through each of them which MUST be adhered to without fail.

First, our hero character must be 'burnt out'. He must smoke like a kipper, have a particularly vindictive ex-wife who has not only taken all his money forcing him to live in his car or a trailer or a scuzzy apartment but she's also taken custody of his kids...and probably *gasp* taken custody of his custard too. Our hero must rarely change his clothes and will probably need a shave (but will never grow a beard) throughout the entire film.

Our villain MUST be European- probably British or German and have a nasally voice or a lisp. A facial scar is also a bonus. He will show a complete lack of empathy for his fellow criminals in his gang and will probably kick a small puppy or spit at a photograph of Fozzie Bear in order to establish just how nasty he is. Loves Jazz and Classical Music, hates long walks on the beach and is most likely a Gemini.

Our hero will wish to work alone. In fact he'll insist on it to his boss. He'll also show a slight bitterness to modern liberal viewpoints before being shown his new partner who will be a lesbian/paraplegic/es panic/Jewish/hippy/left-handed.

The Hero's boss will be black (if the 80's) or fat and white (if the 90's) and will be just three outbursts away from a heart-attack. The Boss will usually have his office door knocked in (this is NOT a sexual euphemism, you flippin' perves!) by the hero at least twice who will harass the boss into either getting him off the case/demanding a warrant to search the villains lair/requiring 'more time' than the given deadline/getting the D.A. 'off his ass'

Despite all previous meetings with the villain, our hero will not arrest or, more likely, kill the bad guy until 102 minutes into the film regardless of how many crimes he's personally seen him commit. The villain must have had his gang shoot at the hero, blow something up, had a speedboat chase before grabbing a hostage at the end while laughing cruelly and saying something like 'eet seems that once again you are a fly in my ointment, you feeeelthy flat-foot!' or 'Thith time you will not thuctheed in dethtroying my dreamth, mithter politheman!' before attempting to make his last getaway.

Since all of the above is 100% accurate, why doesn't the hero simply get his partner to do all the required stuff then simply turn up at the 101st minute to make the arrest? He could visit the local Otter Sanctuary or make a paper maché womble or something equally productive.

Pringles!!

Once you pop, you can't stop. Well, that's what it says on the advert but if that's true, why do i always feel upset after I've put a tear in my beach ball after a particularly aggressive bouncing session?

The most fabulous thing about Pringles is that they arrive in a tubular package. If, like me, your diet consists mainly of small terrified fish and the occasional bit of chewy seaweed, you'll probably discard the crispy contents of the packaging almost immediately. This will leave you with a fabulous multi-purpose tubey thing!

'But Smylexx, you delicious and fragrant fishy love machine, whatever shall i do with it?' you may be asking.. well, here are my top suggestions:

1. Pop out the bottom of the tube and peer through it. See? It's an incredible telescope but, unlike normal, boring telescopes, this one doesn't magnify anything and potential causes eye-strain! Amazing!!

2. Put a series of linked tubes together to create an escape tunnel for Prisoner of War Otters who are still trapped in ferocious Nazi Weasel controlled camps in Berlin.

3. Sellotape 6 of them together and place a haddock inside one of the tubes. You now have your very own unique version of Russian Roulette. Take turns to spin the tubes and, if you're very lucky, find the haddock and eat it in one big gulp!

4. put a fluffy cover on the tube and thread some elastic through one end and turn it into a dolphin beak warmer for those frosty mornings on the oceans.

5. Use the tube as a jelly mould. When you have around 8 or 9 tubular jelly shapes, you can fashion them into a jelly Caterpillar...or a jelly tower....or a jelly sausage-link... or a jelly eel or maybe limb transplants for jelly babies with missing arms and shins. Or something.

The Smylex-X-Files

Woo-woowoo-woowoo-woooooo (doobededoobitydoobededoobity-bloop-bloop-bloop-bloop).

Yes, there are many dark and moody bits in my pool. Most of them are in the deep end or situated around the mysterious pebble and cause no end of spooky nervousness as you swim past them.

Some of the smaller fish report of a dark and gloomy castle in the middle of the pool. Tales are told of little salmon venturing inside and never returning! Possibly eaten by werewolves, abducted by space-otters or whisked off into another dimension. I prefer to call the castle 'home' though and my tummy can probably account for most of the 'disappearances'.

I do envy those sexy detectives on the videobox thing though - the ones that run through warehouses with a flashlight, occasionally stopping to flash the beam of light over a jar containing a pickled alien weasel baby hybrid or something. I expect there's nothing more exhilarating than being anally probed by Christopher Walken and some little grey creatures that resemble smurfs with no noses.

Unfortunately my scientist captors seems very dull in comparison and the most dangerous thing they seem to do is dare to eat the eggy sandwiches that Nigel's mum makes for him each Thursday.

I've asked for a pen-torch and a selection of clear plastic evidence bags but so far no one has taken me seriously... Just don't come running to me when your socks have been abducted by Yetis from the Glomph Dimension!

Smylexx Anniversary Holiday Special!

Goodness! has it really been an entire year of blogging? It most certainly has!

Over the past 12 months we've all sat down on Uncle Smylexx's slightly moist knee and discussed many topics including the fabulousness that is cheese, why robots in the future will be entirely gay, the secrets that lay within a kangaroos' pouch and how to test drive a badger.

Over the last year i even started my own religion, introduced new fish to the mysterious pebble (then eaten them) and learned over 2,681 new facts about otters (only 9,571,002 to go).

The next 12 months will, i'm sure, be just as startling and splendiferous and to celebrate this, i stayed up late last night polishing my Dolphin-o-Type 2000 (no, that's not a sexual euphemism, you perves).

One of the salmon who's name was probably Hugh (well, at least, that was the noise he made as i ate him) baked me a fish-cake to celebrate this important anniversary too.

Happy splashing, Kiddies!!

Duck Off!

You know how it is, you've just returned home after a hard day of swimming, leaping through hoops and generally looking super-smug and you're just about to start preparations for your fabulously unmissable dinner party when there's a knock on the door. You open it to find a flock of hungry ducks waiting to come in...but...but... no one invited the ducks!!

Of course you now have a predicament -how to rid yourself of hungry fowl without being rude and resorting to shooting them. We've all been there, haven't we? But with just 37 seconds of intense research, i have come up with a list of ways which will keep your party mallard-free:

1. Advise the ducks that your girlfriend/boyfriend/life-partner/other 'alf is a giant Bengal tiger who is expected home shortly after finishing a shift at the local abattoir. The ducks will probably shuffle uncomfortably for a bit before making an excuse to leave.

2. Welcome the ducks in but casually remind them that you're serving spaghetti. As we all know, ducks don't suck* and therefore find eating pasta to be a real chore. They'll probably stop for a polite aperitif before looking at their watches and leaving for 'another engagement'.

3. Dribble excitedly as you gaze at the ducks and take a long time explaining how the oven works. Invite one of the ducks to step into the oven while occasionally squeezing the others as you wipe drool from your chin. Keep glancing at the ducks and then at a box of Paxo Stuffing then back to the ducks again. The younger ducks will become flustered and within minutes will 'remember that they've left the iron on' and hurry off.

4. Look happy to see the ducks but advise them that, after dinner, all guests will be expected to engage in a whistling contest. As we all know, ducks can't blow and therefore will decline to stay. Ducks hate to lose competitions.

5. Greet the ducks but tell them that tonight's dinner is 'formal attire' only. Ducks own up to 41 pairs of jeans and t-shirts but never buy suits as the jackets tend to shrink and chafe when flapping about on ponds. The ducks may be dejected but will leave politely without fuss.

If all else fails and the ducks still refuse to bugger off, simply fake a brain-implosion and fall over. Allow some drool to spill out as you spasm wildly about a bit on the floor. Some ducks are quite wary of this and so it can take up to 40 minutes of groaning and flinching before they're all thoroughly convinced and eventually go.


*I may put that on a t-shirt.

Yogurt

There i was, swimming casually around in the shallow end of my pool looking beautiful while flicking passing salmon with my tail fin when i overheard one of my pool-cleaners (probably named Colin) discussing his lunch.

Apparently he had a cheese sandwich a small apple and a pot of 'yogurt'.

Having never heard of this mysterious item, i quickly researched it on the Dolphin-O-Type 2000 and it would appear to consist of cultured milk. But how does a person bring culture to milk i wondered. I'm guessing it would consist of the following methods:

Take the milk to a foreign movie. Something pretentious with subtitles all shot in black and white with lots of moody brunettes looking solemn while their perfect-skinned boyfriend discusses the complexities of what it means to be a man in an ever changing world. (Those German films that you watch alone don't count by the way)

Pop to a gallery and introduce the milk to a few paintings. Try and find the paintings surrounded by nerdy student types who are scratching their chins and saying 'hmmm....i think i understand what the artist was trying to say when he used that particular hue of pink'. The paintings found on proud parent's fridges don't count.

Take the milk on holiday to Rome. The two of you can look at the ruins, the architecture and the work of Michelangelo who apparently was an artist as well as being one of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles.

Spend an evening at the opera. For beginners, it's probably best to go for something light and fluffy and avoid the big hitters like Wagner as his operas tend to last for about 27 years by which point your dairy-based product may have curdled by the first intermission.

Does yogurt come in otter and chutney flavour?

Happy New Year!!!

Well, it's 2008 and that means that we're now only a few years away from wearing shiny metallic suits and living in tall spires that overlook cities enclosed in glass domes with holes in the top to allow passing space rockets easy access to our Mars colonies.

By now you human types have probably eaten too much, already failed miserably to uphold your New Years Resolution and found yourself smoking a cigar while indulging in dangerous sexual acts with a tropical mammal while wearing ladies underwear.

It's also that time of year when we take that rubbish present that gran gave you back to the shops and bought something you really wanted such as a beach ball (mine popped on Boxing Day after a particularly fierce bit of rubbing and squeezing), a selection of fresh fish or perhaps an annual pass to your local Otter Sanctuary.

Most importantly, however, it is also the time to reflect on your world and think of the people that you care about most...such as Colin the Pool cleaner or that beardy man that fills up my food bucket with tasty trout each Thursday.

Happy New Year fish and non-fish peeps!