Old Business, vol. 2
We know more about dinosaurs than we do about the giant squid. The fact is, no one has ever seen a giant squid in its natural habitat.
- Clyde Roper, Architeuthis hunter of 35 years, undoubtedly still drinking champagne out of Richard Ellis' hat at the Cousteau Society bar as the the squidhunters celebrate.
Some people have wondered why I didn't post something sooner. I can't decide, frankly, whether I should attribute it to a state of happy, stunned shock that my constant faith had been rewarded, or whether I should just smugly pretend to be surprised that there should be all this fuss.
Because it's not as if we're dealing with a god-damn yeti, here. The giant squid isn't Mothman, or a leshy, or a mkole-mbembe, or the Jersey Devil or Springheel Jack. We've FOUND the giant squid. In the belly of the great Moby Dickheads that plow the sea behind their vast prows of mysterious pearly goo and washed ashore in exotic island locales where the drinks are as dangerous as the women. They've ranged in size from nine feet to just longer than a basic Mack truck with trailer, with bits of tentacles, and frightening suckerscars lending credence to the theory that they might range up into the hundreds.
The fact that we finally ran one down was just a matter of waiting for technology to catch up with ingenuity on a day when Lady Luck was feeling amorous.
Clever gambit, nonetheless. Start by following the sperm whales, because we can SEE those big bastards when they come up to fill their lungs with a stadium's worth of air before roaring back down to the inky indigo depths. And we know what they eat - and to a lesser extent, what might try to eat them.
Then we just need a good submersible, a clever bait, a lot of patience, and a really clever video system to gather up some proof for the information-hungry surface world.
And it's natural enough that the Japanese would be the first to get one. They've got those frighteningly deep Pacific waters right off their crowded beaches, and they've got a vested interest in finding a new form of sea life to harvest. The neophilic culture of Nippon is going to need a new flavor of sushi EVENTUALLY.
Voila.
Vindication. Eight fucking meters of vindication.
Now for our next trick -
Let's get a BIG one. And get more than just his damn tentacle this time.
I want the COLOSSAL squid.
Mesonychoteuthis hamiltoni
I want the King God-damn Kong of giant squids. I want Mesonychoteuthis Rex. I want a squid that requires two destroyers and an icebreaker to haul in, a squid that has strange sigils carved into its enormous mantles, a squid that will finally break loose in New York harbor and slap F-15s out of the sky with its hideous whips and that will rip the Statue of Liberty off her moorings and have its way with her with the huddled masses of Ellis Island screaming and spattered with ammonia.
But then ... I'm a conneiseur. And a greedy bastard. And a looney.
- Clyde Roper, Architeuthis hunter of 35 years, undoubtedly still drinking champagne out of Richard Ellis' hat at the Cousteau Society bar as the the squidhunters celebrate.
Some people have wondered why I didn't post something sooner. I can't decide, frankly, whether I should attribute it to a state of happy, stunned shock that my constant faith had been rewarded, or whether I should just smugly pretend to be surprised that there should be all this fuss.
Because it's not as if we're dealing with a god-damn yeti, here. The giant squid isn't Mothman, or a leshy, or a mkole-mbembe, or the Jersey Devil or Springheel Jack. We've FOUND the giant squid. In the belly of the great Moby Dickheads that plow the sea behind their vast prows of mysterious pearly goo and washed ashore in exotic island locales where the drinks are as dangerous as the women. They've ranged in size from nine feet to just longer than a basic Mack truck with trailer, with bits of tentacles, and frightening suckerscars lending credence to the theory that they might range up into the hundreds.
The fact that we finally ran one down was just a matter of waiting for technology to catch up with ingenuity on a day when Lady Luck was feeling amorous.
Clever gambit, nonetheless. Start by following the sperm whales, because we can SEE those big bastards when they come up to fill their lungs with a stadium's worth of air before roaring back down to the inky indigo depths. And we know what they eat - and to a lesser extent, what might try to eat them.
Then we just need a good submersible, a clever bait, a lot of patience, and a really clever video system to gather up some proof for the information-hungry surface world.
And it's natural enough that the Japanese would be the first to get one. They've got those frighteningly deep Pacific waters right off their crowded beaches, and they've got a vested interest in finding a new form of sea life to harvest. The neophilic culture of Nippon is going to need a new flavor of sushi EVENTUALLY.
Voila.
Vindication. Eight fucking meters of vindication.
Now for our next trick -
Let's get a BIG one. And get more than just his damn tentacle this time.
I want the COLOSSAL squid.
Mesonychoteuthis hamiltoni
I want the King God-damn Kong of giant squids. I want Mesonychoteuthis Rex. I want a squid that requires two destroyers and an icebreaker to haul in, a squid that has strange sigils carved into its enormous mantles, a squid that will finally break loose in New York harbor and slap F-15s out of the sky with its hideous whips and that will rip the Statue of Liberty off her moorings and have its way with her with the huddled masses of Ellis Island screaming and spattered with ammonia.
But then ... I'm a conneiseur. And a greedy bastard. And a looney.