Octopope!

by John Smallberries

  “Octopope’s got a hat,” said Dick.

  “The Octopope is dead,” I said.

  “Long live the Octopope!”

  “Wally’s awake,” said Jeff.

  Dick leaned forward. “Just because the Octopope’s dead doesn’t mean the hat no longer exists.”

  “True,” I conceded, “but it does make it a hat on a dead Octopope. And that cannot be taken lightly.”

  “Yes it can.” Dick said. “It’s a hat.”

  “On a dead guy.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Exactly what?”

  “Well, he won’t mind.”

  “What?”

  “The Octopope won’t mind us using his hat.”

  “Of course not, he’s dead.”

  Dick sat back and grinned. The fucker got me. “You make a compelling argument, Dick.”

  “Thank you, Milo.”

  “So,” I said, looking around the table, “shall we agree to use the Octopope’s dead hat?”

  “Dead Octopope’s hat,” Dick corrected.

  “I concur,” I said.

  “Me too,” said Andy.

  “Yes,” said Wally.

  “Alright,” I said, “then we’re in agreement, yes?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good, so let’s-” I stopped and looked around the table. “Where’s Jeff?”

  “I got the hat,” said Jeff, walking into the room.

  “Damn, you’re good.”

  “Thank you, Milo.”

  * * *

  And lo, we took a piece of paper, ripped it into five more-or-less even strips, passed them around the table, and we each wrote down a single name that would serve as our nomination for Octopope. We were very particular about these things. Nothing left up to chance. That’s why we got the big bucks. We were very, very strict. And still a tad hung-over.

  I can’t speak for my associates, but I’m not ashamed to say that I chose to write down the name of my very esteemed conjoined cousins Ron and Russell. My reasoning being that if they were to be Picked, not only would they be the first Oct-DUO-pope, but I’d also have an ‘in’, if you will, to the occasional use of that seriously nice bed and those also seriously nice curtains. A guy’s got to have his principles. Mine tend to gravitate towards the nicer things in life, like beds and curtains. And Holy Booze. Sweet fuck, yes.

  Anyway, I digress. We wrote down our nominations, crumpled them into little balls and tossed them into the dead Octopope’s hat which Jeff had been so kind as to fetch for us. Jeff was a good guy. I almost wish I had written in Jeff instead. Not like it would’ve made a difference though, for as it was, it would’ve always been. We don’t question that. It’s in the Book. You don’t question the book if you know what’s good for you, and/or you value your scrotum. Just saying.

  But I’m also saying that Jeff would’ve made a pretty good Octopope. Not questioning the Book, merely posing an opinion. I happen to value my scrotum very much, thank you. Jeff just would’ve made a pretty good Octopope. There, I’ve said it. We can all move on now.

  * * *

  After we tossed the paper balls into the dead Octopope’s hat, we were left with the unseemly task of picking someone to Pick the name of the next Octopope.

  “I’ll do it,” said Dick.

  “Fuck you, Dick, I wanna do it,” said Andy.

  “Fuck you, Andy, I’m Dick,” said Dick.

  That sort of thing continued for a while, with Jeff, Wally and I pretty much staying out of it and waiting for one to kill the other so we could move on. Well, that’s what I did. I can’t speak for Wally and Jeff, but I was expecting bloodshed and had my money on Dick. Dick was a mean motherfucker. And yet, much to my disappointment, no fight broke out. Verbal warfare, certainly, but no physical contact. Too much time had passed with no violence occurring, and I was fed up. I was also feeling a little bad for not writing in Jeff instead of my cousins, so I piped up and suggested we let Jeff do the Picking. Everybody agreed. Jeff sure was a good guy.

  I’d probably rank it as one of the happiest moments of Jeff’s life if I was Jeff, but I’m not so I can’t. And maybe ‘happiest’ isn’t the best choice. Proudest? Proudest. As Jeff reached a tentacle into the hat, it must have been one of the proudest moments of his life. Yes, I think so.

  Jeff closed his eyes and felt around, ever so carefully. We heard the rustling of the five paper balls. Jeff’s face screwed up in concentration. The rustling stopped. A look of peace bloomed on Jeff’s face and he withdrew his tentacle, gently cradling a single pall of paper. We all held our breath in anticipation. That paper ball held a name that one of us had written down. The name of the next Octopope.

  Tension filled the room. Jeff inhaled deeply. He un-crumpled the paper. He looked at the paper. His eyes went wide. He glanced around the table. He looked back down at the paper. His mouth struggled to comprehend, but he finally managed to pronounce the name of the next Octopope:

  “Wally.”

  Part VI:

  Wally Ascendant

  One of us, I honestly don’t know who due to the shock of the moment, unconsciously let out a low, incredulous, “Whoa.”

  Slowly, all eyes shifted to Wally, whose expression had not changed, apparently incapable of comprehending the gravity of the announcement.

  “Wally?” I asked, after a long, long period of awed silence. Wally did not move. He didn’t even register having heard his name for the second time.

  “You’re sure it’s Wally?” Dick asked, looking towards Jeff.

  “The hat,” said Jeff, “the hat does not lie…”

  We took this in. The hat does not lie. That settled it. Wally was the Octopope. End of story.

  “But…Wally?” said Dick. “That Wally?” He pointed at our seemingly comatose comrade.

  Jeff turned the paper around, showing us all Wally’s name, scribbled into history. “Wally,” he said, “I only know one Wally. And that’s Wally.”

  Despite the massive importance of the situation, and the Divine Implications of Wally’s newfound position of Octopopedom, I couldn’t help but use the event to facilitate the use of my favorite swear.

  “God-fuck,” I said.

  Jeff glared at me. “Milo, now is not the time.”

  “Sorry,” I muttered, “but…Wally? Really?”

  “Really.”

  I sat back and took it in. Then, after thinking it over, “God-FUCK.”

  Dick’s shock had apparently worn off, and he leaned forward on the table, seeming to attempt to process something in his mind. Poor guy.

  “What I want to know,’ he said, audibly straining to maintain a calm attitude, “is who wrote him in.”

  “Not me,” I said, “I wrote in my cousins.”

  “The freaks?”

  “Yup.”

  “Shit, that would’ve been cool.”

  “I know.”

  “Shit.”

  “Who’d you write, Dick?”

  Dick shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “I’d rather not say,” he said, “but it sure as fuck wasn’t Wally.”

  “Fair enough,” I said, “How about you Jeff?”

  “Not Wally,” he said, staring at the paper, trying to will the writing to shift into another name. Any other name. Dick, me, him, Andy…

  And that’s when I noticed that Andy had remained silent since the announcement.

  I turned to look at him. “Andy,” I said, “what about you?”

  Dick, who had apparently forgotten Andy was in the room, spun to observe him.

  “I…” Andy gulped, “I wrote…Wally.”

  Dick went bright red. “You WHAT? WHY?”

  “I don’t know!” Andy yelled. “It seemed like a good idea at the time!”

  “This isn’t a joke, you fucker!” Dick screamed.

  “I’m sorry!”

  Jeff waved the paper. “Sorry doesn’t change this, Andy. He’s Octopope now. The hat does not lie.”

  I laid my head on the table. “Fuckit
y fuck FUCK.”

  “I thought it would be funny…” said Andy.

  Dick’s color elevated from a bright red to that of a deeply malevolent radish. He slammed his tentacles down, shaking the room. “I WILL SHOOT YOU IN THE FACE!”

  “I’m sorry!” Andy yelled again, tears beginning to form in his eyes.

  “Fuck, Andy,” I said, turning my head to the side. Jeff was nearing a state of absolute panic, if my assessment was correct. His head seemed to be caught in a constant loop of incredulous side-to-side action.

  “We can do a do-over,” Andy pleaded, “we can do that, we can-”

  “The paper does not lie,” Jeff cried, still caught in his loop.

  “But,” Andy stumbled, “but-”

  Dick snapped and flailed his tentacles across the table, grasping for Andy but falling short. “YOU SLAT-BASTARD, I WILL KICK YOU IN THE TEETH!”

  “Milo, do something,” said Jeff from his head-shaking daze.

  I grabbed Dick’s tentacles and held them down while Andy began to sob openly. In that extremely uncomfortable situation, all I could do to cope was open my mouth and let out a loud, extended, “FUCK.”

  And there we were. Jeff suffering a nervous breakdown, Andy weeping, Dick consumed by rage, and me screaming “FUCK” at the top of my lungs.

  In the midst of our collective hysterics, nobody noticed the light emanating from Wally’s section of the table. Then we heard a mighty voice echoing through the room:

  “I AM OCTOPOPE.”

  Part VII:

  Octopope!

  All eyes shifted to the light. We immediately ceased our mania and focused on the beautiful brightness. The light slowly dimmed, and we beheld a glorious, if fucking weird, sight.

  Wally had emptied the hat of the remaining paper balls and placed it on his head. His color had changed from his usual pale-peach to a rich and majestic shade of purple. Somehow he had acquired both the Divine Scarf-Looking-Thing and Divine Scepter-or-Whatever of the Octopope, and he now bore a striking resemblance to the figure he was supposed to be.

  “I am Octopope,” he repeated.

  He sure looked it. And after basking in the glory of the now-dimmed light, Jeff posed a careful and tentative, “Wally?”

  “Wally is dead,” said Wally, “I am Octopope.”

  “But,” Dick added, “you’re still Wally, Wally, just Octopope Wally, Wally.”

  “Wally is no more,” said Wally, “there is only Octopope.”

  “Well, he is the Octopope,” said Jeff.

  “Yeah, but he’s taking it a little too far,” said Dick.

  “A bit,” I added.

  “I AM OCTOPOPE.”

  “We know.”

  * * *

  As we tried to work out what to do with Wally and his inflated sense of self-worth, the doors opened and one of those fucking Archbishops walked in.

  “Are you guys done yet, or what?” he asked, thoroughly sick of waiting. “We’re thoroughly sick of waiting, and if you fucks don’t pick an Octopope soon, we’re gonna pick one ourselves because we’re arrogant assholes and that’s just how we roll.”

  At least that’s what I like to think he would’ve said. But the bastard didn’t get past “if you fucks don’t” before Wally rose up into the air, extended a tentacle, shot forth a bolt of purple lightning, and the Archbishop of Someplace turned into the Archbishop of Lots and Lots of Places, raining down in little bits around the room.

  “HOLY SHIT,” screamed Dick, scrambling to throw pieces of Archbishop off of himself and dodge smaller chunks that took longer to fall.

  “How the fuck did you do that?” cried Jeff.

  “I’M FUCKIN’ HOLY,” said Wally.

  And that was the precise moment when we decided it would be in everyone’s best interest to no longer refer to Wally as Wally, but as Octopope.

  For Wally truly was no more.

  There was only Octopope.

  “I voted for you,” piped Andy.

  “Thank you, my child.”

  Part VIII:

  Oh Shit.

  Under the guidance of Octopope, we left the Divine Octopope Picking Room to be cleaned of the Archbishop, and went to the Divine Chamber in order to gather and burn the dead Octopope, releasing the purple smoke to denote the Picking of the new Octopope. Then we’d issue a press conference or something and tell everyone who the new Octopope is. That’s protocol. That’s how we do things.

  That’s what we all thought, anyway.

  Octopope (he demanded we drop the ‘the’) had other plans.

  * * *

  We tried to figure out how and where we were supposed to burn the dead Octopope in order to release the purple smoke.

  “I can’t remember for shit,” said Dick.

  “Did we pass any doors that said ‘Furnace’ or ‘Fire Room’ or ‘Burn Shit Here’ or anything?” asked Andy.

  “I don’t recall,” I said.

  “There’s got to be one someplace,” said Jeff, “they always do it that way on TV.”

  “Yeah, but I didn’t see anyplace that looked like a burning place,” said Dick.

  “I have no need for this petty shit,” proclaimed Octopope, waving a tentacle at his dead predecessor. The corpse rose up off the seriously nice bed and burst into flame. Octopope waved another tentacle at the center of the domed ceiling and a good-sized hole appeared in the ornate stone. Purple smoke began rising from the flaming corpse and out through the ceiling.

  “Damn, he’s good,” said Jeff.

  “I voted for him,” said Andy.

  * * *

  We marveled at the surreal display before us. Never before had an Octopope possessed this kind of power. They were always just figureheads, old fucks who sat in big chairs and seriously nice beds, but that was about it. This stuff was new. And it was really fucking cool. This wasn’t just an Octopope. This was Octopope.

  The corpse kept burning. The smoke kept flowing. We kept watching.

  And then Octopope began what we refer to as the ‘Oh Shit’ phase of his new ceremony.

  The burning corpse shot up through the hole in the ceiling, up into the sky, and exploded, releasing a massive purple cloud and showering the gathered worshippers with its remains.

  You could feel the Oh-Shit pulse through the Divine Chamber.

  Octopope lifted off the floor and ascended through the ceiling, like the exploded carcass before him. We watched from below as he rose up through his predecessor’s cloud and floated high above the Divine Palace.

  “I,” Octopope bellowed, “AM OCTOPOPE.”

  And from the Divine Chamber, as we stared through the hole, we all uttered a humble prayer:

  “Oh shit.”

  Part IX:

  Commandment

  Octopope hovered over the Divine Palace, peering down through the dissipating purple cloud to gaze at his newfound devoted followers. We really didn’t know what to expect next. I mean, yeah, there had been other Octopopes before, but again, they never had these kinds of weird-ass powers. The last Octopope we’d seen take the reigns was introduced in a pleasant little press conference, and was then ushered into the Divine Chamber where he had a nice lunch and took a nap. After that, he basically did what his advisors advised him to. Pretty simple stuff. New Octopope, who used to be a pretty simple, borderline fucking stupid guy, was taking charge like his old self, and certainly no other Octopope, had ever done. Plus, he was flying. And he could blow shit up. That was also new.

  Whatever happened to tradition?

  * * *

  Meanwhile, up in the sky, Octopope’s ‘Oh Shit’ phase was just getting started:

  “You, O humble followers of Octopope and believers in Divinity, have long disappointed Octopope in your lack of Holiness. I mean this not as direct criticism on specific individuals, but instead as a general complaint. Overall, you have been nowhere near as Holy as you could, and should, be. You shall heed my Word. You shall be more Holy.”

  What the fuck.
<
br />   “Have I, Octopope, not made myself clear? Be it my Commandment to be obeyed: Thou shalt be more Holy. Understand this and obey my Commandment.”

  “He’s out of his fucking mind,” Dick whispered.

  “I, Octopope, have spoken. So it shall be,” called Octopope. “Rejoice.”

  Enthusiastic, if not a tad confused, cheers from the crowd.

  We, on the other hand, were wholly perplexed by the entire situation. What did he mean, ‘be more Holy’? How exactly does one ‘be more Holy’? Read the Book more often? Go pray like a sonofabitch? We didn’t get it. But then, it was the Word of Octopope, so in theory we did have to follow it. Fuck.

  But the crowd seemed to like it. I figured they’d buy the Word of Octopope, no matter how vague it was. It still didn’t answer our questions, though. But we accepted that. Octopope had control of the situation, and we could probably go home now, right?

  Wrong.

  Still floating above his followers, Octopope whipped forward a tentacle. We heard loud popping sounds and a mass of screams.

  “NOT HOLY ENOUGH,” yelled Octopope.

  “What the fuck was that?” Jeff screamed.

  “I don’t fuckin’ know, man,” said Dick, “I don’t fuckin’ know.”

  “THOU SHALT BE MORE HOLY. OBEY OCTOPOPE. BWAHAHAHAHA.”

  What made the entire experience even more unnerving was that instead of laughing maniacally as the written form would imply, Octopope delivered that last bit of his decree with the same enunciated, commanding tone that he had assumed since taking on the role. It was fucking spooky.

  “Be more Holy,” came Octopope’s voice, rising through the screams, “and I shall lead you from these dark times to the time of light. I have seen and lived the light. I can guide you from these dark times. But only if you be more Holy. Holiness is a virtue. Be more Holy and we shall rebuild the ark. I shall save you. We shall all live in the time of light.”

  I’ll admit I didn’t follow a fucking word of it. And judging by the bewildered looks on their faces, neither did the other guys. Not even Jeff, and Jeff was a really good guy, especially when it came to comprehending weird shit like this. The real kicker was that nowhere in the Book did it ever mention a fucking thing about dark days, the time of light, an ark, none of that shit. I firmly believe that Octopope was pulling this stuff from his ass with all eight. But hey, it was the Word of Octopope. Those poor bastards out there bought every incomprehensible bit of it. There’s power in obscurity.