NOPE. I’ll stay underneath the boat clutching a life-jacket and a bottle of Jack thank you very much. And people call me a pussy when I admit I never venture past my crotch while in the ocean. Granted this isn’t your Jersey Shore where the worst thing you have to fear is swallowing a mouthful of piss or getting pricked by a needle contaminated with Hep-C. This is Down Under where everything and everyone is trying to kill you. But still, there’s zero reason to get that close unless you are in fact Matt Hooper from the Oceanographic Institute. It’s all fun and game until those lifeless Doll’s eyes roll over white and Mr. Planet Earth loses a limb or 4.