We are frustrated tabloid hacks with a common interest in red-hot monkey love and we wish to bring to you the stories that our editors dare not print. Read our profile page to find out more.
Celebrity Bestiality was published monthly from 1999 until 2003. Then, after a suggestion made at a somewhat regrettable social gathering, we went away to have a good, long, hard look at ourselves. Now we're back.
The latest article always appears on the front page. All past articles are accessible via the main archive.
Of course you may send us email. We'd love to hear from you. Just no spam, please:
DOLPHIN DEEP-ENDS ON BARRYMORE
Issue 39 - October 2002
Can Michael Barrymore swim? If so, why does he choose to hide from the press at a seaside resort of all places? These were the questions that were burning in our minds as we cashed in the last of our frequent-flyer miles and jetted off to hunt down the truth.
It was while stalking the star at his island hideaway that we stumbled across these photos in his bedside table.
At first glance, they appear to support the star's claims that he cannot swim, as he has clearly taken the precaution of wearing a flotation device - even when in relatively shallow water. However, being experts in the field of celebrity-related bestiality, we immediately recognised the dolphin in question as a known groupie with a penchant for light entertainment stars - and within hours had actually managed to track him down in a nearby poolside bar.
While not wishing to be named, the sea-going celebrity-shagger seemed more than willing to answer our questions.
"Michael cannot swim, and has never been able to swim," stated the dolphin groupie, "In fact, it's part of what makes our relationship such an enduring one."
"Michael likes to live life on the edge, and a large part of our relationship is that ever-present element of danger as we make love in the shallows."
As the questions continued, the incredibly frank (and some might think, rehearsed) answers made Barrymore's innocence so clear and so undeniable that we began to guess that this entire encounter had been staged for our benefit.
Suspecting some form of collusion, we changed tack, and asked if that sense of danger extended to actual intercourse, given that it is well-documented that a male dolphin's penis is anywhere from 12 to 14 inches in length and extremely muscular.
"Oh, certainly," he chattered, with his tongue no doubt loosened by the third martini we had sprung for from our rapidly dwindling expense account. "Michael is a real trooper and can really go the distance."
"It's quite impressive, really, as not everybody can take that kind of punishment."
It was at this stage that we casually made enquiries regarding his exact whereabouts on the night of a certain drug-fuelled party. The change in mood was as palpable as it was sudden.
"I've answered your questions and it's time for you to leave," snapped our 'informant', signalling nearby security before hastily making a grab for the bar and making a show of supporting himself in the water.
"Besides, it should be perfectly obvious that I cannot swim!"