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Squid #267
(published February 23, 2006)
Ask the Giant Squid: American Gigolo
Who is Poor Mojo's Giant Squid?
Dear Giant Squid,

I am so sorry to read of the death of your beloved. Never again will I look at whales the same. Now instead of gentle sea creatures, I will remember your beloved and the fate she may suffered at their teeth. :(

On this tentacle sex thing - actually many human women have fantasies of being stroked by fine tentacled beings. Of being seduced, having sex with inhuman lovers with many appendages and tentacle like arms.

Sadly, it is only a fantasy. If only human men had tentacles as well as everything else they have currently. Oh well, fantasy will have to do.

Unless you know of any eldritch beings or tentacled friends that like fondling human women? (well, it's a dream) ;)


My Dearest Clemstra,

I have passed your missive on to my dear companion, the Hazel, and she has grown most excited by the prospects you propose. You see, I have faced several unfortunate experiences in the areas economique over the past weeks and my Hazel sees your assertions sexualis as a potential relief and way forward.

It unfolded thusly:

"Listen," Hazel put her tiny hands on either side of the great and domed bubble from whence one of my optically perfect eyes does gaze out upon the world. She rested her foremostcranial plate against the polished glass an she peered in at me. "We need cash, right?"

I did but bobble my sac so as to nod in assent.

"And you can't wash dishes worth a damn?"

I did nod again, thinking back to those steamy few hours when I, at a depleted human eating store along with ten compadres Latinos did manage poorly the porcelain food conveyances with the titanium tips of my en-armored hunting tentacles. The fragile disks did slip often and dangerously, careening through the soapy wash, onto wet concrete floor, against stainless steel counters, and even upon the occasion, most bloodily against one of the smaller compadres; poor Pepe.

"And you ain't good for driving a bus?"

And nod I did a third time, for while the Detroit Schools Publique mechanic, who was kind friend to mine own Devo, was of the very patient with me at my rehearsal for employment, it did not forward my case when, in a fit of panic, I tore aggressively backward through the long yellowed bus, ripping the roof off of the vehicle like so much foil from an ensconced and secret present.

"And I don't think we can really get you office work, what with y'all's size, am I right? I mean, am I right?"

I sank to the street before her and rested the side of my anti-bathysphere to the pavement. She was so of the correct that I could not even convey.

She bit her lip, and furrowed her cranial foreplate-flesh, and smiled a little smile. "Oh, baby," she ran her hand across my lexi-glass dome, "You're just too special for the world, you know?"

I nodded.

"You're just like me, baby. We're both, you know, special?" If I have failed to mention it before, I mention now that there is a high tentativity to Hazel's speaking, and so thus oft all she says sounds as though it is a question gently plumbed from the very depths of her being, rising slowly and lacadaisically to the forefront of her mind, like tiny bubbles from the ocean's floor.

She sank down beside my dome and rested her cheek against the glass.

"So, we're just gonna have to go on doing what I did so that I could make ends meet, okay baby?"


"Well, by making ends, you know, meet... if you know what I'm sayin'?"

She made a complicated gesture which, though unsettling, did much to illuminate the peculiar depth and contour of her meaning.

"So, ummm..." She paused, shifted her weight, "Do you, uh, know any, like, creatures that are good to go? With sex?"

I put of my mind to the task for a time, and here, Clemstra, we have developed of the following list. Please consider, and email us for the specifics so that Hazel and I might encourage of a meeting between you and your desired, for we all, the ends must be made to meet.

Hor'Shatha of the Crimson Gown, devourer of light, is known to feast upon many an engorged member. The possessors of said members are often devoured swiftly thereafter.

She Who Hides Between The Waves, Aludor the Unsmiling, has dark tastes and regularly has intercourse with whales, krakens or small volcanoes.

Steve Brescher's mother, according to the gossip amongst the Mobile Living Park in which I currently dwell, attempts to seduce all who enter her stygian lair. At last count three husbands and one wife have fallen to her eldritch charms.

There is a clone of Vehicular-Terminated Princess of the English Whales Diana that is passed amongst the secret rulers of the world—of which I, in my too, too short role as Presidentiary of these Estados Unidos—was a member. I did not engage in any acts sexualis with the Diana Clone, but I believe the Sweaty Dirt-Ape George the Curious Bush did. Also, Large-Penis Cheney did look on during these assignations, stroking his mating tentacle furiously (admittedly, I have no actual evidence of this last, but similarly cannot pass up an opportunity to cast aspersions upon Large-Penis, for he is foul in the extreme.)

Also, there is Zthaxyzy, the Beyonder from Beyond, who abducts latent homosexuals and probes them rectally and orally, in an attempt to allow them to realize their true potential as fully-blossomed man-lovers.

The Walker Upon The Deep is fond of "rim-jobs", which I am made to understand is a tendency both sexual and automotive.

Carn the Thrice-Born engages nightly in double-penetration with her slaves. I believe the penetrations are by some sort of thorny outgrowth, and occasionally utilize a pre-existing orifice.

The Zombie Queen Tom-Tep has proclivities which include some manner of gymnastices about a pony or small horse. The details are foggy to me, and I was unable to locate appropriately sensical diagrams.

Shub-Niggurath, black goat with a thousand young, and Baphomet perform before their webcam fortnightly a dalliance the description of which has driven men to insensate, blind madness.

Yog Sog-Goth kisses with the open mouth.

Clemstra, I know not what appetites foul or fair you possess in your loins. If any of the above menagerie of perversion stir your heart to fire and causes blood to engorge various bits of your monkey-derived anatomy, please contact I or Hazel. We shall charge a nominal fee for the service of putting you into contact with the Horror of your heart. And I hope that your orgasms are plentiful and that you are not devoured, unless that is your explicit wish.

I, Architeuthis and President-in-Exile, am spoken for these days. And am off the menu.

I 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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