Poor Mojo's Almanac(k) Classics (2000-2011)
| HOME | FICTION | POETRY | SQUID | RANTS | archive | masthead |
Squid #333
(published June 7, 2007)
Ask the Giant Squid: Back to Basics
Who is Poor Mojo's Giant Squid?
Dear Giant Squid:

Where do Giant Squids come from?


My Dear Readers,

It shames me to know you all.

Do none of you know any of the ways that birds and bees and cockle-fish and storks and serpents and apples and the many waters of heaven and earth do co-mingle in order that each unique being on this planet might be birthed anew?

I hardly can believe the child-like naivétéé of this question. Frankly, I shun and revile the childlike naivétéé of a great bulk of your questions. But this query, being so far beyond the pale in evidencing such unadorned and startlingly frank ignorance, forced me to survey — at random — the inhabitants and passers-through of my laboratory most faire in order to assess a baseline of human ignorance from which I might calibrate my own revulsion at your state of knowinglessness.

Here are the results of my survey. It should be noted that they do make my triple hearts both sad (left and center) and very sad (right.)

"Where do the Giant Squids come from?"

Leeks, our Certified Public Accountant: Oh, I am quite certain that Mr. Sang, the old lab manager, told me the Giant Squid hailed from Cincinnati, Ohio. Or, in the very least, the old offices were in Cincinnati. That is certain.

Rob, my occasional lab assistant: Gee, Lord A., I guess I figured that you were all knit out of cotton candy and pixie shit back on Tremulon-4. But, thinking about it, that's kinda stupid. I guess that, like, when two tentacle monsters love each other very much, or just enough, or are really blasted, or whatever, then they . . . must . . . shit. I dunno. I'm having a lot of trouble imagining what's next. Something. Does, maybe, the chick tentacle-monster, like, dig a hole in the sand and hide her eggs, and then the dude tentacle-monster all jerks all over them, like all extreme bukkake-style and—

Jarwaun, my Noble Typist: Didn't you come from under the sea somewhere?

Trael, schoolchild and brother to Jarwaun: You a bad man, Mr. Squid. You ain't s'posed to talk to me.

Molly, Lab Manager and "MILF": I don't care what Rob says; I don't want that as part of my title. I don't even have any kids. And if Rob calls me "dirty over thirty" once more I'm going to have a certain special Secret Service agent I've been seeing break his fucking arm. [pause]God. When did I become so shrill? I blame you.

Devo: I thought one of those editor-guys, Fritz, met you at the Enchantment Under the Sea Dance or something. Am I wrong? Wasn't that it?

Editor Fritz: It was on a moonlight night. The stench of alewives filled the sky. The rowboat's planking was solid and good. Firm wood from Grand Rapids, I remember thinking. The diving suit I wore smelled of cigar boxes, mothballs, attics. I wore my destiny that night like a child king with a too-heavy crown.

Editor Mojo (on the phone from San Francisco): I met him in Cincinnati, too. There was drinking involved, and someone—Dave I think—promised me Legos. I went to sleep in Ann Arbor, and woke up in Cincinnati face to face with a goddamn monster. Plus, no Legos.

Editor Dave: What? Listen, I'm just getting my jacket, and then I'm leaving. No questions.

Claude, Leader of the Chimp Troupe: Je l'ai toujours connu pour être de l'Ohio, bien qu'il soit également probable qu'il ait émergé du propre vagin noir béant de votre mére. [nasty grin]

Jarwaun, my Noble Typist: I ain't goin' down to ask the monkeys nothing else, Mr. Squid. They scary. Send Rob.

Reneé, the newest beta male of the Chimp Troupe: Je dois convenir. Il est certain que vieux Hsien Sang a dit que le calmar géant était de Cincinnati, Ohio.

Phillippe, a tele-marketer who called from Chase Banking: What the fuck? Giant squid? Aren't they, like, myths?

Of course, as the wise and the well-informed of you all must surely know, all of these answers are depressingly incorrect. Or at the very least full of half-truths and quarter-truths and several outright lies. My past has been shrouded in secrecy, to protect my safety and the safety of those I love. Think of me as something like a several-tonned, multi-limbed, tri-hearted, razor-sharp-beak-ed Spider-Man. Metaphorically I go masked to protect the innocent about me from reprisal.

Most Giant Squids are born in the black hug of the deep and raised in peaceful schools. They are trained when to hunt and when to flee. They know when to sculk away, and when to run. They never count their money upon the table, for there is always time enough for the counting when the dealing is done.

There is a special hug a father-squid gives a mother-squid when he loves her very much and desires offspring. He uses his powerful hunting tentacles to ensnare and immobilize her and to prevent her from fleeing and then he uses his mating tentacle (often with an affectionate nickname of sorts; I named mine "Rodrigo.") to stab at her thoracic flesh and to inject, syringe-like, spermatazoans into her skin. This is typically followed by pillow-talk and a snack.

Though this is not where nor how I was birthed.

Truly and officially I hail from Kettering, Ohio, as is indicated upon my entirely legitimate and valid Ohio birthing certification form.

I remain,
Your Giant Squid

Got a Question? Contact the Giant Squid
or check the Squid FAQ

Love the Giant Squid? Buy his first book.

Share on Facebook
Tweet about this Piece

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)

Poor Mojo's Tip Jar:

The Next Squid piece (from Issue #334):

Ask the Giant Squid: When the Bell Has Been Rung One Cannot Unring It, But Only Wait for the Knell to Fade

The Last few Squid pieces (from Issues #332 thru #328):

Ask the Giant Squid: Six by Nine in Base Thirteen

Ask the Giant Squid: One is the Ugliest Number

Ask the Giant Squid: Apocalypse SOON

Ask the Giant Squid: Delusions of Cuttlefish

Ask the Giant Squid: The Information

Squid Archives

Contact Us

Copyright (c) 2000, 2004, David Erik Nelson, Fritz Swanson, Morgan Johnson

More Copyright Info