Celebrating a day of birth inside a bollocking aquarium does not come without its botherations, snag stub, found practically around every spot not ill with neither scales nor algae, and, true is too, although sporting a slightly clandestine nature along with a good real chance of being subject to sanction if disclosed, is that aquatic creatures revel at the opportunity of a thorough rollick. Right. Cause for alarm.   

 

        Came the day of festivities, and, the while ornamentation in terms of pegging decorations to surfaces whose intentions are to slip, slop slosh spill, is truly a tricky task. Efforts were admirable, and, shared by all fish in sight, sticking bloom to buggering all, making for a rather dapper decor, bubble bubble, eventually succumbing to completion, despite the enormous piss-ups, frequent with significant consequence, administered by the devilfish, tipsy if not entirely inebriated, afloat in an aimless and never-ending drift, plop plonk bang, smashing head-on along with a great deal of speed, into practically all surfaces classified as inconspicuous, which, all who have copped a moment for a grand hobnob in a reasonably sized bowl with adequate aqua-scape will know, is every sodding wall. Right. Embellishments in order. Party is ready for a grandiose commencement.    

 

        On we plod, bubble bubble, floating and drifting and wishing all in adherence well, the while appreciating all festooned in fancy fripperies, fins in frills, tentacles begrimed with fine feathers, pectoral flippers in pleasant plumage, the while sporting enormous desires of the idling accoutrements, which, alas, have the tendency to take off, rather sullenly, setting sights on surface's choppy fringe, nibble nibble, and, is oftentimes subject to an almighty chase. 

 

        It distresses us to announce, given the numerous reports from a reputable series of swordfish, serious and sensible, authorities of the aquatic atrium, informing of a tremendous row, colossal involving more than many, relating to the ridiculous matter of lighting the candles of cake. Alarming. Though the thoughtful bringing of a bunt cake, spongy if not soppy and made of weeds from the sea, the entire affair was bogged down by a bloody bricket, ancient and not at all maintained, but, what seemed to topple bubbles slightly sideways, and, seems to stick out in terms of sporting troublesome sentiments, science plopping in an instance for a grand sob, was of course the tremendous difficulty in summoning a descent spark, which, rip rip, tear tore, executed with enormous less of care by of course the clownfish, mocking and miming and torturing tiny baby clams with their buggering theatrics, seemed, rather remarkably, to frustrate the fire coral, festooned in festive fripperies, embarking on wee wags in sway’s soft oscillation to of course facilitate the grand fancy of being a flame, and, upon the stoppage of both the shtick and sham, candelas not aglow, the clownfish, the while whisking quips of pegging out, copped an almighty bollocking, bang bash, from the crazy kindle-coral, and, alas, startled a gaggle of pre-teen sea-turtles, tippling and toppling, tipsy on drift weed and Irish moss, nip nip, causing, rather alarmingly, as authorities rushed to terminate the trouble, fish in sword, the entire garrison of subaquatic safety to slip, sending, weep weep, a batch of not-so-floatatious balloons in an abominable plop and boom and bang, as all the swords on all the fish buggered all balloons, and, the affair, was to become known as one of the biggest mismanners of management ever witnessed in all of the tanks history, reported on with enormous repetition in the following papers of news, and, was to become the subject of splendid scuttle for centuries of fish-ages to come. 

 

        The, 'Aquaculture Chronicles,’ regarded as one of the more respected papers of puddle, referred to the incident as an, 'irreparable occurrence from which emotional recovery would indeed be impossible.' Cheerful. The, ‘Saltwater Telegraph,’ too, spoke of a no-longer spotless account of aquatic living, the ‘Oceanographical Post,’ printed a rather controversial piece extolling the act of getting up to no good, the, ‘Wetlands Newsprint,’ too, spoke of an inherent inclination to reckless behaviour as a bold and brave affair, and, finally, tending to meticulous narrative as well as inclusivity, ‘Marine Life Magazine,’ whose sophisticated name bears no entitlement, sporting tendencies for the printing of potty pictures, snap snap, captured with not-so-glamours gimmicks known solely, despite an enormous swill of scuttlebutt surrounding the secret matter, to the bloody shrimps running the rag, and, copping a moment to plop one and one together, bubbles bubbles, were, for reasons which now seem salient, not invited to the fluvial festival, sob and weep, willing therefore without much repent, to post a pretty particular set of neither one nor two but three embarrassing photographs of all guests whose justified invitations were subject to a great deal of jealousy. All from a cavorting set of commingling crabs, a somewhat lustful collection of shells and clams, a lobster missing a claw, a seal with sights on a particularly slippery eel, a blue tang on bath salts, a beluga begging to be taken home, a seal hungry for salmon, an urchin of sea with a stomach about to blow, a killer whale chucking up, a starfish insisting on suction-cupping crack, a seahorse demanding a scallop to partake in the playing of polo as the bloody ball and on the rather alarming printouts proceed.