Years ago, in the early '70's I think, I heard of Giant squid damage found on the ball-shaped sonar thingy located below the nose of early navy subs.

I was wondering what would happen if someone mounted one of those sonar things,( sorry, I don't recall the name of the sonar part ) on a mini-sub or something to see what it attracts?

...or maybe the subs just bump into sleeping squids?

Why do giant squid grab onto subs ?

I hope this isn't too dumb a question, and thanx for your time,
Mark

Dear Mark, you insightful cur,

I well know these Navy balls, and have often hugged them with my own full range of tentacles, out of joy and out of gratitude.

The oceans are deep and vast and comforting. And it can be difficult to communicate with your loved ones over such immeasurable distance. Piggybacking on submersed telephonic signal lines is only useful to a certain point, Mark. This is why the whales—foul, loathsome fratboys of the deep—invented their speech. The deep, dulcet, warlike cries of whales are pitched so deeply that they carry across the entire ocean floor. Wherever you are within the ocean, you may hear these cries.

I have spoken with Molly upon the subject of your Fraternity Boys. Her feelings and the feelings of Rob seem to ominous pair up. They both loathe them, detest them and fear them. I polled my darlings of staff to get a range of phrases common to the Boy of Frats to better communicate to you dear reader, dear voter, Mark.

Imagine that you are by your lonesome. Travelling in the dark of night. No one around for many miles, kilometers and fathoms.

You are finally at peace with the world. Immersed in your own unknowable and perfect benthic thoughts and plans. On the verge of brilliance! And then, your tranquility is shattered by the echoing cry of:

"Yo! I am going to hit that shit! My fraternity brother!"

"Day-umn. That bitch—by which I mean a human woman, not a female dog for humans rarely mate with delicious, succulent dogs—is dressed in a matter pleasing to me! I find her attractive and desire to rut!"

"I am heavily intoxicated and feel the impending need to regurgitate."

These are the songs of the whales.

The United States Navy, whilst constructing new submersible devices in the 19 and 70s did experiment with broadcasts in the extra low frequencities. ELF is the charming, pointy-eared acronym for this wondrous device.

The device, a large ball or pair of balls that hung ponderously under the main shaft of the Navy's Submersible Flying Machine, allowed the Navy to communicate across vast ocean space as easily as the heavily intoxicated whales did.

And the depths did rock and echo and churn with their Navy speak. And the whales were driven silent and mad. Grew corpulent and sterile from their miserable lifestyle and threw themselves upon the deathshores of your Florida, California, Hawaii.

And my kind, the Squid kind, the Architeuthis Uber Alles did shower affection upon these ponderous, low hanging Navy balls. For they had destroyed our greatest enemy. They had cleared the playing field and made Architeuthian domination of the world inevitable, dear Mark.

Your President, Your Squid,
GS