Wednesday, June 28, 2006

More Football Updates

Turns out that this hardcore anti-football girl here has now watched about seven football matches. I blame my friend Aaron, who has been vehemently and regularly insisting that the football is just not the same without me. Bless. He likes to mistake my vacant stare for rapt attention, my frequent yawns for gasps of delight, and my falling asleep during the second half for just not being able to take the sheer beauty of it all, and shutting down to protect myself.

Bless. He's good at this denial gig.

I've been doing lots of pointless things since my exams finished, I'm finding it quite nice. Occasionally it leads me to do stupid things because of sheer boredom. I like to call them 'abstract'.

Like the other day, when me and my flatmate decided to mess around with Aikido moves, because he was mourning the fact that he hadn't been to a class for a while. I have moved on from actually watching football matches, to having my wrists nearly broken. God I am bored.

I'd like to say he was teaching me, but most of the time I was just getting beaten up. Turns out that he knows a fair bit of it, even though he hasn't been to a class that he enjoyed for a little while. I'm found it hard to type for a little while afterwards, the bastard, my hands felt weird and hard to move after getting bent in ways they shouldn't. But oh it was fun, and I have learned a grand total of a few things. Bwa hah. Ph3ar me. Or, you know, not.

My first thought when he picked me up and lifted me over his shoulders, was 'Ack! This is so undignified! Putmedown putmedown putmedown!!' And my second thought was that I hadn't been picked up and thrown around like that since I was ten years old and I would playfight with my big sister's boyfriend, who was like a big dumb brother to me. Ah memories.

He put me down eventually. My flatmate, I mean.

Anyway, I am going to go back and ask him to teach me the lock he put me in, it's one where you grab the other person and then you absolutely cannot get up, no matter how strong you are.

Thing is, I had one hand free. And I'm practical, I carry a penknife with me and would have been quite able to remove it from my pocket with one hand and stab him in the back of the neck with it.


But I didn't.

There was pool involved in all of this madness too. Or rather, the football addicts I am now associated with like to go and play pool after they watch a match, while I stand and watch and try not to eat my own hair to relieve the boredom. I asked Aaron what the reasoning behind this playing pool after watching the football was. Apparantly, it is because it makes them feel 'manly'. Often, the word 'manly' is accompanied by a flexing of the biceps, and an audible "Urrrrggg!" of manliness. It amuses me to no end, but, you know, I am woman and therefore must nod and smile lest I cause upset.

It completely baffles me. Pool - manly? Well first of all, while being suitably 'manly', you bend over a pretty coloured psuedo velvet table and display your arse to the world. And secondly, you balance a long smooth pretty tapered stick oh-so-delicately on your fingers, and take careful and precise aim. Then, you gently tap a pretty white ball, and make it roll into another coloured ball, which then hopefully, rolls across the pretty velvetish table and into a hole.

...manly? Manly? Did I miss something? No, no no, 'manly' would be taking your pool cue and smacking your opponent around the head with it. The beauty of duelling with pool sticks did cross my mind once or twice (Oh fine. To be honest I thought of nothing else) but I feared that my radical interpretation of 'manly' might well upset the more traditional males.

So instead I satisfied myself with tapping and prodding the back of Aaron's pool stick when he went to take a shot. His exclamations of "Oy! Woman! Off! Stoppit!" brought a smile to my black heart. My next plan is to steal the pretty white ball and run away with it.

Oh god pool is boring. So is football, actually. Aaron insists that I am simply biased against all the 'ools' to which I respond, 'hell yes'. I shall be happy if I never see another 'ool' in my life.

Disclaimer: The Raevyn and her associates, do in no way advocate or promote violence against your fellow man with pool cues. Nor, do they promote or idealise, the notion that to be 'manly' is to smack said fellow man with a stick. Such notions are for musing and amusement purposes only and are not to be taken seriously. These musings are undertaken by a professional idiot with years of musing experience. Do not try this at home.

Also, The Raevyn wishes she had associates.

Tuesday, June 27, 2006

Passing the time until

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Werewolf cliches

Here are a list of obligatory cliches found in werewolf films, in order of how obligatory they are.

Throughout the entire film we will see nothing but annoying tantalising half second glimpses of the beast, and then will not see it fully until the last fifteen minutes upon which the beast will be revealed and the entire budget blown.

The werewolf will get hit by a car.

The words "Was that some sort of big dog?" or "What was that, some kind of mutated bear?!" will be uttered, even though the monster in question stands on it's hind legs and looks like a frickin' werewolf.

The lead character will wake up in a forest naked with no idea how they got there.

The injuries will have healed before anyone can see them.

The lead character will suddenly acquire incredibly enhanced senses and not realise it until they notice that they are following the scent of blood and walk in on something mundane like someone with nosebleed or something.

The werewolf will be a complete dork with nicely cliched dork glasses and clothes, who gets routinely bullied by the bigger kids at school, and sucks at gym class. Then, after being bitten by the werewolf, he will turn into a cool suave player with no glasses, will go to aforementioned gym class, and kick ass completely. Bonus points if he pulls the lead bully's girlfriend.

The dog will growl at the werewolf, and be the only living thing to recognise the beast for what it is.

That dog will get eaten.

If the lead character is a female, the werewolf will turn out to be the her love interest. Gasp!

There will be dozens of useful straightforward information books about werewolves to hand in the most basic of local libraries. ...take it from this werewolf obsessive, that does-not-happen.

There will be a scene where the werewolf wakes up in their own bed, to see a series of footprints leading from their window to their bed, which begin as werewolf pawprints, then gradually metamorphose to human. Bonus points for this cliche, it's a sheer classic.

Sentences along the lines of 'Don't you just love the moon? It really *looks deep into the camera* brings out the (hinthinthint anvil is being dropped oh god hint it's an anvil hint) beast in me." will be uttered.

There will be a spooky fortune teller who reads the lead character's palm, gets really scared, and refuses to say any more and flees the film. Brilliant.

There will be some stupid scene were the lead character starts eating raw meat and doesn't realise it until they look down. Ooosubtle.

Monday, June 26, 2006

The Pen Monster.

I was asked what my theory was as to the phenomenon that is disappearing pens the other day. You must know this quite well, I am talking about the apparant black hole that anything even resembling a biro gets sucked into. How you can start the week with a box full of twenty biros, and end it with a mere one and a half, with no idea whatsoever as to where the entire bloody box has disappeared to. This is what I came up with.

There is a monster, who loves under the floorboards. This particular monster applies to you even if you're on the third floor, or you don't have floorboards. It matters not. And he is known as the Pen Eating Monster.

See the lesser spotted Pen Eating Monster is small and squat and round and purple, and his mouth takes up a third of his body. He has two short legs, one is gimpy. He looks a bit like a Flanimal, but with no handy humourous description levitating beneath him. Other than that, totally like a Flanimal.

Despite being small and fat, his voracious appetite enables him to move at the speed of light. He specialises in peeking through the holes in the floorboards, and waiting for the following opportunities to arise:

Someone putting a pen down on the bed that they are sitting on - contrary to popular belief, it's not the bed cover that eats the pens, but the Pen Monster.
Someone putting a pen down on a cabinet - It does not, in fact, roll off the side and fall down between the wall and the cabinet, the Pen Monster eats it. So you can stop looking.
Someone putting a pen in their front pocket - He in fact can, and does, roll up the front of your chest and into your pocket and swallow the pen and roll out of there and back under the floorboards before you can even blink. So you can stop patting all your pockets looking for the pen that you know you had, because it's gone. Let it go.

You know how when you see the pens which are all chewed on one end? Those are the pens that the Pen Monster went to eat, but his aforementioned gimpy leg was playing up, (the damp gets to him sometimes) and he only had time to chew the end before the owner came back to claim it. Curses!

No one really knows exactly what he looks like, because living on a diet of plastic and ink has given him chronic indigestion and terrible constipation. So if any poor soul actually catches a proper glimpse of him, he's such a grumpy shit that he swallows them whole. This is the reason why we are still asking, to this day, "Where do pens go?" - because there are no surviving witnesses.

There are other known demons that are relations of the Pen Monster. The Sod's Law Demon, for example. He exists. *thumps desk* dammit, he exists!

And that is where all the missing biros go.

Football update

Apparantly the world cup goes on. I have now watched a grand total of three football matches in the last few days. Three! That's more than I've ever watched in my entire life. Well when I say 'watch' I utilise the term very loosely indeed.

I watched the England vs...someone else match yesterday, and showed what I thought of it all by blatantly drawing a pretty picture on some paper, and not doing anything that could be interpreted as paying attention. I then almost had a heart attack when England scored, because I got kind of involved in my drawing and wasn't really paying attention to the eerily silent football fans who were enraptured by the big screen around me. Then all of a sudden for reasons unapparant to me, they all jumped upright at the same time and simultaneously went "YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAEEEESSSS!!!!" or something like that, I don't know, I was too busy getting violently shocked out of my trance to know what the fark they were yelling about. It was a goal, apparantly. Whoo..hoo?

And then I watched another match in the evening, I really cannot remember for the life of me who was playing. Point is, I was awake and conscious for the first half, but I think that was because I had food. Then for the second half I pulled my hood over my head, my hat over my eyes, and fell asleep on the sofa. If you wandered through Cartmel bar during the football last night and saw some scruffy long haired girl curled up and dead to the world amongst some other distinctly non asleep football fans, that was probably me.

Can you tell I love football?

Sunday, June 25, 2006

Football and stuff

I used to write in this thing practically everyday, now I only do it when I'm really really bored. I guess that's a good thing, right? It tends to mean that I may have more of a social life than I used to, or that I at least am less of an purposefully unsociable git than I used to of those.

Some people tell me that my ramblings amuse them, which makes me happy to a degree. I'm doing something right.

Oh dear god I'm bored. I wrote this entire huge long rant on male lesbians, and what I think of them. I don't know whether to publish it, it's quite, um, strong minded.

Now I don't know what to do with myself. I've been drawing for the past few weeks and come up with nada. It's not going well. At the moment I draw like a five year old. And not a very good one at that.

I tried to get drunk, or mildly drunk, or something like that yesterday. Didn't work, I had no idea what I was doing, to be honest. Now if you know me, you know that I don't drink. Like, at all. Never. So why was I trying to get drunk? Never mind that. Point is, I ended up getting really sleepy, feeling as low as I did when I started, and passing out in my bed at eight in the evening. crap am I? I mean seriously, that is the most pitiful attempt at getting drunk that anyone has ever done in the history of the world, ever. I suck. I do.

Despite nearly falling asleep on my friend's shoulder, I did have a reasonably good time. Despite there being football involved. Oh I hate the World Cup. I didn't even know it was on until someone told me about it, which I think is sheer dedication on my part to be ignorant of anything that is shaped like football.

Anyway, there was football. I went to watch football with a friend. I forget who was playing. But one side had yellow shirts, and the other side had white shirts. See? I know enough. I started watching the match about half an hour in, and they had already scored twice. Then they scored nothing for the entire remainder of the game. Pitiful. I walked in after the exciting parts and then sat and watched a load of pansies kick a ball around a field for an hour AND NOT SCORE. Pfft. Rubbish.

So my fabulous day consisted of near crying on my poor flatmate's shoulder, (sorry Luke!) then going and making a crap attempt to do studenty things involving football and booze, almost falling asleep on my friend, and then passing out in my bed before nine o 'clock.

I'm crap!

I'll try harder next time. Yes. I will become a proper student yet.

Saturday, June 17, 2006


For once I have nothing better to do with myself.

I'm thoroughly pissed off, have just gone from one side of the campus to the other, as I do, every day, in the vain hope that I can find a friend who is not drinking, drunk, or in a sodding bar. I'm sick of bars. What is it with students and drinking? You're all annoying. No one likes drunk people.

I'm stuck in my flat again. I don't want to be here. All the people I care about have gone or aren't here, so I am left with a load of bastards from Greece who I hate. I want to kill them. They are so fucking noisy and inconsiderate you would not believe. They have equally noisy and unwelcome friends with them, I saw them coming, and tried to go through the door to our building and close it before they got here, but I wasn't quick enough, dammit. I hope they saw me blatantly trying to close the door on them. Tossers.

So I have taken out my wrath by locking one of them out.

Hah. Haha. Hah. I can hear him knocking on the door, trying to get back in. His friends can't hear him, because they all TALK LIKE THIS AND IT RESOUNDS THROUGH THE ENTIRE BUILDING SO THEY'RE NOT going to hear him for a while.

This brings a small smile to my black heart.

I don't feel at all better, I'd rather break some part of their anatomy than merely lock one of them out, but I guess I might get into trouble if I take a large blunt object to their shins. So society tells me.

Oh god I need some company. I'm so restless. I need to talk to someone who speaks English as their first language, DOES NOT TALK LIKE THIS, and is not drunk or getting drunk.

Unfortunately people like that do not exist here. Ever. I'm going absolutelyfrickingbarmy. If you fit the above characteristics and are here at present, please look me up before I hang myself with the little that's left of my carefree spirit.

Tuesday, June 13, 2006

I love these guys.

Seriously, these guys are like one of the best things to happen this year.

Look at his cute little Finland hat he has at the beginning!

And I love the way the big demon dude is busy roaring "Hard! Rock! Hallelujah!" While the keyboard playing demon is tapping his keyboard and bopping away in the background occasionally throwing his head back and going "AaaaaaaaaaAAAAAAAAAAAaaaaaaaaa!" like it's the-most-normal-thing-in-the-world.

It's quality. Don't deny it.

Thursday, June 08, 2006

Break Bread to the beat of U2!

You know how when you are wandering around and minding your own business, you occasionally come across something both benign and innocent, that for some reason, makes you laugh like a mentally deficient village idiot for about five minutes?

I do.

This place is covered in posters, adverts, basically the whole place is covered wall to wall in paper on top of paper advertising the latest events, socials, news, etc. There's also a Christian group here. I found the following advert, and just had to steal it. It had to be done. It's so funny. Lookit:

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Complete with stolen sellotape and all, go me.

Why did I find this so funny? Just - just - look at it! U2 aren't particularly holy now, are they? Not only have they gotton into severe trouble before where drug abuse is concerned, but they represent and hail from one of the least religiously stable countries in the world.

Is it a metaphor? Do they actually break bread, while listening to U2, or is it just a figure of speech? I just find the image of a load of Christians 'breaking bread' while listening to U2 and generally being all holy amusing to no end. 'Christian worship to the beat of U2'...oh I really want to see that. If I was sad/frightening/a stalker, I'd go and spy on them. I wish I had an invisibility cloak like in Harry Potter. I'd crash the place and start making things float. Make the bread dance to the beat of U2, and the like.

But I don't have an invisibility cloak. So in reality, I'd probably just spy on them from the roof and end up falling through the skylight, like they do on TV. I don't think they have skylights. But they do in my head.

I met the Christian group once. That was interesting. My anti Christian status, makes it more so. It was the first week here, and I was quite lost. I knew I was close to where I had to be, just not there yet. I asked a group of friendly looking people for directions. They asked me to follow them, and led me down a corridor. Poor, simple me, assumed that they were showing me where I needed to go. It was when they led me into a room filled with lots of other people, and a large table with a buffet on it, that I began to get suspicious. It was then when I noticed that all the people were wearing black shirts with BIG YELLOW CROSSES on them, that it all clicked in my little head. I had been mobbed by the Christian society.

They asked if I would have lunch with them and talk about their this point, I was backpedalling towards the door rather fast. I muttered something about having somewhere to be, and scarpered.


And that was my first and last experience with the Christian group.

Sunday, June 04, 2006

Highly important questions

I have some important questions.

So on the human body, there's the bicep, the tricep, and even the quadracep. But unfortunately this then raises one question of the upmost importance: WHERE IS THE UNICEP?! HUH?

One day, we, as a species, will wake up, realise that we don't have Uniceps, and run around screaming. Mark my words.

And why on earth is there an 's' in the word 'lisp'? That is utterly, utterly, cruel. Not being able to pronouce the very thing you have. In fact, anyone who says the sentence "I have a lisp." to you, is instantly a liar. Hum. Whoever decided that that word should be applied to that affliction did it quite in purpose, I know it.

It's like the word dyslexia being too damned hard to spell, even for someone who does not suffer from it. Somewhere, out there, there is a cruel cruel person who thought to themselves 'AHA! I shall give the disorder that afflicts people with inaccurate spelling, a really really difficult to spell name! I rule!'

Did you know, that the same person who invented the word 'dyslexia' was also the person who invented the word 'Hippopotomonstrosesquippedaliophobia', which means, 'a fear of long words'? not really, I made that up. But I bet he was. Sadistic bastard. But seriously, what kind of person, would name the phobia of long words 'Hippopotomonstrosesquippedaliophobia'??? Surely they must have had the foresight to know, that the defintion of the very things that the sufferers are afflicted with would make them dive under a table in mortal terror?

That's cruel, man, that's so sadistic!

Same as the word abbreviation. It's too long. Someone should really abbreviate it. O wait! They already do abrev. it, they do that in dictionaries.

And the word superflous. That's the worst one. In my Art A Level, we had to write an essay on an artist. My evil she demon of a teacher commented on my paper 'Stop being so superflous.' in big red letters. I had never encountered the word before, so I trundled off to a dictionary to look it up. Apparantly, it means, to use long words or complex language where it is truly not needed. It can cause confusion or result in lack of understanding.


I like the word hypocrite, it's such a cool word.

I used to get really confused in school, when some of the idiot boys decided that they wanted to throw things across the room at each other. They would shout "Heads up!" and then lob tennis balls at each other and it was up to the rest of us to duck. Now I think that the very important pressing issue here is why on earth do you say heads up when you actually mean DUCK?? It was like

Idiot #1: "Heads up!"

Me: *thinking* 'Heads..up? Why? What are we looking at?'


Me: "Ooowwww!"

Idiot #2: Dude, he said 'heads up, didn't you hear him?'

Me: ...

This makes no sense. No sense!

And a while ago, when I was talking to my friend on msn, she tried to spell phoenetic, and spelt it phoenetically. Why oh why is the very word that means 'to spell it like it sounds' spelt in such a freaking weird and unphoenetic way??

And howcome, when two things almost crash into each other but don't, we say it was a 'near miss'? They didn't nearly miss, they DID miss, they nearly crashed!

Did you know that gullible is the only word that's not in the dictionary? No, it's true, no one knows why.

And when I was in a Seminar, one person was talking about the overtones found in a poem by Tennyson, and another person was talking about the undertones found in said poem. It then dawned that they were the same thing. Huh??

Superflous is a superflous word.
Humans skipped the Unicep and went right on to the bicep.
'Hippopotomonstrosesquippedaliophobia' sufferers can't tell people what they suffer from, because the word is too long.
People with a lisp can't tell people that they have a lisp, because they can't say it.
People who suffer from dyslexia will most likely have trouble spelling that.
The word 'abbreviation' gets abbreviated.
You can't spell the word 'phoeniticallty' fenet - uh, phoenetically.
There's synonyms for everything, except the word synonym.
People tell you to put your head up when they mean put it down.
Undertones and overtones mean the same thing.
There's no other word for thesaurus.
Monosyllabic has five syllables in it.
Gullible is not in the dictionary. (Did you believe me? Did you? Did you? )
You look stuff up in the dictionary to find out how to spell it, when you don't know how to spell it in the first place.
Keanu Reeves is still getting acting jobs.

There's so many weird things and they all baffle my poor brain!

Friday, June 02, 2006


Happy 60th Birthday, Dad.

I miss you.

I'm sorry that you and Mum aren't having the joint 60th birthday party that you were both planning. I know that would have been really special, I would have come home just for that. It's not everyday that you and your soulmate turn six decades old, within a couple months of each other! I know it would have been great, you had so many friends and the place that it was going to be at was beautiful. And right next door, which was just too perfect.

We found out about the surprise holiday you were planning as a birthday present for Mum. I know she would have loved it, had you had the time to complete it.

You should be at home today, waking up at some (to me) ungodly hour like seven or eight in the morning. Then you would be going out to get The Independent newspaper, like you always did, despite my protests that it's not as interesting as The Daily Mail, because it doesn't have cartoons in it.

Then (at some more respectable hour, ie, when the normal world awakes) you should be getting given presents from Mum and me and Helen and Lucy, even though we all know you hate fuss, we can't help it, but you always let us fuss over you anyway, even though it embarassed you, purely for the reason that, you know that we wanted to. You were just selfless like that. Golf balls, fudge, socks, a book by Agathe Christie, some golf related merchandise, the usual I guess. You'd be all bashful, and you'd get your kids names mixed up even though we're nothing alike because you were funny like that. Then when we finally let you leave the house, you should be playing golf in the sun with your friends for your birthday, and enjoying pratting about in the way that only immature older males en masse can.

Then you would come home, and I would pester you and ask you whether you won, and then you would give me a speech about handicaps, birdies, eagles, putters, drivers, tees, bloody young golfers, like you used to. And I would nod and smile, and be proud that I understood at least fifty percent of the golf jargon. You'd tell me about the stupid things and phrases that your friends came up with by accident, which would make me laugh because they were always brilliant, and you'd make a note of them in your book.

I, at some point in the day, should be making some age related joke, in good spirits. Oh I wouldn't have been able to let the 60 years mark just pass, without some kind of jest, you know it.

Then we'd probably go and run some everday errand together, like we always did, and I'd carry things for you, because the doctors wouldn't let you lift heavy things anymore.

Then later on it would all die down, I guess, it's not like you would have encouraged or attempted to prolong the fuss! And the day would have ended as usual, with you and Mum sitting together in the living room, and holding hands and watching TV and reading the newspaper, until it got late and you both fell asleep by the fire, whereas I would go on for hours and stay up all night, nocturnal creature that I am.

It should be happening today. It should. But it's not. You should be at home. But you're not. You're not meant to be in that graveyard. It wasn't your time.

I didn't know what to do with myself today. I went out and sat in Alexandria Square for a few hours at two or three in the morning, and I thought about you. Not that I don't think about you all the time, anyway. I also remembered how when we visited this University together, for the first time last year when I was trying to decide whether to attend here or not, we both got quite lost...and for once, I was the one who managed to navigate us both out again. Which was really odd, because it was always you who had the good sense of direction, and me who was comparitively rubbish. Like the time I managed to send us in completely the wrong direction on the moors in Devon, that was so funny. You're so patient. I still adamantly blame the fog for my miscalculations. But anyway, at this Uni, for once I learned the layout quicker than you did. Perhaps it was a sign that this was the University for me, or something.

Then I listened to your music and thought about you some more. I couldn't cry, because there were people around. Bloody students, they are still running around the University even in he middle of the night.

I am sorry I am not there visiting your grave today.

I know that it would have been so distressing for us, when I left home for the first time and went to University. We would have missed each other rotten. I used to be at home all the time, and so were you. We would have gone from seeing each other everyday, all day, to seeing each other periodically and only talking on the phone. It would have been horrible to adjust to, and we both would have been sad. If you hadn't gone, just a month before I left. I guess that this way, you can't miss me. At least one of us doesn't have to deal with missing the other. At least one of us doesn't have to deal with having a huge bleeding hole in their life.

I do though. I can't bear it.

I love you Dad, we all miss you.

Thursday, June 01, 2006

Andalites rock my little world

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Bad Raevyn! That's a bad Raevyn! Lined paper is for revising on, not finishing half arsed doodles you started weeks ago!

*bashes head on desk*

Work, dammit!

What do you see?

This is an optical illusion, an oldish one. You need to look at it, and tell me what you see.

Note: I didn't design or invent this, I just drew it. The original illusion was done by someone called Sandro Prete. The other day I felt the overwhelming urge to sit down and draw something in pencil, so I decided to replicate the illusion and see if I could do it myself. Viola. It's a little rushed, but oh well.

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Now. You will probably look at it and see two lovers, in a bottle. But if you show this drawing to young children, they will see nine dolphins, and not two lovers. Children and adults see different things in this drawing.

This is because young children have not yet developed the mental schema of two lovers. They don't know what they are, so they don't see the image. They see dolphins instead.

Adults see the two lovers first, then they see the dolphins. Often, adults need prompting to see them. I did. Can you see the dolphins? There are nine of them. Look at the black spaces between the man and the woman.

If you can't see them still, turn the picture sideways. If you cannot see the dolphins no matter what you do, then you are a horny bastard, with a one track mind, and should consult your doctor as of immediately.

That, or my shading skills are sub standard. Hmm. I hope it's not because of the second one.

Disclaimer: Should you decide to show this drawing to any nearby young children/neices/nephews/sons/daughters/any young person in range, and should they not see the dolphins, but instead see nekked people, and consequentially have unanswered questions as to the contents and meaning of this picture and come to you with the questions, I take no responsibility, dumbass. Good luck!