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Squid #154
(published October 2, 2003)
Notes from the Giant Squid: An Accurate Pre-Accounting of the Temperament, External and Internal, for the Month of OctoBear (An Almanac Item)

Who is Poor Mojo's Giant Squid?
Gentle Readers,

As has been mentioned afore, it is both my honor and responsibility somber to occasionally offer, in the name of honest and fair business practice and non-fraudulent dealings, the advising and cybernautical almanac items much promised by the title of this fair magazine, though all too frequently lacking. We promise the orbs of the heavens, do we not, and deliver unto you great unwashed stinkchimps naught but the flapping of meaty gums. We provide so very little of that almanackial spirit, alas. So then, find below and forth just such an item, submitted for your erudition, edification and enlightenment— not to mention entertainment, which entertainment I presume to be both implicit and thorough.

But then, to the point of the matter: Indeed, as it is oft said, it must be agreed that OctoBear is the cruelest month[*]. Although I am as generally unfamiliar with your strange and mutable surface meteorological phenomena as I am with the turgidly torpid waters of your hearts (deep in the crevasses of the crust we measure time and days by tide and tithe, not by the lumbering and inexact motions of the planets— Leap year, I scoff at thee!), I yet continue in my general enamourment both for such matters at once emergent and numerical.

As is well established, the regular actions of the emotions and weather are neither a phenomenon unto themselves, but are rather the sum and total of nigh-unto-countless individual actions, each discrete and understood. Like a thousand waves slowly eroding the patience of the great Slumbers below, so too do the infinitesimal occurrences of the day affect thy and thine. When I bend my mighty and belligerent brain-sac to the task, thousands of influences come to mine mind: the balance of melatonin in your shallow monkey brain; the quality and quantity of sleep procured; things both eaten and failed to eat; the action of wind and Affected Coriolis; the shift in humidity and barometric pressure; the flapping of the butteredfly's wings and the squint of the Chinaman's eye. Weather, and emotions. Neither are monads. As the song is sung, "no emergent phenomena is an island," but rather, after a fashion, composite numbers composed of primes, each corresponding to another of these discrete, numerical, measurable aspects of the world (or the mind, as is applicable.)

As such, and in the name of clarity, I have taken it upon myself to "run the numbers," as it were. To sink my terrible and sharp beak in to the swirling factors that are your daily, simian lives. To crunch upon the results, and benefit you finally with a clear chart showing the progress of the weather, within and without, for the remainder of this month of the OctoBear.

And what a propitious name, for how much less is a squid sans his major manipulating hunting tentacles? Would he be so many times greater than your running-the-mill eight armed OctoPus? I submit to you an answer, oh waddlers in the dust, and my answer is: Hardly. Perhaps I should be afeared of this month, with its implicit threat. But, of course, we recall that the Eight is also the Serenity, the Soother— in effect, telling us "Worry not of the threat of detentackling implicit in this month's name."

Of course, all of this is to ignore the fiercsome fanged visage and whirling paws of the OctoBear himself, in whose honor this month is named. Although I can well imagine this eight-legged, bee-hating, honey-loving forest beast, I seem hard set to acquire any depictetory evidence of the precise nature of the eight-limbed ursine whose existence I deduce from this month's strange name. I sent my lab assistant, Rob, scampering to the computerized terminals in order to perform the webby searches he so adores, and he could locate no further information regarding the octoursine for which this month is named, finding only page after page of possibly salacious anatomical studies of fully-figured adult males, much of the bodied hair and oft favoring the handlebars of mustache. This Web Interneted, it is a strange and fickle informabeast, is it not?

But these, of course, are matters to the side. More of the thrust direct: My Glorious Almanacial Offering of this Week.

Although the calculations were difficult (especially those accounting for periodic shifts in this earth's precession and the readily available prescription mood elevators), I believe the results below are both precise and accurate.

Yonder chart is as exact as modern science and voodoo can forge and temper in the flames of inspection, introspection and prospection. You may have the word of the great Architeuthis Rex Mundi (Vote Squid!), that it shall be accurate to even the tenth most placing of decimals.

As ever, please print this calender and post it prominently in the domicile and workplace. While there is not, in general, a desire to replace internal or external temperament with those listed below, they are offered rather as a set of prognostications. In exempli gratia, imagine that you are planning a date romantique for the October 17. A quick glance below indicates that October 17 is likely to be a day of enduring shame, but singularly attractive lighting. Modify plans accordingly. On October the 4, you might well wonder Is October the 23 a day favorable to the flying of kites? Shall I be psycho-emotionally prepared to actuate my coup d'etat on October the 30? Need not you wonder longer; the answers, they dwell below. As Ever.

I Remain Your Humble Almanaceur,
The Giant Squid

October - Temperament, External and Internal
Chill and Blusteristic
Pompous Sense of Self-Satisfaction
Continuing Chill, with Intermittent Precipitants
General Shame viz. Previous Day's Self-Satisfaction
Unseasonable, Eerie Sunlight
Brief Reprieve from Shame
Overcast. Deeply Overcast
Crushing Return of the Shame, Steelbooted and Wearing Black
Somewhat Less Overcast
Somewhat Less Shamed
Clear, with Increasing Probability of Water and/or Small Frogs Falling from the Sky
Sudden, Crushing Realization that the Previous Lightening of Shame was Illusory.
Windy, with Some Chance of Parting of Seas
Upbeat, without Being the Cocky; a Good Day for Mood Altering Chemicals
Sun and Moon Shine, Possibly Simultaneously, Winds North-Northwest
Confusion Grand and Consuming; Do Not Drive on this Day, for the Squirrels will be afoot once more
Winds Southerly, Chance of Hawks and Handsaws
Elation, then Depression, then Indecision. Much Talking to Oneself
Joy, Obscene
Easterly Winds
General Cockiness, followed by Increasing Chance of Getting the Lay
Boiling of Earth, General
Boiling of Earth, Highly Localized
Distension, Spiritual
Cold, Not Clement, Ill Weather for Agricultural Pursuit
Amorphous Fear, High Chance of Spider Bites and Lawsuits
Mild Meteor Showers. Sun Black as Sackcloth
Priapism, Hide in Shame or Take Full Advantage?
Bright, Shining, but Dishonest
Brief, Unexplained Return of Shame, Followed by 50% Chance of Irrational Exuberance
Clear Light of Sky, with the Cloudlessness
Abiding Shame
Strange Windlessness, Causing Displeasure Among Stock Animals and Sailors
Jingoism and Fanaticism, at Home and Abroad
Olfactory Tinge to Air, Inspiring Askance Glances from Fieldstock and Fowl
Braggadocio and Macchismo
Desire to Mount a Blitzkrieg Offensive, Or Possibly Just A Desire To Be Mounted
Moon Travels Backward, and Water Flees Up from the Earth, Toward the Terrible and Boundless Sky
More Swaggering, but Only to Conceal the Recurrent Shame
Sturm und Drang
Sturm und Drang
Tepid, Dry
Unspeakable Desires
Bitterness of the Cold, with 90% Chance of Life Changing Event of Little Note
Unspeakable Desire to Act on Unspeakable Desires
Sunshine, Blue Sky, Pleased to go Away
Paranoia, but Justified
Clear Sky, Much of the Blueness and Sun
Fear and Trembling
Warm, With Falling Stars and Sagging, Collapsed Moon
Disturbing Warmth, Smiling Flowers Sing Simple Chanties of Their Wantless Lives
Carnal Knowledge
Sudden Impenetrable Darkness
General, Free Roaming Happiness
Bright, Unseasonable in Warmth, The Dead in their Graves Prepare To Walk The Land Once More

Sub-Editor's Note: It's unclear why the Squid thinks October is the cruelest month, as opposed to April (this being T.S. Eliot's opinion, which was why he said it in The Wasteland.) Sang is insistent that it was the Giant Squid's pot-headed lab assistant, Rob, who put the notion into the Squid's massively intimidating head, but that then begs the question of why Rob is either 1) (mis)quoting Eliot's Wasteland or 2) making a relatively obtuse claim about the malign intent of a given month. Despite this question begging, Sang insisted that it was the case that Rob passed this intelligence to the Squid. Other staff members note that they're pretty sure that Rob once dated a girl with an October birthday— and that this gal was likely the genital wart girlfriend, so . . . well, so that's that. —Sub-Eds

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