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Squid #262
(published January 19, 2006)
Ask the Giant Squid: Give Us This Day Our Daily Day
Who is Poor Mojo's Giant Squid?
Dear Giant Squid,

What do you do all day?


Dear Giant Squid,

Where is Jaws?


Dear Giant Squid,



Inchoate and Oft Vexsome Reader,

It is true that I am an unfathomable monster from the depths of the planet, I grew large dwelling in the loathsome black abyss. I slunk with the ancient gods and deep things terrible and mad. Often do I speak in ways so sublime that the average—and even above-average—bipedal, terrestrial intelligence can only gibber and shrug in the wash of my logorrhea Gloria.

It is true that I am a stranger, in a strange and vacuous land whose very air is toxic to my biology, and whose spacious and unsupportive wastes would leave me to collapse upon myself and strangle under the duress of my own weight, were I not coddled by my anti-bathospheric velocitator. If I were to strip my domicile of its pressurized tank or to remove my gyro-velocitation suit I would explode in much the same way a plastic bag full of soup would explode if it were struck by a speeding vehicle.

It is further true that the laws and customs of Man are mysterious to mine own benthic brainsac. Attempts made to inform, educate and edify my person have proved—I fully admit—ineffectual. I routinely send gifts for occasions that do not warrant them. A successful voiding of one's bowels, while notable when in extremes of age, is evidently not a cause for celebration on a daily basis. Plaques, when presented for such an achievement are misunderstood and taken as cruel jokes. Molly, I do again apologize. But I still maintain that you should revel in your regularity. It is no cause for shame.

Conversely, I do forget to celebrate holy-days with frequency and a lack of good will. Remorse washes upon me on these occasions, as if the gulf stream had shifted and sent paralyzing waves of warmth through my entrails. Every holy-day should be noted and help special, as there are only so many rotational cycles in which to enjoy these. I endeavor to hold them all in my hearts. Except Arbor Day. I shall never celebrate Arbor Day. DO NOT ASK WHY! I have my reasons.

While I am indeed alien, odd-speaking and impolite, I am no fool. Know this, former-presidentiary George Double-Yew Bush:

Your Internets Protocol Address has been logged by my chief Scienitechnic(k)al Advisor and erstwhile Lab Directory, Sang Hsien. It has been logged efficiently and repeatedly and with verve—such has always been the wont of my dear Sang, so much so that my old lab assistant Rob, the poor idiot-man-child he is and was and has been, did term Sang "the Lumberjack." That is the breadth and depth of his logging, and it can only mean but one thing: Someone has let you out of your Cabinet.

You have been logged, George Double-Yew, and soon you shall be felled, pushed down a river, danced upon by hirsute, plaid-wearing Canadians and cut into boards in a mill.

Here are further questions sent from your IP address, you grunting feculent primate:

"What squid is slimy and big?"

"How much food do you need to eat to suvive?"

And, how could I leave off these unsigned and yet perfectly traceable germs of whimsey and rapier wit?

Date: January 16, 2006 1:25:12 PM EST
How can I disect you.

Date: January 16, 2006 1:27:08 PM EST
How can I disect you.idiot

Date: January 16, 2006 1:27:29 PM EST
How can I disect you.idiot.stupid

Date: January 16, 2006 1:28:32 PM EST
How can I disect you.idiot.stupid.sushi

Sometime between reading these insubordinate and illiterate questions and schoolyard taunts, and taking a moment to re-acquaint myself with your quaint surface news media and discover not only have you slipped the surly and waterlogged bonds of your Cabinet but also set yourself to clumsy attempts at the recording of the intercommunications of the Citizens of these As-Yet-Somehow-Miraculously-United-States and the bombing bombardment of the heavily armed and notoriously humorless Sovereign Nation of Pack-the-Stan, I have realized that I have lost control of this Government.

This shall not go unpunished.

Consider this missive a warning shot across the bow of genteel statesmanship. Your ersatz reign is at an end, oh King of the Backstabbers! Soon, I shall return to Washington Deca and clean of my House!

Until then I seethe in terrible wrath,
and Remain,
The 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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The Next Squid piece (from Issue #263):

Notes from the Giant Squid: Of Being Unthroned By A Grinning Chimp, And The Difficulty Of Purchasing And Consuming Bagels While In A Pressurized Travel-Suit

The Last few Squid pieces (from Issues #261 thru #257):

Ask the Giant Squid: Going Far to Get the Carry-Out

Tales of the Giant Squid: A Year and a Day (Part Thirteen of Thirteen)

Visions of the Giant Squid: Acquisitions of the Giant Squid Presidential Library; Schoolchildren's Drawings of the President (part 3)

Ask the Giant Squid: A Christ's Mass Carol
(An Abortive Redux)

Ask the Giant Squid: Midget Vs Lion

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