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Squid #329
(published May 10, 2007)
Ask the Giant Squid: Delusions of Cuttlefish
Who is Poor Mojo's Giant Squid?
Dear Giant Squid,

Your picture indicates that you appear to be an ordinary cuttlefish, not at all a giant squid, as you claim to be.

Whom do you think you're fooling? From what megalomaniac delusions of grandeur are you suffering?

The Pedantic Marine Biologist

Dear Pedantic Marine Biologist,

At the office where you work — surrounded by benumbed observers of the seas, staring from the surface of your air-filled void and peering down into the briny depths at my once-called home — do you have photos on your desk? Is the desktop of your computer — undoubtedly a PC running the Windows — a large picture of you, smiling forth?

Judging from your terribly clever question, I imagine it must be the case. Clearly the image forming the desktop of your computer's display must be of you, bright and smiling upon the shore of the ocean, gazing longingly at the cold embrace of the Deep. Or perhaps you stand making of the my-thumb-is-up gesture, a self-contained underwater breathing apparatus on your back preparatory to your slow descent into the seas — hoping to reach the staggering depth of twenty feet afore fear sends you shooting, like a cowardly cork, surfaceward.

No doubt that the surface of your physical, literal desk is crowded with framed images of yourself — holding high your diploma-of-questionable-provenance; frowning contemplatively as you ask terribly clever questions; waving as you man the drive-thru-food-delivery-window; grimacing as you are penetrated by an ardent musk-ox, your Nepalese guide smiling broadly and waving in the foreground; winking as you lap semen from the concavities of corrupted corpses of ancient Incan potentates — while the monitor of your computer and walls of your tawdry little cubicle are festooned with still further little momentos mios: the receipt from your most recent fecal occult blood tests; used scraps of facial tissue; and picture postcards displaying images of your mother being penetrated by a violent musk-ox with that selfsame Nepalese guide smiling and waving of his hands in the pictures foreground.

Such, I must surmise, is clearly the narcissistic nature of the decor of your workspace. But, if you will permit me to enlighten, it seems that not all workers deem it fit to look upon a thousand fractured reproductions of their own image while within their workspace.

To wit, I have performed a thorough survey of my office using a "web-cam," many feet of ethernet cabling, and my deft assistant and scribe, Jarwaun. We have built a shoulder rig for him and atop that rig sits my roving camera eye, like an implacable and silent parrot aboard the pirate's mien. Jarwaun has roamed pirate-like across the office, noting all objects on the desks of those in my employ.

I do shake my headsac, now, so disappointed am I at your self-regard, your presumptuous assumptions and your callow gall. As such, it does occur to me that it would be much appropriate to extend toward you my magnanimity.

Looking upon Doon-Sek's adorable, appreciative smile, I reflect "Doon-Sek would want me to forgive this awful, awful man."

And I believe that is true. And yet, I forgive not.

You, Mr. Marine Biologist, are on my list.

I Remain,
The Giant Squid

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