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Last night the National Evil returned from protesting the asteroid belt only to find Edward passed out on the living room floor. Spittle bubbling fitfully from his lips. Fingers and toes twitching. Sighing, she picked his laptop off his stomach and confirmed her worst fears:
Last year, when scientists in New Zealand took possession of the 30-foot behemoth, the largest of its kind ever found in one piece, Edward wouldn’t shut up about it for days. When those scientists then claimed that they intended to thaw the squid out in a microwave designed for drying out huge tree trunks, Edward fell off the bed on which he’d been jumping.
Now the eggheads have rejected the tree-fryer because they can’t guarantee the squid will thaw evenly. The National Evil imagined Edward felt a twinge of disappointment, as he’d spent most of his free hours over the last year sketching pictures of the squid slowly turning inside a giant microwave oven as tiny, lab-coated stick-figures looked on. These drawings inevitably terminated with the squid waking from its frozen slumber and, having been mutated by the microwaves into an air-breathing monstrosity, busting the glass to wreak havoc on the greater Wellington area.
Finally, at the end of the article, she found the lines that must have made Edward faint from excitement:
“I don’t think it’s going to be difficult at all for the first person to raise the money it’ll take to put some cameras down there and lure one in. They’re such an aggressive creature, all you’d have to do is stick a dead cow on the end of the hook. It’s the T. rex of the ocean.”
The National Evil poured herself a glass of wine, thought about kicking Edward in the ribs, rejected that idea. Soon enough he’d come to and begin drawing pictures of a bovine corpse, shafted by an immense hook, and a monstrossal tentacle reaching up from the depths to snatch it.
It was going to be another long year . . .