Penguins

Penguins tend only to be born during periods of climatic disaster. They spend their infancy eating putrid, year-old vomit. Fish vomit. At some point even this meagre nourishment runs out, and, because they can’t fly, they must then embark on an absurd trek of hundreds of miles over impassable terrain, usually with predators, high winds, and blazing fireballs picking them off in their hundreds. When they reach their destination, usually the shore of some half-frozen sea, they have to clamber down sheer-sided cliffs and run a gauntlet of psychotic seals, before finally plunging gratefully into the frigid waters - whereupon they are promptly devoured by passing killer whales.

A better idea, therefore, might be to take penguin eggs from their nests and submerge them in the sea. Then, when the baby penguins hatch, they will believe themselves to be fish. Consequently, flightlessness will no longer be a problem. They will be able to flit about the oceans to their hearts' content, no longer having to worry about waddling around in a ridiculous-looking, predator-enticing manner.

Of course, the sudden penguin influx might provoke some of the fish population into retaliating by laying their eggs in penguin nests. On hatching, the fry will believe themselves to be penguins, and walk upright on their tails. While this might not be a problem with smaller fish, such as sticklebacks or kippers, it could get quite dangerous once land-based species of, say, hammerhead shark and great white come of age. They will bounce all over the place, eating people, and generally looking decidedly non-cute As a result, no-one will want to name chocolate biscuits or book publishers after them.

Which is just as well, I suppose, because "P-p-pick up a porbeagle" sounds fucking stupid. As, indeed, does the concept of a Grey Mullet edition of "Lady Chatterley's Lover."

Perhaps, then, it's best to leave the status quo as is.