He was a good fish.

Bit of a risqué one today, folks. In the picture, you can see one of the animal’s man parts. If you are easily offended by animal man parts, I suggest you close your eyes when you get to the picture. Here we go -

Old Man Peterson looked into Young Man Peterson’s eyes.

“You need to get out of here, son. He’ll be back for me any time now.” Old Man Peterson’s voice cracked as dehydration took its toll on his vocal chords.

“Dad, we don’t live in the wild west. Look, Dancing on Ice is on! They didn’t have Dancing on Ice in the wild west, they just had horses and guns and Will Smith!” Young Man Peterson was getting tired of having to do this every night. He held his father down in efforts to stop him running about and smashing all the lamps in a drunken haze. “You need to calm down, Dad. There’s nobody coming for you.”

It had been going on ever since their pet goldfish had died. Old Man had taken to drink to try and get over the pain, and kept coming home thinking he was a cowboy outlaw. Or something like that.  Either way, they had missed all of the last month’s Hollyoaks, which was really upsetting for everyone, and the health problems that a small old meerkat could acquire by going through a bottle of gin every day didn’t really bare thinking about.

“We all miss him, Dad, we all do. But he’s not coming back. He’s dead, and you have to accept it. He was a good fish, but we all knew the risks of getting a goldfish in the desert. It’s not their natural habitat. It was never going to be easy.” Tears welled in Young Man’s eyes.

A brief moment of sobriety passed over Old Man. “I’m… sorry, son. I… I just miss him so much. I’m so sorry. Please… help me.”

And so they decided to get a dog, and Old Man Peterson was sober until the end of his days (which came sooner than usual thanks to massive liver damage). He was happy, though, so it’s sort of a happy ending.

Many thanks to Tim, unfortunately I have no idea where he got it from. – UPDATE – He got it from The Sun (newspaper site place), no link provided.

Ice Cream Indecision.

They had been walking for what felt like many days across the grassy plains of Grassy Plains Land, the world’s most grassy theme park. Hector was exhausted, and his brother, Donatello, had been carrying him for the last few hours.

The pair had managed to get separated from their friends whilst considering whether it would be best to buy ice cream before or after they went on the park’s most famous attraction, “The Lawn Mower”. Upon turning around (having decided that they shouldn’t have ice cream at all because they were on a diet to impress the “laydees”) their friends were gone. Hector and Donatello panicked, running about wildly with their eyes shut, flailing their arms as they went, punching policemen, pushing old ladies over. It was carnage.

Awakening in a daze from their fear-born insanity, the brothers found themselves in their grassy predicament.

If the story had ended here, its moral would be as follows:

“Do not faff about when deciding whether or not to have ice cream. If you want some, just get some. Otherwise your friends will leave you to wander an endless grassy field until the end of your days.”

Luckily the story does not end here, as that moral is not particularly enlightening.

The brothers eventually found themselves back at the “The Lawn Mower”. The brief sense of relief that they felt was quickly followed by horror as they looked upon the damage they had wrought in their panicked insanity.

Ashamed, they turned themselves into the police, who were already aware of the crime thanks to an angry old woman who had been one of the armadillo’s victims.

Seeing that the pair were sorry, and that this was their first offence, the officer let them off with a warning and told them the real moral of the story:

“Do not faff about when deciding whether or not to have ice cream. If you want some, just get some. Otherwise your friends will leave you to wander an endless grassy field until the end of your days.”

Oh. The moral was the same.

Thanks to Marcello for sending this in, no idea where he found it!

The Climbing King of Hamstoria.

That good old Review of the Year easy update I was planning isn’t working. So I’m going to have to bloody write something new by the looks of things… Are you ready? The first excellent post of 2012 is below. Let’s do this.

The King of Hamstonia was an adventurous sort of monarch. His favourite adventurous thing to do was to climb things. He climbed up mountains, onto pterodactyls, and once, into space (it was a long climb, that one, he had to stop for jam sandwiches half way).

The hamsters of Hamstoria didn’t really mind their king sneaking off to climb things, because when he was away they all had secret karaoke parties in the castle, which was always nice.

One day, the King was out and about doing his adventuring, when he saw a cat. He had never climbed a cat before, and he felt an overpowering need to clamber up its wiry fur. Not being much for self restraint, he rushed over and began leaping up the creature’s back without a second thought, eventually finding his monarchy self atop the feline’s head.

This angered the cat, as it distracted him from looking at a nearby red shoe.

‘Get off me, or I shall punch you,’ the cat whispered, still trying to focus on the red shoe.

‘No! I am the King of Hamstoria!’ The King of Hamstoria correctly asserted.

At this, the cat flew into a rage and punched the King right in the nose, sending him flying into space (where he stopped for a jam sandwich), and then back down to his castle. It was a very well aimed punch.

The King shook off the dizziness that now assailed him as he pulled himself to his feet. His blurred vision suddenly became clear, and he realised he was in his throne room, and all his subjects were there, and there was a microphone in his paw. He had landed in the middle of a karaoke party in his castle. His subjects stared at him, slack-jawed. The King stared back. Nobody knew what to do. It was a difficult situation.

A spokesperson stepped out from the crowd of subjects to break the awkward silence. He looked into his kings vacant eyes.

‘Um… Happy birthday?’

‘… how did you know?’ A smile spread across the King’s face.

And so everyone karaoked their tits off all night long.

Thanks to Miriam for the picture, who got it from here.

Animal on Animal Christmas Spectacular – Looking for Santa.

Larry was a fearsome polar bear. Once, he had eaten a whole footlong Subway sandwich. A whole one. No messing about with that six inch shit.

He enjoyed stalking about in the snow and high fiving the neighbourhood snowmen (he often referred to them as his “snowmies”, which they weren’t hugely fond of, but given his fearsome polar bearness, they didn’t say anything to him). Other things he enjoyed included:

• Driving sports cars.
• Watching ice hockey.
• Drinking scotch.
• Playing the harp.
• Fluffy pyjamas.

It was a cold evening in December, when Larry was out looking for a good place to wear his new pyjamas, that he came upon a pretty cool looking husky attached to a chain (the chain made him look extra cool). Intrigued, Larry approached the creature.

After being asked his name, and how he had come to be attached to the ground via the medium of a chain, the husky explained that he was called Delilah, and that he had been sent out to look for Santa in the wilderness. Sadly he had come upon an a disgruntled elf who had told him to bugger off and had then chained him to the ground.

‘That’s not on,’ Larry decided. ‘Would you like me to go give that disgruntled elf a good kicking?’

‘Yes please,’ Delilah replied.

‘You can come with me. We will kick him good, together.’

At this Delilah leapt for joy and gave Larry a hug (and a cheeky kiss on the cheek, even though they had only just met and it was a bit inappropriate at that stage).

Larry was as good as his word, and freed his new friend. Together, they found that disgruntled elf and gave him the Christmas gift of an arse kicking. And then they went off into the wilderness, to find Santa. It was the best Christmas ever.

Thanks to myself for finding this image, I got it from here.

MERRY CHRISTMAS to all the lovely Animal on Animal readers out there, thank you for your contributions throughout the year and possibly damaging your eyesight by reading the stories. You are real troopers. See you soon for the New Year round up!

The Legendary Strawberry.

There was once a Legendary Strawberry. It was said that it had the power to grant whoever kissed it with immortality, for the rest of their lives.

Steven and Barry were two young good for nothings. They hung about the streets of Tortoise Town, drinking cider, playing dice, and getting into trouble with the law.

One day, in a game of cards, they won a mysterious, tea-stained map. Scrawled in archaic lettering at the top were the words “Legendary Strawberry – Aww Yeah”, and below was an erratic line leading to a promising looking cross.

Realising that they had found the route to immortality (for the rest of their lives), excitement gripped the pair in a crunchy vice of excitedness. They set off immediately on the trail, hoping to get back in time for Bullseye on Challenge TV that night.

After about half an hour, Steve was so tired that he asked Barry to carry him. Barry was not hugely pleased by this, but since they were buddies he thought it would be the right thing to do. Besides, he would be owed a piggy-back, which was always a good thing to have in the bank.

By around 7pm they found themselves atop a mighty hill, staring at the Legendary Strawberry, exactly where the map had it marked. The thrill of standing before such a luscious fruity legend made Barry drop the map, it floated away on the wind, like a feather, except it was a map.

‘Kiss it!’ Barry yelled up to Steve (not noticing the map had flown away).

Steve did as he was bid, and a fruity pink haze descended over him.

‘My turn!’ Barry shouted, despite Steve clearly being within normal talking to people range.

He leapt up and gave the strawberry an excellent smooch, knocking Steve off his back in the process. The same fruity haze enveloped him.

Everything was good for about five minutes. They celebrated their strawberry-based gift by dancing about and high-fiving and all sorts of other cool stuff, but when they turned to go home and catch Bullseye they realised the map had gone.

‘Bollocks.’ Barry said.

With no way of finding a way home without the map, they elected to live within the strawberry for eternity. They had long and happy lives, dying at the ripe old age of 82 (Steve) and 82 and one day (Barry).

Many thanks to the lovely Kieren for this, who got it from here.

Piglets can be Friends with Tigers.

Unfortunately, due to being busy with various things at the moment I don’t have time to write anything long winded and exciting for you today, Animal on Animal fans. I do, however, have a video.

Please don’t look at me like that. I feel bad enough as it is.

If you can get past the idea of this being a video update and actually watch the video, you will find a wealth of Animal on Animal action! Not only are there piglets dressed as tigers, but at one point they actually sit on a tiger’s back! WOW.

Honestly, it’s ace.

I would like to thank Matthew for this. Thank you, Matthew.

Should have more time next week. If not I will change the name of the blog to “Apology on Apology”.

Movember Special.

Sorry for missing last week, been busy with several things that have made writing about animals on animals not so easy to fit in. One of those things is growing a moustache. Yes. It is Movember and growing a moustache in this special time encourages people to give you money toward saving men and suchlike.

Subconsciously I created an Animal on Animal last week during an exciting moustache photoshoot. Here it is:

Thank you for looking. If you would like to give me a Movember based donation and help save some lives, please get yourself over to my page and help out.

Normal Animal on Animal service will resume shortly. In the meantime, please have a dig around for some images and send them in as I’m running low.

Lots of love,

- Matt

The Spooky Hen (AoA Halloween Special).

To begin, I would like to say this:

Today’s post has an actual picture, scanned in, from real life. From real life. It has been stuck to the wall in Animal on Animal Towers for over a year waiting to be scanned.  It’s even got scratches on it from where people have touched it. Astonishing, in this day and age. I think I need a sit down. And so, here is today’s excellent Animal on Animal HALLOWEEN SPECIAL post!

“Hello.” Whispered Betsy (full name Heavenstobetsy).

Wellington’s ears pricked up as he turned to his brother, George. “Did you just say something?”

George had fallen out with Wellington the previous night over what they should watch on TV. George wanted to watch Hollyoaks as it was just becoming exciting, but Wellington was having none of it and wanted to watch Scooby Doo. After some harsh words George had decided to stop talking to his brother, and so when asked the innocent question above, he turned his back.

“No, you silly sheep person!” Betsy whispered again, closer in Wellington’s ear, “It was me!”

Wellington was unsure if it was anatomically possible for him to turn his head to see whatever it was that was speaking to him, and thought it best not to try lest he strain his sheepy neck. The whispereing, however, had convinced him that a ghost was stood on his back.

“A GHOST!” Wellington screamed, bucking and leaping about like he did that time after a spicy curry, desperately trying to rid himself of his ghostly passenger.

George reluctantly spun around to see what the commotion was about, instantly seeing the truth. Betsy was a hen, not ghost. Unless she was a ghost hen, but the likelihood was that she was not a ghost hen as they had become extinct by the 1950s.

George relayed the information to Wellington, who by now was rolling on the floor trying to get the ghost/hen off his back, yet Betsy still clung tightly to her host. At the news from his brother, Wellington finally calmed down and got back to his feet.

“Oh. Sorry about that, hen who is not a ghost hen.” Wellington apologised meekly, feeling more than a little silly.

“That’s okay,” Betsy smiled, “BECAUSE I AM A GHOST HEN!! HAHAHAHAHAHA!” She cackled as she lifted him into the sky, much to the astonishment of George, who then watched his brother being airlifted off into the distance by the maniacle hen.

“Bugger me.” George grumbled as he headed over to the shed. It was time to bring his alter-ego ‘Super Sheep’ out of retirement again…

Thanks to Kieren for the image, taken from real life.

It Started with Rollerskates.

The day started mundanely for Jessop the dog. Lazily shaking off his dream filled sleep, he wandered around the house checking everything was in the right place. The hoover was in the cupboard. Good. The fish were dancing around in their tank. Check. The rug was aligned perfectly to the wall. Nicely.

Jessop did his checks every morning, it helped him stay calm and ease into the day. It reassured him that nothing astonishing and scary would occur.

But then he saw the rollerskates on the bottom of the stairs.

“Bollocks.” Jessop grumbled, ambling cautiously closer to the offending article.

The rollerskates should have been in the wardrobe where they always were. Something was not right. Nobody had used the rollerskates since “The Accident” the day they were bought. The old dog continued to edge closer, sniffing the air, until he was stood next to the skates. He would have to return them to their rightful place, this was a big deal.

Except it wasn’t a big deal. It was A TRAP!

In an instant the imaginatively named KitKat the cat was upon Jessop, screaming incomprehensible nonsense such as “Habbubalubballur!” at the top of her tiny lungs.

Jessop flew into a panic. He couldn’t see because his very vision was clouded with the terrible blackness of fear. His heart thundered as though it were a thousand frightened wilder beast stampeding down a gorge after a tiny lion cub.

He ran.

Narrowly avoiding the fish tank, he crashed into the hoover and upset the perfectly aligned rug. As he would later recall in his memoirs, it was “unbridled anarchy”. Reeling from the hoover impact, Jessop ground to a halt in the middle of the floor.

A quiet moment passed as his senses flooded back.

“It’s just me.” KitKat said, as she clung to Jessop’s ears.

“You dickhead.” Jessop said.

Thanks to Amy for the image!

The Glue Monster.

The worst thing about putting glue on your fins and then patting your friends on the back is your flipper becomes glued to your friend’s back. This is what Thomas, Percy, and James discovered to their surprise just last week.

Nobody was sure how they got the glue, perhaps it washed up on the shore thanks to the Disgraceful Behaviour of Humans (DBH)? But my God, their respective mothers were not pleased. For the next week each mother had to have enough food in for three hungry turtles! Each night the “Glue Monster” (as the kids had dubbed themselves) went to each of their mother’s houses, and each wanted to be fed every time! It was outrageous. Some would say this was greedy of them, and those people would be right.

Little does James know, but his mum took the food costs directly out of his university fund, so he is destined for a call centre. That’ll teach him.

After the week was up the glue seemed to loosen and they freed themselves by playing a tug of war game in the park. Most people thought Thomas would win and put down £5 bets to prove it, but in the end nobody won as the glue snapped and all the turtles fell over at the same time. It was comedic, but angry gamblers don’t tend to care for comedy and so there was a lot of shouting and threats until they were refunded.

After the partially traumatic event the turtles all ran home, only to be grounded as soon as they got there for “Shitting about with glue.”

From then on they never even used Pritt Stick.

Thanks to Dannie for the image, which was obviously from here.