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Squid #178
(published May 20, 2004)
Notes from the Giant Squid: I Now Do Join the Solution

Who is Poor Mojo's Giant Squid?

Not part of a Racketeering Enterprise. It could make you rich!

Isn't it MURDER if intentional interference results in a foreseeable death?

Well than is it not MASS-MURDER if it results in the death of Hundreds of Thousands of innocent hardworking Americans and their children?

Well, here's the really tough question, How Do They Get Away With It?

MADD, part of a Racketeering Enterprise or network whose mere existence offers proof to improprieties and still today pretend that they are attempting to end drunk driving. Fact is, for over a quarter of a century and thousands of bad laws later their efforts have had very little if any results. The exploitation of DUI roadway carnage must end because fact is it's killing us.

MADD, boast about a net worth of (approx.) $25 million claiming to be a non-profit organization in their successful effort to avoid payment of income taxes while increasing the tax burden on hardworking American taxpayers. MADD without any logic supports thousands of DUI laws and whether by death, injury, or incarceration the DUI (killing Machine for profit) unfortunately is to the detriment of Millions of Americans every year.

Operation Technology in Safety is currently in search of ideas to help bring OTIS, a life saving product, to the market. OTIS is an acronym for Operation Technology in Safety, which has developed a device that combines a number of current and effective technologies, it attaches to any vehicle, and for starters OTIS will without any doubt, END DRUNK DRIVING, PERIOD!

Operation Technology in Safety's goal (at this point) is to have MADD fund the OTIS project with their ill-gotten gains and save American lives by simply making our roads as safe as possible. When OTIS does get to the market you may qualify to receive a contribution of ONE MILLION DOLLARS. No tricks, no gimmicks, no financial investment just good old fashion brain storming for a worthy cause by non-corrupt and caring individuals. If you have any questions, or you feel you have an idea that may qualify for the $1,000,000.00 donation. Email; WENEEDOTIS@aol.com. (Some rules apply) Help OTIS make our Country a safer place for everyone and remember all that is necessary for Evil is for Good Americans to do nothing.


OTIS would like to thank some of the Illinois Secretary of State staff to whom without their talents Operation Technology in Safety may never have been possible. With special thanks going out to: Allan Zoloto, James Falada, Melissa Rosenblum, and Elizabeth Chillon. Thanks again for helping in OTIS's effort to make the Illinois roads Safer for everyone. Come join the winning team; if we say good-bye to MADD we say good-bye to drunk driving accidents, forever. Don't delay we really do need your idea today!

Gentle Readers,

It pains to admit that, since myannouncement for the candidacy of the Supreme Office American, my campaign has proceeded sluggishly, at best. There has been little success, much failure, quite a little difficulty in establishing a mate with whom to run, and a great deal of bickering. Yet, with all of this sound and fury, there has been little to no interest evidence in the public at large in our Campaign Archituethic. It is a sad state of affairs when the future leader of the just-yet-still free world cannot make it sufficiently clear that now, in these formative early months of his campaign, he is most open to hearing from the populace vulgate, so that he might craft a platform composed at least nominally of planks which serve their interests. The Unions of Labor, they come not to speak with me, the old do not petition for their precious drugs, nor the young for their legalized medicinal herbs and skatingboards, nor the Boy Scouts for their precious air force bases, nor the females for their right to prematurely tear forth their young (as appears to be the human habit), nor the males for their birthright confirmed to devour such young (as I presume is the human habit.) Thus far I have met with only one petitioner, and it is my lab assistant and campaign advisor Rob, and he has petitioned strenuously for the mandatory weekly donning of tight-wrapped cellophane blouses by women well endowed of mammary glands. I magnanimously grant Rob this boon, swearing upon my three hearts to ram such a bill into law at my earliest convenience upon taking hold of the Ovular Office but, truth spoken, how can I not make such a promise? It is the only boon I have yet been begged.

My platform has that single plank: Big Titties Tuesday. This is the life I lead. Small wonder that so many flee politicks, and greater curiosity that some so doggedly stay.

So, it was with great pleasure that I examined the above, unsigned missive from one of you, the greater public body politik not specifically in my employ. It is only through these modes that I might become fully conversant with the depth and breadth of vital concerns to the greater American public, and thus might accurately ape a general interest in these, so that you will be taken with the notion of voting for me.

Of course, upon reading the above, I was taken with more than a polite interest, even more then a rapacious desire to pretend to care, but found myself in the grip of a genuine interest in this cause. An insane criminal syndicate much bilking the present government of the twenty-five millions of dollars of United States currency! Deaths and dismemberments! A mighty Killing Machine! It was much to fancy.

"Rob!" I called out into the lab this early ante-meridiem, "Rob! I need you! I require clarifications of this missive whose printed-out you have taped to my tank's outer wall!"

Predictably, I found my shouts greeted with the whooshing flush of a toilet, and Rob soon came jogging into the room.

"Right! Right! Just the morning shit break! I'm totally on the ball, now; clean colon, ready for a full day. Whaddya need, Lord A?"

"Look to the missive! Who are the MADD? What has angered or unbalanced them? Is it the moneys, which corrupt so absolutely with the absolute power they grant?"

"Wha?," he asked, peeling down the paper version of my e-missive, "Oh, OK. MADD is 'Moms Against Drinking and Driving,' dude"— Already the notion of such a group began to form in my mind: I have seen Rob struggle with the opening and operation of his bottled and bebubbled sugar waters, and it seems a task much difficult— often resulting in the cussing, the sputtering, the coughing and the staining of garmentry. I can see how much danger might be invited in attempting to do such manuevers while piloting an automated conveyance. And then there is the micturating, which I must presume is a messy affair upon the dry surface, and with such textile-skins to be wrestled about and arranged— "It's this group of moms, and they are totally against drinking and driving. I guess they're pissed because people drink and drive, and that probably... that's what's made them crazy. What is this thing?"

"It is an invitation to engage in a political business venture with one of my 260 million or more constituents, Rob. It is a matter of most grave and fearsome import. We could receive a donation of up to one million of dollars, which we then might apply to my bid for election. This is a glorious double boon, a boon which bends back and grants boons to the boon granter, not unlike the double-ended prosthetic male pudendum so often featured in your anatomical films and images."

Rob's face tended toward and through pink to red at the mention of his believed-secret passion for anatomical studies— in an archetuethis, such coloration might indicate pride of the accomplished, though also slight shame at the concerted effort such accomplishment required, but I have learned that human chromatic display is frequently quite a bit more subtle than architeuthic, and thus restrict myself to the verbal matters when judging what is and is not being communicated.

"Rob, we are much the luck. I respect the work of the Enraged and Insane Mothers Against Drinking, but it must be a gods granted right for surface dwellers to imbibe and quench thirst while speedily going from place to place, regardless of the danger. We must join forces with this OTIS— regardless of the cost— in smiting such an autocratic and fascistic tendency as is embodied in this MADD!"

"Dude, chill the fuck out— it's just spam."

The terror struck, hammerly, at my hearts, "Like the spam which is coming to get me?!"

"What? No, like the kind that's a fucking waste of time. You know, fucking spam, fucking bigger cock this, harder cock that, come see my tight twat amateur porno the other. Spam, spam, spam. What the fuck is it with you, Lord A? Even nutty-ass Hamlet could tell the hawk from the handsaw, but you always are getting all worked up over, like, bullshit. I mean, important shit, you totally let that roll under the ole bridge— you totally forget birthdays and stomp all over our days off and locked me in a goddamn closet for, like, TWO WEEKS— but weird little bullshit like this catches your attention and that's just all there is. Man," he shook of his head, "I've got, like, all sorts of fucked up compulsive, selfish bullshit going on in my life , but you, man, you take the fucking cake," Rob turned, and walked doorward.

"Rob! Rob! I must dictate a letter to OTIS! You should to your cubicle, and sit—"

"Fuck you!" He called over his shoulder, "Fuck this," he slouched out of his stainéd lab coat and hung it upon its hook near the door, "I am taking a fucking personal day. I'll see your crazy ass tomorrow."

And he did walk out the door.

"And another thing," his shout then echoed up the stairwell, "Stay out of my shit on my computer! It's none of your fucking biz what I look at on my computer. Fucking snoop!"

So then, finally, this then forms the secondmost, but most prominent in its import, plank of my election platform: As all men, women and children do have the birthright of imbibing at any time they deem fit, upon election I shall demolish this sinister cabal of MADD, take hold of their monetary assets, to be distributed to my friend and acquaintance OTIS, and take hold of their mighty Killing Machine, to be applied to duties and responsibilities as I see fit. In the case that this Machine takes the form of some conveyance I might be able to mount and pilot alone, I myself shall take its helm henceforward. Otherwise, I shall elect a member of my cabinet (Rob, do you listen? Do you read? Would it much please you to drive my Killing Machine? You will have the inalienable right to drink while it is you drive— and one might be sure that such a "dope ride" shall much please and impress the Hot Anal Lesbos which you so desire. Despite it all, Rob, you are very dear to me) to be Secretary of Driving My Killing Machine.

I now do join the solution, as solvent not solute, and may justice precipitate ever forth!

I Am Yet Your Humble Squid, and Much Hope to Soon Be
Your President Squid, Rex Mundi

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