Sunday, 27 October 2013
On the recently published list of "8 animal hybrids that could break the internet", the top picture featured was a Sloth + Otter combination aptly, if somewhat worryingly, called a Slotter, and would look like this:
This led to a rather disturbing conversation between myself and my vegetarian girlfriend.
Me: Slotters! Our babies will be so cute and perfect and will apparently break the internet!
Sloth: That IS adorable.
Me: But what would they eat?
Me: (glazing over) I imagine that the Slotters would hunt in large packs. Hundreds of them hunting a single whale, hugging it to death while it sinks into the abyss because of the extra weight, and then they'd nibble on its delicious blubbery carcass, feasting for days and singing of their triumphs.
Sloth: Eww, no. They'll eat seaweed.
Sloth. (sternly) Seaweed!
Me: (whining) But honey, they want to drown whales!
Sloth: (stern look)
Me: Fine, fine. Seaweed. What about a nice diet of seaweeds and crabs?
Sloth: No crabs.
Me: Why the hell not? Crabs are tasty.
Sloth: Because they have eyes... and plans for the future.
Me: (gaping in horror) Oh. Oh god. I never thought of it like that. Fuuuuuuuuuuuck....why would you phrase it like that?
There was a brief pause.
Sloth: (innocently) So, seaweed?
Me: (broken) Seaweed. *sniff*
Thursday, 24 October 2013
Greetings, sweet otterlings! I realise it has been a very long time since I posted anything - please accept whiskery internet kisses as consolation for my absence. I was in Poland during the latter half of September with my Sloth, which managed to be both a fantastic holiday and a truly exhilarating ride through the magical world of Conversations With Your Partner's Non English Speaking Parents. As previously noted in this blog, I had learned some of the most important words beforehand (such as 'yes', 'no', 'please', 'thank you', 'beef', 'kitten', 'now', 'is possible', 'is not possible', 'small potato') so I believe I did manage to get by without incident. Sloth's parents appeared to approve of me, so I achieved my goal, and will ignore that this was in all likelihood due to the fact that they couldn't understand 98% of what I said. Challenge accomplished.
Lately I've been rather busy with other things - I have a new story appearing in an anthology by Dreamscape Press (link coming shortly) which is available on Amazon US, and of course, playing Mass Effect 3 for the first time.
This has not been an easy journey. Mass Effect 3 has sucked me in, masticated me like a piece of week-old pork and spat me out on the floor, a shell of the person I once was. Okay, perhaps that's a slight exaggeration, but I'm not kidding when I say I've become rather involved. Sloth has become quite involved as well, but then since she's been reading/browsing the internets beside me while I play, and has had to listen to a constant stream of my rants, my giggles and my detailed explanations of what's going on, I can't really see how she could have avoided it (short of going all David Blaine In A Box). A typical conversation follows:
(Me: (button mashing furiously) Come on. Come on!
Sloth: (peering at TV with interest) Why is that guy just standing there?
Me: (still mashing) Because he's a dick. Seriously, James, we're in the middle of a gunfight. Start shooting people in the head. Please.
Sloth: What's happening now?
Me: Um, well I'm pissed because I needed an Asari artefact to complete my Prothean device, because otherwise I couldn't defeat the Reapers, so I went to this planet to get it but this assassin guy just stole it from me. Which is kind of annoying. As I'm sure you understand.
Sloth: I'm really glad I paid attention previously, because otherwise I wouldn't have followed a word of that.
Me: Well, that's the kind of horrible but beautiful thing love does to you. I SWEAR TO GOD, JAMES, IF YOU DON'T SHOOT SOMEBODY IN THE NEXT TEN SECONDS I'M NOT BRINGING YOU ON THE NEXT MISSION.
Sloth: You should have brought Garrus. I'm just saying.
Me: Yeah, I know... I'm going to go look at my fish now. My fish don't judge me and they don't get stuck in corners when I'm being fired on by Marauders. (crooning) Fiiiiiiiish. I love you, fish.