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Squid #104
(published October 17, 2002)
Ask The Giant Squid: Abusive Asshole Needs His Shit Fucked Up Good So He Can Know What It Fucking Feels Like
Who is Poor Mojo's Giant Squid?
Dear Giant Squid,

I don't really know a gentle way to put this, so I'll just blurt it out: my husband abuses me, both physically and emotionally. He's really not a bad man, I know this for a fact, but his temper is ferocious and hard for him to control, and his mouth and fists too often lash out before his brain can get control of them.

I am both terribly embarrassed and terribly scared and have no idea what I should do or can do. Please help.

Sincerely,
Confused and Bruised in Saskatoon


Dear Readers (Confused, Bruised and Otherwise),

YOU HAVE BEEN THE VICTIMS OF A TERRIBLE DEFRAUDING. Of week last my faithful and generally well-meaning (if poor to the forethought and impulse controls) assistant Rob lead you to believe the advice you received as per your predicament were the words, bona fide and ex cathedra, of your own dear Architeuthis Rex, my personal self, the Giant Squid. Me. I. My own enormo-cuttlefish self. This, quite evidently, was but a ruse on the part of Rob in order to promulgate his own barbaric, if quaint, sense of judgment in human affairs. I am ashamed and distraught that your monkey minds— at once vast and grasping, and then so weak and easily fooled— failed to observe the impostoring of Rob.

He will pay for his trickery. As I think-type presently, the sand lice and meal worms lurk in his bedspread. He will not sleep easy this week, my dear and gentle Numerous Readers. Rob will sleep the sleep of the squid-damned. Please disregard week's past missive under this banner, and replace in your mind that advice with this:

It is to be certain that, in my own place of origin, such a problem as this would not to exist. A female of squid is a grand and terror-making thing, mighty and strong of mind and tentacle alike, with a beak as cutting as her sultry gaze and rapier wit. Pity indeed the lowly male ignorant, incensed, or lunatic-ed sufficiently to attempt to raise arm or tentacle to her, and thus speed his journey through soup to gullet. A fools progress, as we say. In my hearts of hearts, the advice I wish to give is much to the gist as that of Rob: Rear back upon your hind legs, Female, gape large your razored jaw and devour this transgressor wholesale. Sup deep and long, then float in the languid Gulf Stream currents and grow.

But, as the course suggests, I am once the again transposing the ways and mores of my kind upon yours— a most unfair judgement. We cannot expect the sheep to roar, nor the bird to operate a grain combine. I am charged, at this time, with the duty of advising human things in their human ways, and thus cannot make the two things one. A human female can only do and be those things she can and is.

As such, I have made a point of broadly sampling your popular media and have discovered much musical advice targeted toward the woman abused by man abusive, and although the talking shows and newsly broadened casts seem to diverge significantly from the general thrust of your culture's mind on this issue, the culture's overwhelming voice is clear: you must Stand By Your Man so that he may Hit You, Baby, One More Time.

Once this is complete, you shall admit that you are of the Crazy, and that He has Taken Advantage of You. But, none to fear, as [You] Will Survive, [You] Will Survive, yeah yeah. Indeed, Your Papa Might Preach, as you are indeed in Troubles Deep; in all likelihood he will indicate the possibility of you becoming a Girlfriend in a Coma— but be not a Ragdoll, as Jane Says. Perhaps the Arrowsmith's advice is best, and (as Janey did) you should acquire a Gun. But, Confusingly Bruised, heed not that counsel. Breaking Up is Hard To Do and thus, as such, you are well advised to Relax, Do Not Do It.

Although Man Smart, But Woman Is Smarter, problems as these still arise and this is that which mystifies.

Is this not the predicament? Weep, sisters, and I shall weep with you. We shall Cry Us a River, and perhaps it shall wash our troubles away (or, in the very least, Wash That Man Right Out of Your Hair, along with the matted blood.)

With Condolences,
The ACTUAL Giant Squid

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see other pieces by this author | e-mail this piece to a friend | Who is Poor Mojo's Giant Squid? Read his blog posts and enjoy his anthem (and the post-ironic mid-1990s Japanese cover of same)

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