A Tale Of Two Otter Blogs

Before I even begin this post properly, I'd like to note that the Cublet followed my previous blog post with a text asking if we could make a TV show called 'Pimp My Cane'. My friends are wonderful, if slightly unhinged, people, and I really do adore them all.

Now, onto some serious stuff! I have had my second story accepted onto Ether Books - the first, if you recall, was  'Hook and Line' which also sneaked onto an ebook by Raging Aardvark (which should in fact be published shortly on Smashwords as a free download, which I will shamelessly cajole/bribe/blackmail my friends/readers/random pedestrians into downloading) - and the new one is called 'Locks'. It's slightly more of a horror story, but in a more traditional way than 'Hook and Line' was. You can only get the Ether Books application on ipods and iphones at the moment, but there is some talk of branching out into Android at some point this year.

I'd be grateful for that move since I am attached (read: fused by the fingers) to my HTC, but I know some of my readers are rich enough to afford such exotic luxuries as iphones - mostly because I like to check the blog statistics to see what kind of operating system my readers are using, and how they found me (note to people who stumbled upon this blog by Googling phrases such as "penis tortoise" or "hot Irish women" - I apologise that I presumably did not provide the satisfaction you sought, and can only hope that you were at least faintly amused while you were here). So please do check out my stories here at http://www.etherbooks.com/EtherContent.aspx and you will receive many, many otterkisses if we ever meet.

I've also been contemplating something else; another blog. Woah, I hear you cry, in oddly harmonious unison. Woah there, little Otternator! You've got a day job and a day blog and you already don't sleep nearly as much as you should, which admittedly still isn't giving you the wrinkles you require to venture out into town ID-less, but we think Moar Life and possibly Moar Sun could help with that. Anyway. Is this wise? And to you, I'd say...well, probably not. But when have I ever chosen the wise option? I thought perhaps it could be another twitfic or perhaps even flash fiction site, but with the difference that I'd handpick the pieces myself. I already have an excellent name in mind - Does Your Mother Have Ninjas? - chosen from the excellent Pride and Prejudice and Zombies. What say you, readers?

A Penis Tortoise Is Worth A Thousand Words

Since the public approval for the Penis Tortoise (I swear I can't help but giggle to myself every time I type that, and I've typed it a lot this past month) was so great, I thought I'd share some other pictures with you, dear sweet audience. You guys are awesome. No, really. You're all SHINY AND STUFF and I'm all like WOAH. What's that? Laying it on thick? I've never heard the expression. I'm quite sure I don't know what you're talking about.

Anyway, the love for the Penis Tortoise is so massive - so enormously girthy, in fact - that I'm considering trying to make a banner from it for the heading of this page. I can just picture the day my mother masters the internet and with some excitement finds the blog her daughter talks about. She'll click the hyperlink (by then she will know what it is and perhaps, oh giddy dreams, even know how to make one in a Word document), her eyes lingering hopefully over the loading bar, and then suddenly its all OH GOD WHAT IS THAT and WHY DOES MY ONLY CHILD HAVE A PICTURE OF A TORTOISE THAT LOOKS EXACTLY LIKE A PENIS ON HER WEBPAGE and so on and so forth. I dread the day that happens. I dread having to answer that something deep inside me simply finds immense hilarity in the Penis Tortoise. It is something in my soul that I cannot explain through the use of mere language, nor even of interpretive dance. (I actually shudder to think what a Penis Tortoise interpretive dance would even look like, and do not encourage you to close your eyes and imagine it as I have just done.)
I suspect this day may come sooner than I think. She does have access to neighbours who are much more modern and very helpful. Let us not dwell on this, however. I promise a full and in depth post if such an occasion ever occurs.

Since we are already on the subject of genitalia, and it seems like we are on this particular subject a lot at the moment but I'm going with it, I'd like to introduce to you to two photos I took in Oxford which never fail to make me laugh.

"What shall we name this street?" 

"Let's have a drink first and THEN we'll worry about that."  

"...Good plan."

Enter with care and tenderness. Don't just go barging in there like you own the place. 

In conclusion, this was our attempt at balloon dinosaurs, which were purchased as a birthday gift by someone lovely who had no idea that I am actually quite afraid of balloons, which I might add is a perfectly valid fear for a half-grown woman/full grown otter to have. Yes, I know the worst thing that can happen is that it will pop and make a small noise, but I can't convince my survival instincts. I find it odd that a body which can barely pull itself together long enough to master walking up a flight of stairs without falling over somehow manages to have the reaction speed of a cobra when balloons are around.

Now, I say "our" attempt, but I mostly watched from a safe distance and supervised - which is as we all know my best position during teamwork. Bonus points if you can actually name any of the dinosaurs we made. You will receive special otter points for making up ridiculous but referential dinosaur names.