The Yale Record | The Magazine | The Underwater Issue

Delivered free for Yalies
$30/year by mail
Free online

Be a part of the Yale Record's continued financial solvency!

Use this link when buying from amazon.com!

Magazines home - Current Issue - Back Issues - Supplementals - Weeklies - Submit

The Underwater Issue

ask poseidon, lord of the depths

Doug Lieblich

Dear Lord Poseidon,
     I am a first time writer long time reader of your advice column (big fan here in Iowa!). Anyways, I have a bit of a problem. My aunt Edna, who is the sweetest lady in the whole world, has suddenly been invading my life! She insists on licking a Bowie knife in a suggestive manner at the dinner table, and has taken to wearing my good black stockings over her face. In addition, she nags me when I bring the kids to soccer practice because “I should spend my time doing more important things like looking for my husband’s body.” Granted, I haven’t seen my husband in 2 weeks, but regardless Edna keeps creating annoyances, like putting some of his fingers in my make-up cabinet. I think she just wants attention. Should I let her stay or give her the ol’ boot and replace her vitamins with rat poison?
     Exasperatedly,
     Auntagonistic

Dear Auntagonistic,
Woe to all who dare cross Poseidon’s depths! I was granted this kingdom through the drawing of straws with Zeus and Hades themselves. Do not show hubris, mortal, it shall be your downfall. To solve your problems, slaughter 5 of your fattest black sheep to me and burn one virgin white goat to commemorate my sovereignty over the land of the dolphins! Errr sea! Of the dolphins! If this Edna still does not comply construct a trident out of the flesh of infidels as I have, and summon the winds Zephyr and Eurphris to blow her into oblivion. TREMBLE BEFORE ME!
Lord Poseidon

Dear Lord Poseidon,
     Thanks for the gift coupons you sent me in exchange for sacrificing my first-born son to your holy name. I used them last night to eat at your newly developed fried fish franchise, Burger King of the Sea, where my company was having an important business dinner. Unfortunately one of your surly waitresses accidentally spilled cocktail sauce all over . . . well, my cock and thus ruined my favorite shirt. The management replaced my shirt with a complementary t-shirt displaying a picture of a crab with large lettering saying “BITE ME.” Needless to say I was slightly aggravated, considering this dinner was a black tie affair and I was stuck sitting at a table in front of my colleagues with a cantankerous crustacean on my chest. I am writing to ask if you could give me a refund for my dinner or at least my first-born son back.
     Covered In Ketchup and Worcestershire-ly,
     Cocktail Shenanigans Man

Dear Cocktail Shenanigans Man,
Sorry no refunds. In ancient Greek times it was considered the highest of high honors for a cocktail waitress to spill cocktail sauce all over your cock. Such accolades were originally reserved for heroes such as Hercules, Achilles, and Stan of the Peloponnesus. As for your son, his revival is impossible; as we speak he is my cabana boy, serving me piña coladas and fanning me with giant leaves. What’s that? How can you fan someone in the ocean? Don’t ask questions! Tremble… TREMBLE!
Lord Poseidon

Dear Lord Poseidon,
I wanna be where the people are.
I wanna see,
Wanna see ‘em dancin’.
Walkin’ around on those
(Whad’ya call ‘em?) oh – feet.
Flippin’ your fins you don’t get too far,
Legs are required for jumpin’, dancin’,
Strollin’ along down a
(What’s that word again?) street.

Up where they walk,
Up where they run,
Up where they stay all day in the sun!
Wanderin’ free,
Wish I could be,
Part of that world!
Tremblingly yours,
The Little Mermaid

Dear The Little Mermaid,
You cannot be part of that world because you will asphyxiate as a result of your inability to absorb oxygen from air. Your lack of lungs will cause you to choke within minutes. In addition, because you have no legs, you will flop along the sand in a manner similar to a beached trout, albeit one with sumptuous cartoon bosoms. The only part of that world that you can be is a forlorn, dead part! TREMBLE!
Lord Poseidon

Dear Lord Poseidon,
Why do my inner thighs smell like low tide?
Concerned,
Madeleine Albright

Dear Madeleine Albright,
That is the deepest mystical secret of the ocean! If your cooter emits the aroma of brine, Lord Poseidon suggests Vagacil. TREMBLE!
Lord Poseidon

Dear Lord Poseidon,
You two faced ass monger son of a bitch! I make one miniscule statement after our victory over Troy and you fuck me over by having my schlep my ass across the Mediterranean for another 9 years! What kind of a lousy fuck of a deity do you think you are? I haven’t fucked my wife Penelope in 18 years and my crib is crawling with freeloading suitors all because of your “Hubris is your downfall, mortal” bullshit! I swear to some other gods that I will find where you live and insert your trident up Pirates Cove . . . and by Pirates Cove I mean your anus!
Odysseus

Dear Odysseus,
     I am terribly sorry for the inconvenience. Enclosed are two complimentary tickets for dinner at my popular fast fish frying franchise (Lord Poseidon is also Lord of alliteration) Burger King of the Sea. Please enjoy your splendid oceanic cuisine.
     Hubris is still your downfall,
     Lord Poseidon

Dear Poseidon and Odysseus,
     Yarr! So that’s why the Cove be smellin’ so rank!
     Disgustedly,
     Captain Hookbeard

Poseidon is owner of Burger King of the Sea, a selfstyled
"Crab Shanty . . . but with ketchup," author of several popular self-help books, including “How to Make a Quick Killing as a Restauranteur” and “Poseidon’s Turbo-Carb Diet and 9 Point Life Success Plan,” and a demigod. He can usually be found completely sauced at an area Crab Shanty, or reached 24/7 by pagan ritual sacrifice and prayer.