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Squid #8
(published Late in the Year, 2000)
Ask The Giant Squid: Submariner Surprise
Who is Poor Mojo's Giant Squid?
Dear Giant Squid,

Recently, I've been considering switching from aluminum siding to vinyl siding. My wife says that the aluminum siding is better, because it keeps out harmful radio waves and foreign signals. I prefer the vinyl siding because of its "Real-Wood" look. Can you clear up this disagreement?

Truman Pugh
Milford, Michigan

While monitoring your vast communications networks for a sign from beyond last week, I happened upon an odd program. It seems that your human navy has been experimenting with ultra-low frequencies and their supposed communicative abilities. Pugh, I must say that I abhor this idea, for low, guttural hums are how the filth of the deep speak to one another.


Curse their fatty, warm-blooded bodies. Curse their crushing, scooping jaws. And curse their bellies, bellies plump with my brethren's tender head-sacks. Your submariners learned from the filth how to communicate using ultra-low frequencies. This, to me, was the final proof that you humans were in league with those hideous, bloated ex-patriates of the Land (Mammals do not belong in the Deep, Pugh.) Prepared I was to summon forth my multi-limbed relations. That would have been a sight, Mr. Pugh, thousands coursing to the surface, thrashing and crushing with hunter-tentacles until their tender bodies gave into the dearth of pressure and concussively burst, tearing the foul monkey-men to bits with the shrapnel of their stiffening spines and beaks. We would have feasted on your eyes, your delicious salty eyes.

But, I observed later in the very same week, while my fellow cephalopods were readying for war, that your submariners had also experimented with ultra-high frequencies. When my tympanic membranes first buzzed with this news, I shivered with delight. I unfurled my massive tentacles and thumped on the glass of my studio walls. I could have choked a man, so happy was I. When the navy let fly their cacophony, they deafened many hundreds of the Scum of the Deep. The vacuous, phono-maddened whales beached themselves and became prey once again for the 33rd Airborne Seagull Division. (Ah, how I love the feathery inconstancy of the fowl . . . twittering this way and then that on a whim, fluttering from carrion to candy-wrappers to the quiver-flesh of my enemies. It warms even my briny heart.)

Humans were saved by mere hours from the wrath of the squidly kind.

My point is this, Mr. Pugh: If the whales had had Aluminum siding, they would still be alive and devouring my children and friends. I am quite confident that you never could devour my children or friends, so go for the aluminum. Its armor should lend your body a pleasant boxy line, quite like one of your medieval Knights or those antiquated brass diving enclosures that were such the rage when I was a squidling. I'm not sure how your countenance would appear encased in wood, but I would assist any attempts to discover such.


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