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.

World of Flippin' Warcraft-The Movie!

Since we're on the subject of movies (we were, we really were), it's been announced that spectacular online video game,World of Warcraft, is to be turned into a major film franchise!

This will follow the other successful and highly acclaimed video-game to movie franchises such as:-

Resident Evil - a film full of shambling zombie creatures also known as 'the cast' who manage to terrify you totally with their unbelievably scary acting abilities.

Doom - The Rock (real name Nigel Farquar Pennyworth) as a commando who must go to hell and back to rescue his friends. Unfortunately, the audience also has to go to hell and back for 94 minutes, many of whom even paid for the experience...and yes, we CAN smell what you're cooking, Rockypoos.

Dead Or Alive - a film which has lots of semi clad ladies with very jiggly breasts. Sadly overlooked at the Oscars last year but i cant rate this film highly enough (read the previous sentence again if you need to know why).

Anyway, Warcraft... If you've ever played this game, you'll already know what to expect from the plot. If the film makers are going for accuracy, then it really should go something like this...

The credits will take 6 hours to get through as, during this time, they will be installing all the latest patches.

For the first hour, our hero will spend time killing squirrels and piglets and kobolds ('you take no candle') in order to Level Up enough so he can fight bigger monsters and start his quest. Ding!!

A group of dwarfs will walk past the hero spouting 32 different Chuck Norris jokes.

Our penniless hero will stand still for 20 minutes then will suddenly and mysteriously have 2000 gold pieces in his wallet, a sly look on his face and a slightly dented credit card.

Our hero will see an elf in distress and will rush to help. After defeating the rabid otter cub, the elf will insult the hero and complain that he 'stole his kill' for the next 27 minutes until the hero ignores him.

On the way to the evil sorcerer's castle, our hero will find himself fighting against three bears (sans porridge). After just beating them and while gasping for breath, a level 1 newbie troll will stab our hero in the foot then say 'zug zug zug' which literally translates as 'gankity gank gank gank'.

A female elf will offer to dance naked for the hero while standing on a table. Our hero will clap and then tell a joke about goblins.

The evil sorcerer unleashes his pet at our hero. Narrowly avoiding death, the hero kills the pet and loots the body to find a magical sword. Three dwarfs will complain that it was actually their sword and that the hero should give it to them anyway cos he can't equip it and anyway, they need the money more than he does and that if he doesn't give them the sword, theyre going to tell a member of Blizzard Staff about him and get his accounts closed and and and.....yada yada yada...'

Our hero will feel a gnome brush lightly past his leg during a long ship voyage and will instantly vomit 38 times in a row and then scrub his entire body with bleach until he no longer feels 'unclean'.

Our hero will finally reach the Sorcerer's tower, making his way stealthily to the highest room, he faces the sorcerer at last! He reaches for his magical weapon and....'Blizzard are currently removing this server for downtime repairs. Thank you for your patience and the £14.99 a month. We appreciate it. No really, we do. Cheers!'

The End!

We're there opening night, right?

Corrie

While tinkering away on my waterproof internet connection, i noticed that Hollywood are planning on making a 60's Star Trek movie with an all new shiny cast and sexy special effects!

Apparently the requirement of Scotty is for an actor that can do a 'flawless Scottish accent'... wouldn't this break continuity? I mean, he never had one before, right?

Anyway, since the Movie Business seems preoccupied in making 60's and 70's big-screen events, it's only a matter of time before long running UK soap opera Coronation Street gets the Hollywood treatment.

The pitch, in my opinion, would be something like this....

Voice Over -'In a land that time forgot, a man must stand alone if he is to break out of....The Street!'

Top business man Mike Baldwin (Al Pacino) has moved into the street. His power and natural animal magnetism has ensured that Diedre (Julia Roberts) has been swept away in a tornado of passion. Ken Barlow (Robert Redford), Diedre's husband must fight to win his true love's heart back and put an end to Mike's underhand business tactics.

Meanwhile Jack Duckworth (Kevin Spacey) and his glamourous wife Vera (Jessica Alba) have taken ownership of the local bar. The residents of the street spearheaded by Fred Elliot (Steven Seagal), Norris Cole (Danny DeVito) and Betty Turpin (J-Lo) attempt to stop Jack and Vera from installing a jukebox and disrupting the peace.

Trouble ensues when mysterious stranger, Derek Wilton (Gary Coleman) enters the bar and reveals the secret of 'Betty's Hotpot'.

Directed by David Fincher.

Robots

If we've learned anything from watching sci-fi movies over the years, it's that in the future, we will all have robots and that these robots will, with no uncertainty, be gay.

Take a long hard think about any robots you have seen in films and you will notice that in every single case, the little metal helper will be camper than a row of pink tents.

Not that I'm homo-robo-phobic you understand, I'm simply stating the fact that if two of these robots were left together in a room with a bottle of WD40, the chances are that they'd end up indulging in some hot metal-on-metal action then redecorate the room with throw-pillows and pretty matching curtains.

Personally, I'd love a gay robot. I imagine they'd do a fantastic job of lubing my blow-hole from time to time..... wait, I'll rephrase that... erm.... err.... OK, let's just move on.

C3-PO is undoubtedly never going to be seen drinking directly from a beer-bottle anytime soon and would probably insist on putting a coaster down before ordering a fruity cocktail in any establishment that would serve him.

If the Daleks and K-9 had arms, you could bet your stamp collection that they'd probably have a lovely pink prada handbag swinging from them as they minced into battle.

HAL from 2001 and KITT from Knight Rider were only ever a few seconds away from mentioning that their human male friends' shoes didn't really match their pants and they both reportedly used to complain often about feeling bloated or blaming Hollywood for not making more Wizard of Oz sequels.

The Smash Potato robots.... well, do i even need to try to convince you about them?

The only exception to the rule is Metal Mickey, a forgotten early 80s metal love-machine that had a thing for older women and fizzy bon-bons.

If anyone can inform me of a totally heterosexual robot, please let me know. These are the kind of things that keep me up at night!

August

Wow! It's flippin' August! That means that there's only four months for you to decide what to buy me for Christmas! I'm sure that, as you read this, you're already compiling a huge list of things I'd like and crossing off the things which you know I'd throw back at you and then hiss at you for thirty-seven minutes while splashing you with dirty pool water.

But anyway, it's August and that means FACTS!

Apparently August used to be the 6th month of the year until January and February came along and spoiled everything. March was the first month and that makes perfect sense since i was born in March and all time should really be measured in relation to how close/far we are to my birthday.

The astrological signs for August begin with Leo (named after Leonardo the teenage ninja turtle and occasional sculptor/painter/interior decorator) and Virgo (named after crappy ex-snooker player, John Virgo).

In Finland (the place where i bought my fins), the month is called elokuu which apparently means Month of Reaping. Not to be confused with a month of raping which is not advisable in any way as this often leads to severe chaffing and a court appearance.

It's also Women's Small Business Month so if you're a woman (check now, we'll wait........... ...... ........... OK, you're ready?) and you have a business (check now, we'll wait.........dum de dum.....) and that business happens to be erm...small (check now using a tape measure and a notepad..we'll wait........), then you should really be reading this while blowing out the candle atop a small bun.

This should not be confused with Small Women's Business Month which is celebrated solely by Jeanette Krankie and Smurfette (who happens to run a massage therapy treatment centre near Oslo).

Big Brother is a big pile of poo...discuss.

Whenever i come up for air or to simply show off my leaping-through-hoops ability or to press the 'feed Smy fish' button repeatedly until my human captors arrive with a nice salmon for me, i have to listen to the inane chatter from the scientists and pool cleaners and Cetacean Interior Decorator Specialists as they discuss the horror that is Big Brother.*

"Did you know Chantelle has left the house?"

"I couldn't believe it when Nick took the last apple this morning!"

"The cliche homosexual stereotype one was having a screaming, shrieking, hissy-fit this morning and it was really intense! I thought i might spill my cocoa!"

These and many other sentences are bandied about between my human, flipperless observers.

The entire concept for this 'programme' seems completely rubbish to me and so i have come up with an alternative....

Big Daddy would be a programme in which the only-slightly-dead zombiefied corpse of 'professional' wrestler, Shirley Crabtree (aka Big Daddy, aka The Blonde Adonis, aka Mr Universe) is left in the house with 12 contestants.

The usual array of 'zany'** members of the public would have to try and attempt to stay alive as long as possible as (don't call me) Shirley would attempt to use his trademark Belly Buster moves on them and then devour their brains with a straw and a spork.

Anyone surviving longer than 12 minutes would be awarded the opportunity to allow another dead UK wrestler to come to their aid and fight Shirley off for a bit.

Davina and the crowds would chant 'Easy!! Easy!!' until eventually Big Daddy is left alone in the house surrounded by twitching corpses and a blunted spork.

Who wouldn't watch THAT?

*longest sentence ever.

** See also 'irritating' and 'ridiculous' and 'wastes of space'.

Wombles!

For anyone taking a trip to London for the first time, a must-see tourist spot is Wimbledon Common.

Personally, i try to avoid anything common but on this occasion, even i am intrigued for this is the stomping ground of The Wombles.

In the 1970s, The Wombles were well known for tidying up the surrounding area, making 'good use of the things that they found' and being generally rather nice but once the cameras stopped rolling and the BBC documentary team went home for the final time (somewhere around 1975), these lovable furry creatures sort of fell off the radar.

'Whatever happened to them Smy, you deliciously lickable creature?' I hear you ask. Well, using the power of the interweb, i have discovered the truth. Read on:

Great Uncle Bulgaria: Personally, i never really saw what was so 'great' about him. I'd say he was 'above average' at best. But after the final curtain fell on him, he fell into alcoholism, often found near bottle-banks, licking the insides of empty wine bottles and draining the last remnants of cider into a paper cup and shaking his fist angrily at squirrels.

Tobemory: In the series, his skills as an inventor and handyman were unsurpassed but once the limelight was stolen from him, he found it difficult to get a patent for his inventions which included the Breville Badger Toaster - 'ideal for stripey late night snacks' and his Otter-Away-Spray which was, quite simply, a ridiculous thing to invent.

Bungo: Known for being rather bossy, it turned out that he was struggling with an inner desire to be a lady. After a slightly dodgy bit of surgery from Tobemory and his 'Winky-Goodbye-Slice-O-Matic' gadget, Bungo is now known as Bungolina and lives in Wales.

Tomsk: In the show, it appeared that Tomsk was simply super-fit. Very energetic and full of beans. Turned out that he was simply injecting Cocaine directly into his eyeballs each morning. Tomsk was found selling 'furry-hand-specials' and 'snuffle-jobs' to sailors to pay for his habit in the 1990s and subsequently went on to appear in hardcore videos which can still be found on eBay if you look hard enough.

Madame Cholet: Seen making intriguing meals for the others during the 70s show but her love of unique dishes went one step too far and she was arrested in 1991 for attempted cannibalism. Mme. Cholet is the author of three best selling cookbooks and has shares in the KFC (Knightsbridge Fried Cockroach) Chain.

Orinoco: Often touted as being 'the rather dim one' in the group, Orinoco was declared 'mentally challenged' in 1987 but this did not stop him from winning three chess matches against Bobby Fischer in 1979 or inventing the Pop Tart. Currently Orinoco is serving time in the London Prison for Rodents for exposing himself to three Japanese schoolgirls. He is up for appeal in 2013.

Floods!!

As anyone not stuck in a cave, a plastic tupperware box, or a glass specimen jar on a giant's shelf knows, it's been raining a lot in the UK recently.

I really don't see what the fuss is all about. Surely all this water makes it easier for you all to swim to the shops using your fins and gills and splashy flippe.....oh, wait, i forgot.

Yes, i can see it might be a bit troublesome for those people without webbed toes (the residents of Kippax* are OK then). But Let's not complain too much, right? We should be making the most of this valuable opportunity!

OK, so your slippers might not dry for the next three weeks but think about it, you could have your very own family of ducks in your living room. Think of the excitement as you try to turn the TV channel only to find that Colin the Mallard has eaten the remote control and is quacking with happiness as he forces you to endure another hour of The Ricki Lake Show (ducks love anything with 'lakes' in).

Make little inflatable lifevests and a raft for the cat and push it around the dining room until it gets a bit stroppy.

Pretend your kitchen is the galley of a sinking pirate ship. Make the family dress up and force them to say 'Garrrhhhh!' and 'that it be' instead of 'yes it is'. Drink rum and eat dry crackers and make a hook out of tinfoil and a baguette.

Fish! Cast a line out from the bedroom window and see what you can catch from what used to be your garden.

Lure a family of otters into your home using the aforementioned line with a sausage on the end. Otters love sausage.

*a rather inbred village in the North of England. Think 'The Wicker Man' but without electricity or rational thoughts.

Dracula!

So after a hard night of sucking and flapping about, it's back to the castle...but enough about me, let's talk about Dracula.

Surely he doesn't just drink blood then slink back to the coffin, right? I mean, it's never a good idea to sleep on a full stomach. All those calories swimming about will go straight to the wings so what is there for an evil abomination of the after-life to do during those early hours before sunrise?

Here are just a few suggestions to consider for everyones favourite man-of-a-certain-age:

Laundry - Sure, you may only have one suit, the one you were buried in, but it's bound to get a bit 'foisty' after the first hundred years. Plus moths aren't picky. Time to pop that cape in the Hotpoint with as much Bounce Conditioner as you can lay your sharp little fingers on.

Send Emails - You might be a party animal at night but not everyone works on the same shift-pattern as you. Time to let Frankenstein know about that Science Museum exhibition or send the Wolfman handy hair-grooming tips that you found on Wikipedia. Alternatively, you can forward those Viagra junk mails to the Mummy. He hasn't 'had it' in years.

Make a nice quiche - they can keep for up to three days in a tupperware container and you never know when those lovely buxom wenches from the tavern down the road might pop 'round for an after-hours snack.

Start a photo album for otter pictures - Everyone has one and they're just great. Mine is laminated for obvious reasons.

Watch anything with Christopher Walken in it - you know, for tips on how to be REALLY scary.

Decorate - it's not like you have any neighbours is it? So fire up the drill, let loose with the Phillips Screwdriver and let's get busy with some nice throw pillows and matching curtains. Beige is very non-threatening and pastilles are all the rage in Tuscany.

Watch those late night phone-in quiz programmes -Hey, you ARE the undead and probably totally devoid of emotion. You'll find you have so much in common with most of the hosts of the shows! Quick start speed-dialing that premium rate number right now!

Calculate the amount of hard cash you could earn from the tooth fairy - they don't have to be just YOUR teeth under the pillow, right?

Tanning Butter!

We're all going on a....summer holiday.

Well, that's what Sir Cliff said and, let's face it, he'd know (he's related to God, doncha' know?).

Each year, quite literally zillions of people flock to the beach to bake in the sun and turn a shade of brown that resembles toasted bagels. At least that's the plan. As a dolphin, i have watched with interest from the comfort of the ocean (wearing factor 15 waterproof Ambré Solaire) as Britain's attempt to catch as much of the sun's attention as possible by wearing nothing more than dental floss and spreading themselves liberally over a Union Flag beach towel.

Unfortunately, the British public fail to realise that most of them simply aren't designed for warm climates. After a few torturous days, most of them have turned the colour of lobster thermadore, are complaining of blisters and severe dribblyness from their nether regions and can only manage to eat Jacobs Cream Crackers for the rest of the holiday.

Most of the British people i know are scientists and therefore 'geeks'. They assure me that their natural colour is a light shade of blue and the closest most of them get to daylight is to answer the door for Mr Postman as he delivers yet another video game or a new shiny nerdy object.

Personally i quite like being grey. It's a neutral colour- easy to match with and its also quite slimming.

Bumble Bees

Jumper wearing bullies of the insect world or simply misunderstood fluffy little miniature bear-cubs with gossamer wings and happy honey purses?

According to scientists, bumble-bees should not be able to fly. It confounds them. The body weight to wing fluttery speed lift off potential something-or-other is all out of whack.

However, i CAN confirm that these darlings of the flowerbed neighborhood are,in fact, powered not by their beautifully constructed wingloids but by tiny motor boat engines concealed neatly beneath their fluffy yellow and black stripey sweaters.

Because insects get up really early in the morning (in order to get all their tasks done before Jeremy Kyle starts at 9.25), no 'human beans' are around to see them frantically tugging their rip-cords to get the motors started each morning. The distinctive 'idle' put-put-put noise is a dead giveaway which is why you rarely see them ever stopping for a rest or taking a stroll.

After Jeremy Kyle has finished, all the bees get naked and have a huge bee orgy in the honey they've collected while their jumpers spin around and around in the hive washing-machine (on a low temperature, obviously).

Wasps, on the other hand, are just gits.

July!

Goodness! You know what? It IS July! That's right!! Turn to the cover of your Take A Break Weekly magazine and look next to that over-inflated price and you'll see it confirmed! Ace, isn't it?

As always, my little flipperless chums, I will try to enliven your world with factoids about the month which are so fascinating, your head may actually become detached from your neck. So, with neck-glue at the ready, let's delve....


July was named after Julius Cesar. For those that don't watch the history channel, Julius Cesar (or JayCee if you know him as well as i do) is the name of the man that fitted my pool filter last Wednesday. Nice chap. Tends to shout a bit. Smells like teen spirit.

Luckily for July (and for us) they didn't use Julius' middle name or we might be stuck with calendars with 'Nigel' written on them for a whole 31 days a year.

In Finalnd the month is called heinäkuu, meaning "month of grass". I had a month of grass once. Cant really remember much about it but i did get through 164 packets of Cheezy Wotsits and 77 Curly-Wurlys and i found myself uncontrollably giggling for up to 17 hours a day.

Canadians have 'Canada Day' on the first of the month. This replaced the slightly less successful 'Bulgarian Day' which only 12 Canadians bothered to celebrate by setting fire to a Bulgarian in a ceremonial way.

Pretty sure Americans also celebrate something on the 4th of the month but i can't remember what it is. Is it 'Microsoft Day'? Maybe it's 'Summer Blockbuster Day' or perhaps it's Ronald McDonald's birthday or something.

Moving Home

Obviously as a dolphin stationed at the Government Facility for Smart Arsed Fish, i don't ever have to worry about moving home. The only time I've left the pool in the last year or so was a short trip to the vets where i had a case of flipper-rot examined.

Turned out, it wasn't flipper-rot, it was just a mushed up Creme Egg stuck to me...but anyway, that's a whole other story.

For those people contemplating moving, i don't think you can underestimate how important it is to make sure that the house is completely free of ghosts and goblins before making the purchase.

Always ask yourself the following questions when entering the new property:

Did it suddenly drop 24 degrees in here?

Why did i feel a sense of dread when i opened the cupboard in the cellar?

How come there's rope hanging over that roof-beam?

Should it REALLY be seeping red oozing gloop through the wall in the dining room?

Is hearing the words "Whooooooooooooo...die mortal! DIE or Join Ussssss!!" when entering the completely empty bedroom a GOOD thing?

Also it's also worth asking the previous occupants if they often perform black magic, satanic rituals, tupperware parties, that sort of thing. May also be wise to question if the house was built on top of ancient Indian burial grounds, next to a cemetery for dead kittens, on intersecting lay-lines, next to Ozzy Osbourne.

If buying a farm, it's probably worth asking if a crop ever failed and if the farmers ever made a pact with a demon in order to bring a plentiful harvest which included burning a virgin, strangling a duck, being generally unpleasant to a family of otters... the usual stuff.

By using these simple tips, you should be free of ever waking up next to headless half-goat thing, sharing breakfast with a sobbing jilted corpse in a wedding dress or finding that your slippers have been eaten by a demonic monkey-frog-weasel thing.

Happy House Hunting!

Mr Men

Some of the best stories for children somehow seem out of date in the ever-changing world of today. Roger Hargreaves' Mr Men books are a prime example. If they were written today they'd have to be updated. To help Roger out, I've started off with a few ideas...

Mr Tickle: Once again Mr Tickles amazingly long arms have landed him in trouble. This time, a slight altercation near the ladies changing rooms in a department store have ensured him a restraining order from Little Miss Chatterbox after she blabbed to the police about where she found his hands.

Mr Bump: Accident prone or simply a workshy layabout claiming disability grants from the government? Only Mr Nosey knows for sure as a keen government agent ready to prove that Mr Bump can lift his litter bins unaided.

Mr Greedy: Obesity is no joke, kids. In this touching tale, we discover exactly why Mr Greedy can't stop eating and also why he spends his waking hours watching repeats of Jeremy Kyle Shows and cries into his pillow every evening.

Mr Impossible: Solves every problem in the Middle East using just a Curly Wurly and a packet of Chewits.

Mr Sneeze: Every day is fun fun fun for Mr Sneeze. Hilarity ensues as he sneezes at inappropriate moments throughout the day. However, his joy turns to tears when he discovers that his sneezing is a symptom of AIDS. The bad AIDS too! (He also doesn't appear to have any arms. You're a sick, sick man Mr Hargreaves).

Whale Songs

Let's get one thing absolutely straight.. Whales can NOT sing!

Oh, it might sound all enigmatic and mysterious to YOU, but to other sea-life the sound resembles the noise icelandic nutjob, Bjork, would make if she got out of bed, trod barefoot onto a three-pin plug and fell over catching her eyeball on the edge of a bookcase as she tumbled to the floor.

Whales only ever sing country and western songs and, more often than not, they forget the words so most of the songs go a bit like 'Jolene, Jolene, Jolene, Jolee-ee-eene...i'm begging of you please dont eat mahhh spam' or 'Iiiii-eeee-iiiiiiii willlll alllllways glug juiiiiice".

It's sickening.

You never hear of dolphin songs sounding cool, do you? It's really not fair. I have a lovely singing voice. All the little fish admire it. Of course, the little fish are also slightly intimidated by me so maybe they're just being agreeable so i don't eat them.

No, it's always flippin' whales. Whenever new-age hippy parents want to give birth to their baby named Topaz, Chlamydia (lydia for short) or Leafy-Woodmouse down at the local swimming baths, it's always moody, mysterious whale songs they choose to listen to in order to drown out the noise of the Hippy Mother screaming "Gassss!! Gimme Gasssss!".

Even in films, whales get to be cool. In Star Trek IV: The Quest For More Money, it's whales they go back in time for. Of course, the fat, hairless, blubbery beast has to leave the Starship Enterprise pretty quickly before someone mistakes it for Captain Kirk...but that's another story.

Thankfully Whales are yet to appear on Pop-Idol and X-Factor...unless we count Rick Waller...which we don't, right?

Harry Otter and the Cradle of Filth

In my spare time between leaping majestically through hoops, eating fish, splashing less important fish and completing the Times Crossword, I like to write books. Many of my books share a common theme but this is just a coincidence. I am NOT obsessed with otters.

Anyway, here is an extract from my latest book:

Page 208

Harry looked tired. His tiny ottery hands had been rubbing his wand most of the evening and he was all sore and in need of sleep. Harry adjusted his glasses which had slipped down his nose and began to concentrate on the task at hand.

Just then, there was a knock at the door. Before Harry had a chance to open it, Ron Weasel burst into the room swiftly followed by Her-Heiny, a young hairless beaver who lived in the girls dorm-room. Both of them gasped as they caught Harry rubbing his wand frantically.


'Goodness!' Said Ron Weasel.

'Wow! You're wand looks much bigger than the last time i saw it.' Said Her-Heiny.

'Thanks', Said Harry 'I was thinking of you while i rubbed it. I'm pretty sure i was close to experiencing true magic just before you came in'.

Ron Weasel muttered something about his wand being even bigger but no one paid any attention.


Harry pushed his glasses back up once more and secretly wished that his ears were in a better place on his head.
'Anyway,' Said Harry 'I must be left alone to concentrate or i'll never be able to finish off. I'm pretty sure i'd have already experienced magic if only i could find my Sorting Hat.Has anyone seen it?'


Ron Weasel had sold Harry's Sorting Hat on e-bay two weeks ago and had spent the money on sherbert. He kept quiet but remembered the last words of the Sorting Hat before he muffled it with bubble-wrap "IP3 4SO ? Off to Ipswich i must Go? MMmmmmffffff!!"

Sea Cows!

Find me and follow me through reserviors, laboratories and files
You must follow me, leave this fish-a-delic factory
You will find me in the manatee
The dark of the manatee
It's better in the manatee
The dark of the manatee is Smys
Yes it's Smys

June!!

Is it really June? So soon? Apparently it is and as a dolphin with his flipper on the pulse, I have made it my mission to bring you many June related factoids as is dolphinly possible.

Amazingly, no other month starts on the same day as June. Go on, check, you'll see. I'll wait....


....



....

Back? See? Told you, didn't i? Amazing isn't it?

According to Weird Al Yankovic, Weasel Stomping Day takes place in June. Despite some people saying that this is a made-up event, i refuse to accept that and have already purchased a golden weasel stomper in preparation.

June is named after the actress June Whitfield. Her constellation is beside TerryScottius Major, below the Great Otter and to the right of Flora the Margarine.

June's astrological sign is Gemini, the twins. I saw a video with twins in once. It was ACE!

Garfield, the lazy, lasagna loving, slightly 80's cat celebrates his birthday on June 19th as does totally bonkers, but highly electable MP Boris Johnson, one-trick-pony actress, Mavis from Coronation Street and Ben Andrews, a gay porn star. Happy Birthday Ben. Some Anusol Gel and a bottle of mouthwash are on their way...

The Sims - The Movie

There i was, casually flippering my Dolphin-O-Type 2000 for the latest news about fish-fingers when it was brought to my attention that Hollywood are making a big budget film of the popular PC game, The Sims!

For those that have never played it, and therefore probably live in a cave and smell of stale cabbages, The Sims is a game in which you play at families. Its a dolls house on your computer which allows you to 'create' your own story while ensuring your sim-peeps eat, drink, sleep and watch TV from time to time in order to stay sane and healthy.

All the makings of a blockbuster then, right?

So, just in case Hollywood change their mind(s), here are a few other game- movie ideas which would be potentially even MORE exciting than watching The Sims movie:

1. Ms. Pac Man * - The Movie: In which Jessica Alba plays the title role of a young yellow spherical girl who is new at her preppy high school. During this tragic tale, she finds herself getting addicted to 'power pills', binge eats and hallucinates about dead spirits chasing her. Directed by Mike Leigh.

2. Mario Kart- The Chronicles of Wario: Think 2 Fast 2 Furious, now replace Vin Diesel with a small turtle and change the setting from underground racing to brightly coloured islands where crabs throw fish at you as you drive by. See? See? Directed by Michael Bay.

3. Leisure Suit Larry- The Musical: Tom 'definitely-not-gay' Cruise plays the much misunderstood Larry, every one's second favourite comedy sex-pest after Quagmire in Family Guy. A rollercoaster of fun ensues as Larry has lots of casual relationships with mostly willing females. Paul Verhoeven directs.

4. Tekken Tag Tournament -Episode IV A New Hope: Sean Connery IS Heihachi Mishima. Ok, that's actually the only reason i included this one. Directed by Alan Bennet.

5. Monkey Island Trilogy: This would be ACE! It would have a young blond pirate wannabe in it, a love interest who would be from noble blood, a ghostly evil pirate villain who would look like he's decomposing, comedy swaggering pirates, lots of grog and sword fights, a voodoo priestess who lives in a swamp and surrounds herself with jars full of icky stuff like you'd find in teenage girls' bedrooms, stirring music, a curse of some sort and a comedy dog with keys in its mouth.

Oh, and it would be a trilogy.

I think this would be the perfect project for someone like....oooh, Johnny Depp? Gore Verbinski could direct it perhaps...Hollywood, are you listening? This would be ace!! Make it now!

Failing that, i'm still waiting for Etch-A-Sketch or a My Little Pony film. David Fincher could direct that.


*Not to be confused with Ms Premenstrual Pac Man in which the ghosts chase her for a bit until she snaps and kills them all with a spoon.

Aaaaargh!!

Word up kids!

You know, I'm not one for complaining. Ask the little trouts that moved in a few weeks ago. They decided to have an all night rave with the glowy-jellyfish, damaged my beach ball and disturbed the mysterious pebble and i didn't say a word.

I couldn't, my mouth was full of trout.

Anyway, something today made me all irritable and throw a slightly psychotic hissy-fit. At least three of my human captors were splashed with dirty pool water and i refused to leap magnificently through my hoop more than 27 times today.

While surfing the interweb it came to my attention that the play-that-became-a-film, One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest is being transported once again to the stage.

Now, so far, two people have played the part of R.P. Mac Murphy; Michael Douglas and Jack Nicholson. Both of these actors are magnificent, intense and could, if given the opportunity (otter-tunity) could probably play just about anything! They have such intensity and inner-strength and erm...stuff.

So it made my flippers tingle with upsetness when it was brought to my attention the name of the actor chosen to play this part in the West End.

Would it be Daniel Craig? Proving himself to be a deep and brooding actor in his latest Bond film, it would be an obvious choice... but no!

Perhaps it would be Gary Oldman, an actor versatile enough to bring both a manic edge and depth to his character? No, no.

The obvious choice, it would appear, is.....

Shane Ritchie!!!!!

I'd say it again but it makes me blow big upset bubbles from my blowhole. Sh**e Rich-tea!! I can't believe my flippers! I mean, is it just me or isn't he....crap?