I am bursting with excitement like nitrogen bubbles in the bodies of men who surface too soon after being submerged at great depths. I have The Bends of enthusiasm! Adventure has rung her clarion bell once more. It is great to be alive.
It began this morning. A news alert on our local Public Radio station sounded from Molly's desk. She is wont to listen to the NPR at all times of day, even when the morning programming repeats itself yet again in the evening. "There is so much information in each broadcast," she once told me, "that I can listen to it again and glean even more from it." I personally find this doubtful, but then again I do not know what it is like in those puny skulls you have. Such a small space to work with! How do you even think?
As I was saying, this morning on the NPR they announced a spectacular archaeological find in Northern Ohio: a lost work of the Moundbuilders had been located. Unlike all other Mounds, this one had lain hidden for centuries and safe from looters, professors, politicians, and diggerers.
The mound was crafted in a valley and at some point that valley became filled with waters—a diverted river perhaps? And so what looked like the peak of an island in a lake was really a lost Mound. How delightful! I knew I had to see it for my own self, lay my optically perfect eyes upon its bulging protuberance. It was so close, a mere three hours drive from downtown Detroit, where I live. I had to gather a team of specialists and head out forthwith.
Context may be appropriate at this point in the telling. Not everyone knows of the Moundbuilders and their peculiar history. I could direct you to Wikipedia with a mere whisking of my exposition tentacle, but I shall not. Wikipedia is for bores and trolls, for those who enjoy fights over comma placement and for men who know the names of all 600 plus Pokemon. But I am a gentlesquid full of honor and dignity. I open doors and windows for passing females. I doff hats. And when a person in my vicinity sneezes I have an adapted t-shirt cannon (purchased from David Lee Roth) that fires clean linen "hankies" at 95 MPH towards the offending nose. In short, I am class.
The Moundbuilders were a pre-Native Americano peoples that thrived across the breadth of America. Surviving examples of their pottery and language suggest they were not a cultural ancestor of the so-called Red Indians either. Where did they come from? Where did they go? These are not questions we have the answers to. The Mormons once believed that the Moundbuilders were the Nephilim of Genesis, destroyed by a biblical deluge. The Creosote people thought they were half-gods fallen from heaven. National Geographic in the 1970s claimed they were primitive humans forcibly uplifted by alien beings. It is likely none of these are true.
What we know is this: they thrived for centuries in every biome North America has to offer. They developed farming techniques that would have been the envy of the world, if the world had known of them. The Moundbuilders had great swathes of leisure time and spent it at pottery, weaving, arts and in inventing a priesthood. And when one of these priests or high kings would die, everyone would bury their goods atop his body in a great massive mound. They forged mounds everywhere. Mounds shaped like snakes. Mounds shaped like crabs. Mounds shaped like small mounds with larger mounds atop them.
I had to see this new mound, the first found in over ninety years. But first I needed a team of experts. This could be dangerous. The Mound could be trapped. It could be filled with vengeful ghosts. Ravenous undead beasts may lurk inside. And, most frightening of all, we had to enter Ohio.
I rang for Rob and prepared a list of personnel I would need. "ROB," I cried. And he arrived with the results of his manhunt.
"Yeah, look, Lord A this list, shit, it's pretty hard to find this folks, y'know? I mean, I'm good with the Google and I learned a few tricks from like my girlfriend's bro but still, I can't promise anything." He scratched at his head and slowly backed away.
"YOU COULD NOT HIRE BILLY DEE WILLIAMS? I WAS ASSURED HE NEEDED MONEY QUITE BADLY."
"Yeah well, apparently not that badly. And his agent asked me to tell you that Lando hisself asked his agent to tell you to stop emailing him."
This was a setback. "AND WHAT OF G GORDON LIDDY, THE DIRTY TRICKS KING FOR RICHARD NIXON?"
Rob removed a crumpled paper from his back pocket and smoothed it out. "Yeah, this says he's dead? But maybe that's a typo?"
Yet another setback. I was chagrined and bellowed my displeasure at young Rob. When I had regained composure, I continued. "AND FAMED CHARACTER ACTOR, GRAHAM GREENE? THERE ARE SEVEN POSSIBLE SCENARIOS WHEREIN HAVING AN AMERICAN INDIAN MAN WHO CAN LIE CONVINCINGLY WOULD BE A GREAT ASSET."
"Dude wants ten grand large, up front, before he even gets on a plane. Lost cause, boss." Rob re-crumpled his paper and stuffed it in a front pocket. "Total dealbreaker, am I right? Anyways, yeah, so I called everyone else on this list—even the dudes in Europe or whatever—and they are all fuckin' unavailable with a capitol don't-ever-call-me-again, y'know?"
I did know. Truthfully I had planned for this contingency. "ROB, IT IS TIME TO INVOKE PLAN X." I gestured grandly within my pressurized tank. "PLEASE GATHER THE TEAM. WE LEAVE FOR OHIO WITHIN THE HOUR!"
And that was how it began, dear readers. We had no idea what was in store for us in that dank treacherous verge of Ohio.
Until Next Week,
The Giant Squid
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