A Note To Ringo Starr From The Association Of Octopus Gardeners

Dear Mr. Ringo Starr,

News of your song “Octopus’s Garden” has recently reached the ocean floor. Initially we were thrilled that out of all the possible things to write about, you chose us humble octopus gardeners. But before we could finish rubbing it in the face of those pretentious squid florists, we listened to your song in its entirety.

To be quite honest, we are alarmed at the errors and misconceptions so wantonly presented in your lyrics. We squirted a day’s worth of ink to write you this letter, so we do hope you listen.

First off, “shade.” Before your song, we here in the deep ocean had never encountered this term. We are told it is when something called a “sun” creates something called a “shadow.” Whatever “shade” is or does, it certainly does not help our gardens flourish — that’s all due to our patented blend of Manatee Manure. Perhaps that doesn’t have such a nice ring to it, but it does do a bang up job of fertilizing our sea anemones.

You go on to write that “he’d let us in, knows where we’ve been.” We do not know where you’ve been (except that it obviously was not here). Furthermore, “he” would let us in? Not all octopus gardeners are men. We’re not sure where you got the ridiculous notion that any profession should be dominated by the male gender. Please do not project your society’s shady morals onto us (are we using that term correctly?).

You then extend an invitation to your friends to “come and see.” Why would anyone take you up on that offer? There’s certainly nothing interesting about seeing thousands of octopi, each holding seven shovels and one trowel, planting rows of fresh coral for the harvest. Regardless, it should go without saying that we do NOT allow visitors. This is a place of work.

We are also perplexed as to why you would assume you could “rest your head on the sea bed in an octopus’s garden near a cave.” There are no beds in our gardens (again, it is a place of work, not leisure) and we definitely do not garden anywhere remotely near the caves. Those are strictly for sex.

These next few stanzas are the most troubling of all. You mention that in our gardens, “every girl and boy” will be “happy and safe.” We assure you, the boys and girls will be happiest and safest when they are far from our workstations. We process 300 tons of Manatee Manure a day and occasionally contaminate the surrounding waters with above-threshold levels of sulphur. That is the opposite of safe and the smell makes no one happy.

Finally, you say that once you and these strange children are in our gardens, “no one would be there to tell us what to do.” We are hardworking octopi and we never vacate our workstations. We would be there to tell you what to do, which would be to exit the premises immediately because you are in clear violation of Safety Code #4758 that states the gardens are strictly off-limits to anyone with fewer than eight arms. And also to those god awful squid florists.

If you are considering writing any more songs about us, please don’t. We do not need it or appreciate it. We have our own songs to sing. There’s the famous octopus love ballad, Blerghhhhh Bloob Blub, and a more recent hit, Shlish Shlish Fwiiiischtk, which, as I’m sure you’ve gathered, is all about the joys of having suction cups and is quite popular in our sex caves.

Cordially yours,

The Association of Octopus Gardeners