Now I’m ripping up the turf on the fifth subsection of this aqua-lecture. One of my tentacles is clutching the heavens and squeezing out all the sunshine till the sky is dry. This darkens the atmosphere, thus you start whimpering: Apparently you have a rational fear of she-squids from outer space. Plus the sun got slain from what I just did: I absorbed the sun’s life and devoured the daylight straight out of it, by way of raw violence, and left the world in a state of never-ending nighttime. Now I can set my main plan in motion. So I reach my tentacles over to the seven seas and begin to drink deep. I finish off the oceans. Wow, behold: now all the people are trembling and crying, because I keep growing bigger and getting stronger while their planet shrinks and collapses and dies in its sin. “What hath happened to all our precious sunlight and water?” plantlife prays; then it looks around and exclaims: “And why is that massive octopus glowing blonde?”
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