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Squid #167
(published February 19, 2004)
Notes from the Giant Squid: My Democratic Debacle

Who is Poor Mojo's Giant Squid?
Dearest and Most Ardent Supporters,

How my fortunes have fallen in this last week. While on February the Twelve (such a strange and portentous sum!) I was indeed atop the world, having acquired a great many votes, a plurality of votes, in the Michiganderian Caucus of Democrats, in just five of the business days I sank so mightily.

In the first place, despite my 100% support in the Great State of Mich Again, my popularity has been vastly under-reported in Washingtonia (the State Northwesterly), Maine, Tennessee, Virginial, Washingtonia Deca (the City by the Sea), Nevadal, and Wis-Con-Sin.

Do not you fine people vote? I can much feel the vast subsurface vibrations of my grassrooted support, and yet, at the polls, there is nothing— a few percentage points alone, hardly more than Joementum the Loverman or General Blog, and certainly less than the two combined— thankful I am that such a mating and marriage is currently yet still verboten in so many of the States and Principalities of this Great Land of Ours. Give them the Hell, Religious Right! Only you can prevent the rise of the two-backed beast that is the joementous General Blog Loverman!

Get off of your ample and well padded posteriori, Squid Boosters! How might we take over this fair and just land, and bring it within our crushing tentascular grasp if you will not submit your many ballots in my favor? I must be in it to win it, citizens!

I took these complaints to my campaign team, but they were of little succor.

"Well, sir," Molly spoke, "You did only participate in that single debate."

"Yeah, dude, and you didn't do that hot, either," added my lab assistant Rob, libelous clown that he is.

"Rob!" Molly shouted, agog.

"What?! Shit, I'm no political stratologist, but, shit, it was just like, you and Sharpton at that NAACP thing, and Sharpton called you another 'big white fat cat come to edge us out of public affairs.'"

"Indeed. I believed it to be a fair assessment of my plans."

"Well, shit, yeah, but he still meant it an as insult."

I gasped of the audibly "That was an insult!" I was chagrined.

Rob removed of his baseballing cap, crumpled it in his little moist hands, "Yeah, man. It was. Everyone laughed."

"But their laughter, it was with me, yes?"

"Were you laughing, man?"

I thought back upon the night, upon the stage of its many dazzlelights, Al Sharp-Ton, by all indications weighing far less than a ton, but undeniably sharp, at his wooden podium box, and me at mine, nervously twitching and fidgeting of the spidery legs of my chromed autovelocitating environmental suit as we awaited the other Democratic hopefilled. Their never arrival, the debate beginning. We bandied of the words much and well, the audience, velvety and soft in their dark skins watching rapt from the creaking chairs as Al and I discussed of the sociable medicinals and securities, of the well-faring, of the armaments and wars.

Our views, yes, were differing, but we moved forward in a graceful rhetorical tango of mutual respect. Finally, did Al not shake of his great fuzzy head, and indicate to me and say unto the audience of his skinmates, "Look here! Look here! Has our great nation sunk so far from Dr. King's dream that a space monster will reach the Oval Office before a black man does? Brothers, sisters, this is just another big white fat cat come to edge us out of public affairs, to gladhand us and assure us 'I feel your pain' before he steps on our necks on his way to Washington." Indeed, all did laugh and clap and stomp of the feets mightily. And, yes, I too did laugh.

I laughed as surely they all did, for I am not WHITE! And they saw that. I am sure they recognized that at that moment, with my hunting instinct sharp and twitching, I had shaded to a deceptive grey-alabaster so as to blend with the faint glow of the upspace. None from below could see me, and my hunting arms had curled up high behind me, serpentine, poised.

"Yes, Rob; I was laughing. Al of the Sharp Tons is a delightful speaker."

"Well, whatever. They were still laughing at you, man. It was a bust. I mean, Sharpton doesn't have the black vote, but you sure as hell don't either."

"Maybe the National Association for the Advancement of Colored People just isn't your venue," Molly suggested.

"But I am colored— I have a multitude of colors!"

I fluoresced then, tec(k)hni-color, so as to reinforce the sentiment.

"Well, yeah, but your aren't people, Lord A."

Of this, I could argue little.

"Face facts, dude: you just ain't gonna be able to ride the Democratic ticket, that's all." Little did Rob know of how portentous and prognosticatory these grunts were, for in the second place, I have been this week robbed of my fairly won State!

Scurrilous accusations of fraud have been levelled against my vast popularity, and my votes summarily suspended! There is travesty, here, and a great and meretricious conspiracy, itself wrapped in the enigma which hides within the tender folds of a mystery so great and terrible that the fear of understanding its manifold foulness blinds us all!

Only Kwame is behind me! If I may report the Fox 2 news reportage on the matter, as relayed to me by most faithful Rob: "Detroit Mayor Kwame Kilpatrick said reports of problems were 'overblown and crap.' " Thus spoke Fanchon Stinger, and so it must be true. God bless you, dear Kwame.

Do not accept this heresy unjust! Stand with me and Kwame! Vote Early! Vote Often! Vote Squid!

I Remain,
Your Giant Squid

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see other pieces by this author | 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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Notes from the Giant Squid: Moonward, the Singing Squid Goes.

Notes from the Giant Squid: You Know What They Say About The Size Of A Squid's Color Display, Don't You? I Don't Either.

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