Tag: fish

Police Chase Through the Zoo

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What in the fuck. Is that.

Some readers have asked me to expand slightly on an incident I alluded to in a previous post. I didn’t really want to bring the whole thing up again. But yes, there was a police chase, yes, it was through a zoo, yes, I ruined a small child’s birthday party, but in fairness I did return the platypus. No big deal, let’s not dwell.

But you know, during those dark hours holed up in the Aquarium, I spent my time thinking about the sea and lakes and rivers, and all the stuff that’s in them. And how damn ugly most of it is.

I mean, think about a seahorse. At first glance you might say it’s cute, like a bony horse’s head with no body, and little wings and a curly tail… but wait, that’s not cute, that’s something out of a horror flick! Bodyless floating horse skeletons? I don’t wish to swim about with that, thank you very much. Everything that lives underwater is weird and is dangerous. Jellyfish, sea urchins, electric eels, lobster thermidors – these are scary creatures that would happily slice, sting or zap you to death if they had a chance.

You don’t find this sort of ugliness on land. For instance, puppies, sheep and hedgehogs are cuddly and fluffy, and don’t squirt you in the face with ink when you lick them. Nature has decreed that all the gross stuff lives underwater where it can’t offend our eyes, and all the cute stuff stays on terra firma. Nothing should mess with that. And what happens if these two worlds dare to collide? You end up with a PLATYPUS. I mean, what the fuck is up with that thing?

So that’s why I needed a platypus – to make a point. I just hope the jury sees it my way.


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And You Think You’re Having a Bad Day

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Next life, he's coming back as a fish dick.

You think you’re having a bad day? Maybe you got to work hoping for a peaceful day surfing the internet, but your boss slapped a pile of work on your desk that will last you until retirement.

Worse than that? Maybe your Aunt Lucy’s life support machine was switched off by mistake. Before she’d changed her Will to leave you a million bucks. That’s bad.

Worse still? You ran over Aunt Lucy’s cat, got fired from your job for spending all day surfing the internet, then got hit by a truck and are now hooked up to life support. That’s pretty bad.

But it could be worse. You could be Sam the Catfish. This is his lousy day story.

I’m watching a TV documentary about some dicks going fishing in a lake in Brazil. These two idiots are chucking in their line or whatever the angling term is, when one of them gets a bite. He excitedly yanks out the line to reveal a wriggling, angry catfish! I’ll call him Sam. I’m not sure if his name really is Sam, but it seems like a good name for a catfish. Anyway, poor Sam is struggling on the line. A bad day for a fish, you think. But get this – half of Sam’s body is missing! The lake is full of fuckin’ piranhas, and Sam’s the lunchtime sushi special!

“Oh dear,” chuckles one of the fishing dicks. “Looks like our supper’s already half eaten!” Poor Sam is half the fish he was this morning, and these guys think it’s funny! But at least Sam has escaped the piranhas…

“Thank goodness!” thinks Sam. “I’ve been rescued from that vicious mob of fish! There is a God after all… ohhhh… uhhhh… where am I…can’t breathe… no… water… oh no… fish dicks!!!”
Not only is Sam suffocating to death, he is also about to get his head smashed in and served for supper. His bad day can’t get any worse, can it?

“Oh, this fish is no good,” dick one says.
“You’re right. Better release the poor fella,” dick two suggests.
Good idea chaps! Throw Sam BACK into the water!
“Fuck.” thinks Sam.

That is what you call having a bad day.


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Eat Is Murder

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Nice Fishy

Are fish vegetables? Or am I a big hypocrite?

I used to be a vegetarian. I was fourteen and needed to piss off my parents. So I took the advice of my hero Morrissey, jumped on the ‘Meat Is Murder’ bandwagon and abandoned burgers. My mother estimated my latest teenage fad would last about a week.

Six years on my veggie convictions were still going strong. I’d tuck into my tofu stew and complain loudly about the dead flesh my dinner companions were shoveling into their faces. I didn’t get invited to many dinner parties.

Fish Sticks
One evening as I was sitting at a beachside grill, a waiter brought out a massive plate of barbequed fish. The sweet, delicate smell wafted to my table. Suddenly my plate of soggy lentils and green stuff lost its appeal. I began pining for the taste of juicy barbequed prawns, fluffy salmon steak and salty mussels. Hell, even fish sticks would do.

I was determined not to give in to my secret craving. But my resolve crumbled at a wedding buffet. I found myself loitering by a plate of shimmering pink smoked salmon. No-one would notice if I just tasted a tiny flake. The fish was dead and too sliced up to save. So I ate some. Nothing bad happened. I wasn’t struck by lightening. Morrissey didn’t appear and slap my salmon-filled face. The Earth didn’t explode because Tiggy nibbled one little fishy.

Slug Assassin
Now the world was literally my oyster. Sushi for breakfast, tuna for lunch and prawn curry for supper. The world’s fish stocks were beginning to dwindle.

How could I justify my fish fanaticism? Using my own special logic, I figured that even being vegetarian had its environmental downside. How many slugs had been ruthlessly murdered in order to produce those vegetables? Carrots were living things too, but I was happy to rip them out the ground and devour them.

Anyway, fish are stupid. They’d only get eaten by other fish. If there was such a thing as reincarnation, I was simply helping them up the chain by eating them. Next time they might come back as a chicken and they’d thank me for it. A succulent, tender chicken. Mmmm.


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