A math problem: Let us say, for example, that there were to be a gang of recently rich twenty-somethings who decided to invest in a medium to large sized yacht, preferably with a hot-tub, expressly for the purpose of then equipping themselves with large diving-bells and five foot harpoons and the ashes of Jacques Cousteau, along with his customary fifteen to thirty martini per day intake per recently enriched twenty-something year old, and proceeding then to sail 'round and 'round the world searching for your, shall we say, long lost wife—you know, Krakenia or something like that.

Now if, as a continuing example, these intrepid squid hunters were to find her (or any others of your close family), spear her with harpoons, drag her on to the boat and then proceed to bring her to the closest port where they would then take even more of their riches to rent a nice, not-too-big, ocean front bungalow with a large open space in front of it, just the right size for a large bonfire with a roasting spit on top of it.

If they were then to have a giant squid roast (no pun intended!) with your dearly departed beloved etc., how many of their friends would they have to fly in from the suburbs in order to not have any leftovers, while not more than seven and not less than three of them would die of, well, stuffing themselves with too much squid and cheap island beer? We need numbers, squid!

Unsigned

Dearest Readers,

Do you see what one has to put up with one is a world-famous expert on advice? I am a professional. I am bounded in a nutshell of formalities and civic duties. Were I to offer my true advice to this murderous cretin, I would surely expect to have Savage Daniel appear on my doorstep and revoke my membership in the League of Those Qualified and Driven to Advise (LoTQaDtA). The revocation would include the destruction of my membership card, a subsequent increase in my homeowner's insurance, and the insertion of electrified fishhooks into my eyes and cloaca (these three sets of hooks are connected by light-gauge steel cable of too-little slack). Suffice it to say, I find such outcomes less than desirable.

Instead I implore you, loyal and fierce Mojonauts whose words burn like phosphorous and whose wits are sharp like monofilament wire, what response would you give unto this barbaric family-eater? This Croesus of the Sea? Relieved from the social contract or the necessities of the adviser-advisee relationship, what would you suggest?

Please proceed on to my glorious Newswire to engage in such discussion. In the case of arithmetic answers, please show all your work.

I Remain,
Smoldering in Indignation,
The Giant Squid

Post-Scriptorum: Holiday Shoppers, you are much fortunate, in that a very, very few copies of my first original book, (The Giant Squid in) Holiday Hijinx do remain available for purchase, either for one's self (which is Greedy) or to give unto another (which is Magnanimous in the extreme):

This lengthy pamphlet (some 119 wood-pulp pages!) includes the Giant Squid's own erudition and meditations of the years 2000-2001 regarding the Holy Days as they are in these United States Americanum, plus a complete record of his ill-fated attempt at holiday making during the Thanksgiving-Yuletide-New Yeared period of 2002.

[ . . . ]

Purchase your copy TODAY! Supplies are LIMITED! Time is SHORT and FICKLE! MUTABILITY is the Rule and Regret the Highest PRICE!

Truer words have not yet been spoken. Go! BUY!