Paul the Prophetic: An Interview with the Octopus

NONFICTION | Paul the Prophetic: An Interview with the Octopus

by Gabriela Romeri 

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Psychic Octopus poses while predicting the impossible: A Serbian win over Germany? 

Don’t let his oracle fame fool you, Paul the Octopus is a smug little bastard. Prefers to go by his general species name of GPO (Giant Pacific Octopus), only he insists that in his case it stands for Grand Poobah Oracle. 

  

Psychic Octopus: Roughly the size of a soccer ball. Coincidence? 

It was tough to get in to see him; he’s a big shot now. He generally won’t take calls, spurns his agents. Doesn’t wish to speak with anyone but his German handlers. 

Having interviewed other octopuses I knew Paul would be formidable–enormous brain,  species billions of years old—but I wasn’t quite prepared for the equally evolved  arrogance. 

  

Pulpo Paul predicts the final World Cup match: Spain over Germany 

[RECORDED INTERVIEW BEGINS] 

CHE:    Thank you for letting me in— 

GPO:    You should be kissing my tentacles. 

CHE:    Uh, yeah… How do you propose— 

GPO:    Do not placate me. 

CHE:    So, the world wants to know. How did you guess all the world cup soccer matches? And the German ones before it? 

GPO:    You think that was guessing? Despite all your probability and logic? You would think that. 

CHE:    Forgive me. You’re clairvoyant then? 

GPO:    Indeed! 

CHE:    Why soccer? Why tune in to our futbol matches? 

GPO:    Why soccer? [Gurgle-laugh] How can you presume to know this sport when you have just two feet? Imagine real soccer, played by eight-legged players. Imagine the combinations and permutations we would deliver in a match against you.  We would annihilate you, outthink and outflank you at every turn. Ha! Don’t make me gurgle. Now let me ask you a question. You’re from Argentina, yes? 

 

South Korea‘s Park Chu-Young and Greece’s Avraam Papadopoulos share a moment.  

CHE:    Originally, yes. 

GPO:    I understand there’s a great Argentine recipe for octopus. I believe one of your chefs wanted to beat me like a milanesa first so I would be nice and tender. 

CHE:    Ah, I’m sure he didn’t mean it. We Argentines can become impassioned over our futbol. 

GPO:    Yes, of all the caveman countries on this planet, you Argentines worship the sport like a religion—and yet, to what end? 

CHE:    Maybe we should talk about something else. 

  

GPO selects Germany to defeat Argentina. And they sure did.  

GPO:    What was it? A 4 to 0 loss to the Germans? My handlers rejoiced. It was you, the Argentines, who were beat like a milanesa, no? 

CHE:    Let’s just talk about something else. 

GPO:    It was referred to as ‘the worst Argentine World Cup loss in 36 years,’ yes? How’d it feel? Getting crushed like a bunch of dainty old ladies? 

[Silence] 

GPO:    It reminded me of that other world cup. Remember that photo of your teammates, holding their sacks? I thought it very apt. 

CHE:    Go fuck yourself. 

  

Argentine players hold their sacks during a penalty kick. Multiple sacks. 

GPO:    What agony. Such crushing defeat. Nothing else quite like it, is there? I wouldn’t know, of course. If I’m anything, I’m a Spaniard at heart—I have three of them you know. Hearts.   

CHE:    I thought you were originally from England? 

GPO:    Not anymore. They want to saint me, you know. The Spaniards. 

 

GPO poses with his new BFF, Spain.  

CHE: I’m sure they will, Paul. Right after they fry you up. 

The rest of the tape consists of guttural sounds and struggle, punctuated by swears and gargles–Bastard! Glrooosp… Eat it! Glarpoost!—as I attempt to beat Pulpo Paul with his own tentacles. The Germans threw me out of the bar with Paul watching, both of us a little bloodier, maybe wiser. Most certainly ready for the FIFA World Cup 2014 played on my home continent, in my sister country, Brazil. 

All are invited, and I’m planning a party. Main course, octopus. 


Gabriela Romeri is an editor for ICF International (formerly, Macro International), working mainly in the field of humanitarian research. She has written for local rags and trade journals in the MD, DE and DC area, and is right now finishing an M.A. in creative writing and literature at Johns Hopkins and an M.F.A. in screenwriting and film studies at Hollins U. You can find her fiction in the most recent riverbabble and upcoming in Gargoyle Magazine. Ms. Romeri is a neurotic political junkie who hopes to change the world, but may have to settle for taking her meds.


Drunk History: The Collection

Sure, pyrotechnics are nice, and a brilliant use for gunpowder. But to properly celebrate our Nation’s Independence Day, one needs nothing more than some Founding Fathers and large, unhealthy amounts of booze.

No one saw this more clearly than Derek Waters, who got his friends completely drunk to better interpret the nuances of our country’s birth. To travel back, we must go through F.O.D., or Funny Or Die, the comedy site co-created by the honorable Will Ferrell, who may save our country yet (we here have great hopes for Willy, and are grateful that he should rise up and lead the Rescue Party).

As tribute to our ideals and our livers, Moon Milk Review has collected the entire Drunken History series, to date. It will ease the hangover of this grand experiment, and make you want to drink again. Or not.

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Drunk History Vol. VI: Tesla and Edison

John C. Reilly plays Nikola Tesla, father of Western Technology and “Electric Jesus,” who battles passively against Thomas Edison, played solemnly by Crispin Glover. Derek Waters, a six pack of beer and a bottle of absinthe present: Drunk History Vol. 6.

”I am inventing electricity and you look like an asshole.”  –Nikola Tesla, as retold by a sometimes vomiting Duncan Trussell

 

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Drunk History Vol. V: Abe Lincoln and Frederick Douglass

Fredrick Douglass, played by ladies man Don Cheadle, befriends Abe Lincoln, played by eternal optimist Will Ferrell, and teaches him some manners. As a result, our entire nation was freed. Why? Because—

“Lincoln wasn’t a douche-bag.” –Jen Kirkman and two bottles of wine

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Drunk History Vol. IV: Harrison, 9th President

The little-known story of William Henry Harrison, as played by Paul Schneider, while channeling Steve Martin. How our ninth president, 68 years old, died after 30 days in office as a result of bluster and malpractice. The moral? “Don’t elect an old guy.”

“I need to show the people I am a strong dude.”
––William Henry Harrison

“These snakes will make you all better.”
––Harrison’s doctors, as retold by J.D. Ryznar, vodka, and beer, on Mother’s day


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Drunk History Vol. III: Oney Judge and George Washington

Oney Judge was a slave to George and Martha Washington. She escaped, and Washington, played by Danny Mcbride, was kind of a dick about it. Of course, they blamed the French. Oney had to take refuge in the woods for 30 years, but she and her children lived free.

“What the fuck, we gave this girl the best life we could. What the fuck.”  – George and Martha Washington

“I have no regrets, because my freedom doesn’t come from the government. My freedom comes from God.” –Jen Kirkman, passionately honoring Oney, despite hiccups from a bottle and a half of wine

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Drunk History Vol. 2.5: Franklin’s Favorite Pastime  

Benjamin Franklin, played by Jack Black, is quite the politician when it comes to the bedroom. He campaigns relentlessly for his friend’s wife.

“Ben Franklin liked to fuck.” –Eric Falconer, Benjamin Franklin expert, and more vodka cranberries

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Drunk History Vol. II: Franklin, Electricity, and the Bastard Son

Jack Black plays a mean Ben Franklin; watch his controversial parenting techniques as he discovers electricity, aided by William Franklin, his bastard son.

“William, you are my bastard son. Get a kite.”
–Benjamin Franklin

“William Franklin was a dick.” –Eric Falconer, some vomit, and 8 vodka cranberries

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Drunk History Vol. I:  Alexander Hamilton Duels Aaron Burr

During the third presidency of our nation, a dark triangle formed between Alexander Hamilton, Aaron Burr, and Thomas Jefferson. There could be only one. Or two.  Michael Cera plays a convincing Alexander Hamilton, during his doomed duel with Aaron Burr. Gagliardi, with a bucket nearby, after a bottle of scotch, making drunk history.

“Hey, you’re giving me shit. We gotta duel.”
–Aaron Burr

“I’m too drunk to keep going. But Hamilton won, even though he was killed.” –Mark Gagliardi, bucket nearby, after a bottle of scotch, making drunk history

 

 


Gabriela Romeri is an editor for ICF International (formerly, Macro International), working mainly in the field of humanitarian research. She has written for local rags and trade journals in the MD, DE and DC area, and is right now finishing an M.A. in creative writing and literature at Johns Hopkins and an M.F.A. in screenwriting and film studies at Hollins U. You can find her fiction in the most recent riverbabble and upcoming in Gargoyle Magazine. Ms. Romeri is a neurotic political junkie who hopes to change the world, but may have to settle for taking her meds.