The Chairman
04-03-2003, 02:03 PM
Damn that's some scary looking calamari....
Just scroll down to the links if you don't have the time or the inclination to read my typically long intro...
THE GIANT SQUID
BY CHAIRMAN KAGA
I had this weird dream last night. I decided to form a rap group called Chairman Kaga and the Iron MC's. To add a level of authenticity and street cred, I converted to Muslim and changed my name to Kaga Al Mohammed. Like every good Muslim, I decided to make a pilgrimage to Mecca for the holy month of Ramadan. Once there, I decided that rap music and the Koran were not for me, so I tried to find a bar where I could order a couple of Bass Ales. This being Saudi Arabia and all, I couldn't find a bar, but I did run into a hot Muslim chick who let me look under her veil. She told me she had a thing for New Yorkers with receding hairlines, and invited me back to her place for some dried dates.
So the Muslim chick takes me back to her place, removes her robe and tells me she wants a deep dicking. Well, maybe she didn't say deep dicking, I don't know if there's actually a gerund form of dick in Farsi. But I knew what she meant. So I obliged. Having been fasting all month and not having blown a load in as long a time, I slipped her my sopressata. Just as I'm about to give her my money shot, two Saudi Revolutionary guards storm in, take her away crying and arrest me. Turns out the chick was betrothed to the nephew of King Faud and I'm in deep shit. Her father won't accept blood money for this reprehensible act of adultery, so I'm sentenced to death.
In Saudi Arabia, they carry out executions by beheading the guilty party.
In a public square.
I kinda like my head.
I'm fucked...
So a week later they lead me out onto this public square and make me kneel down in the middle. By then I figure out that my appeals to Amnesty International and the US State Department didn't work. Oh, and in this dream Warren Christopher is still the US Secretary of State. Can't figure that one out... So, anyway, out comes the executioner with this long sword.
I'm asked if I have any last requests. I respond that I'd like a plate of fried calamari. My executioner looks at me in delight. Apparently, the executioner is the President of the Saudi Arabian Squid Lovers Society, and breeds squid as a hobby. Has a tank full of Humbolt Squid in the back of his pad in Medina, where he has selectively bred them so that their ink shoots green, not black. He says he's got a squid that shoots ink like Peter North shoots jizz. He says he can't believe that I, too, am a cephalopod lover. He asks me if I know what animal has the largest eye in the animal kingdom, and I reply, "The Giant Squid." He asks me whether anyone has ever seen a Giant Squid alive, and I tell him, "No, but every now and then a 60 foot long dead one washes up on shore, most often off New Zealand." He asks me if I played Cowboys and Indians when I was a child and I tell him no, but my friends and I used to stage epic battles pretending we were Sperm Whales fighting Giant Squid off the coast of Wellington, New Zealand....
The executioner excuses himself after handing me my plate of fried calamari. By now I kinda lost my appetite, even though the fried calamari looks worthy of Lenny's Clam Bar in Howard Beach although there's no medium-hot sauce on the side. My executioner comes back and tells me that I've been pardoned by the King, and I'm a free man. I smile, and for an ephemeral moment, my eyes well up with tears. I am saved again by my love of squid. I get up, the crowd cheers, and I begin singing, first in a low, sturdy voice, reminiscent of Papageno in Mozart's The Magic Flute. (I would have preferred a lower voiced baritone, but I never could muster the heroic Wagnerian roles.) So anyway, I eventually crescendo into a Tenoresque high C, belting out the squid anthem in operatic fervor as if I was Prince Calaf in Puccini's Turandot. The crowd joins me:
[i] [b]
I'm a cephalopod and I'm OK
I syphon all night and I syphon all day
I
Just scroll down to the links if you don't have the time or the inclination to read my typically long intro...
THE GIANT SQUID
BY CHAIRMAN KAGA
I had this weird dream last night. I decided to form a rap group called Chairman Kaga and the Iron MC's. To add a level of authenticity and street cred, I converted to Muslim and changed my name to Kaga Al Mohammed. Like every good Muslim, I decided to make a pilgrimage to Mecca for the holy month of Ramadan. Once there, I decided that rap music and the Koran were not for me, so I tried to find a bar where I could order a couple of Bass Ales. This being Saudi Arabia and all, I couldn't find a bar, but I did run into a hot Muslim chick who let me look under her veil. She told me she had a thing for New Yorkers with receding hairlines, and invited me back to her place for some dried dates.
So the Muslim chick takes me back to her place, removes her robe and tells me she wants a deep dicking. Well, maybe she didn't say deep dicking, I don't know if there's actually a gerund form of dick in Farsi. But I knew what she meant. So I obliged. Having been fasting all month and not having blown a load in as long a time, I slipped her my sopressata. Just as I'm about to give her my money shot, two Saudi Revolutionary guards storm in, take her away crying and arrest me. Turns out the chick was betrothed to the nephew of King Faud and I'm in deep shit. Her father won't accept blood money for this reprehensible act of adultery, so I'm sentenced to death.
In Saudi Arabia, they carry out executions by beheading the guilty party.
In a public square.
I kinda like my head.
I'm fucked...
So a week later they lead me out onto this public square and make me kneel down in the middle. By then I figure out that my appeals to Amnesty International and the US State Department didn't work. Oh, and in this dream Warren Christopher is still the US Secretary of State. Can't figure that one out... So, anyway, out comes the executioner with this long sword.
I'm asked if I have any last requests. I respond that I'd like a plate of fried calamari. My executioner looks at me in delight. Apparently, the executioner is the President of the Saudi Arabian Squid Lovers Society, and breeds squid as a hobby. Has a tank full of Humbolt Squid in the back of his pad in Medina, where he has selectively bred them so that their ink shoots green, not black. He says he's got a squid that shoots ink like Peter North shoots jizz. He says he can't believe that I, too, am a cephalopod lover. He asks me if I know what animal has the largest eye in the animal kingdom, and I reply, "The Giant Squid." He asks me whether anyone has ever seen a Giant Squid alive, and I tell him, "No, but every now and then a 60 foot long dead one washes up on shore, most often off New Zealand." He asks me if I played Cowboys and Indians when I was a child and I tell him no, but my friends and I used to stage epic battles pretending we were Sperm Whales fighting Giant Squid off the coast of Wellington, New Zealand....
The executioner excuses himself after handing me my plate of fried calamari. By now I kinda lost my appetite, even though the fried calamari looks worthy of Lenny's Clam Bar in Howard Beach although there's no medium-hot sauce on the side. My executioner comes back and tells me that I've been pardoned by the King, and I'm a free man. I smile, and for an ephemeral moment, my eyes well up with tears. I am saved again by my love of squid. I get up, the crowd cheers, and I begin singing, first in a low, sturdy voice, reminiscent of Papageno in Mozart's The Magic Flute. (I would have preferred a lower voiced baritone, but I never could muster the heroic Wagnerian roles.) So anyway, I eventually crescendo into a Tenoresque high C, belting out the squid anthem in operatic fervor as if I was Prince Calaf in Puccini's Turandot. The crowd joins me:
[i] [b]
I'm a cephalopod and I'm OK
I syphon all night and I syphon all day
I