Avatar Sharkitect

I had a vision last night. It was clear and it was pure.

As I lay in bed staring at the ceiling, I imagined a world where things were made from sharks. Not from shark meat or shark skin or anything weird like that, no no, everything is made from sharks. Buildings built from sharks, stacked metres high, riding up into the sky and beyond. Cars made from sharks where drivers wrap a luxurious shark tongue seatbelt around themselves and pull away in the latest Ford SHARK, a marked improvement from the previous year’s model, the Ford Shark.

Who would build these marvellous machines and inventions? Who would have the skills with which to satisfy the demands of the general public? I would be their saviour. I would be their sharkitect.

How gutted was I then when I looked into the matter and discovered that the majority of sharks are currently endangered? There’s not enough of them to build anything with. If I so much as tried to stack a few to make a shopping trolley the WWF would come down on me harder than an elephant after a long day at the office. My dream was in tatters before it had even got off the ground.

The sharkitect must now only live on as a theoretical job. If someone wants a creche made out of sharks I could design them something funky on a computer, on a piece of paper maybe, and that is all. The chances of finding someone who is willing to pay for this nonsense is unlikely.

I didn’t want to kill sharks. I didn’t want to hurt them. I wanted to turn them from something thrilling and amazing into something beautiful, even more thrilling, even more amazing.

10 comments on “Sharkitect

  • I for one admire your vision of a sharkitecturally pure world. Maybe there are enough sharks for you to build a demonstration building, a striking work of sharkitecture to show everyone how things could be in this incredible utopia. A sort of shark epcot centre.

  • That’s a great idea. People know sharks and they know Epcot even though the latter sounds like an baby’s cot made of apricots. No wait, that would be an apri-cot.

    This is why people struggle with the English language. It’s far too random.

  • If a fruit from an apricot tree is an apricot, and a cot made of apricots is an apri-cot, then what do you call a cot made of apricots in April?

  • Is this maths? Does maths involve apricots and baby beds? I don’t understand. Maybe this is what the prime minister is banging on about when he says we’re all crap at maths.

    You should write him a letter with your foot.

  • You got a new foot? Wow. How will I recognise your letters now that your footwriting (or “footers writers”) has changed?

  • Of course I got a new foot, I invited you to the ‘Foot Shower’ back in February. Not only did you ignore it but you also didn’t send me the compulsory £100.00 fee for not attending.

  • You can’t prove anything. I was actually inside the giant foot-shaped cake all night. The plan was for me to burst out of it and sing “Tiger Feet” as the amazing climax of the party, but unfortunately the cake was so dense that I couldn’t push my way out. That’s why you all stood around listening to an instrumental version of “Tiger Feet” for three and a half minutes and nobody could work out why.

  • That’s an incredible story and explains a lot about that mysterious day three months ago that has since gone untold.

    I don’t suppose you want to film yourself doing it now as a bit of a consolation prize?

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