Not so long ago, there lived a squid in a dark, dismal domain.

Every day the squid would venture out into the doom and gloom to find food and frolic about.

One particular morning, as the bubbles rose from the depths with satisfied glublubbahs, Squid discovered a most curious and delicious-looking patch of tubeworms.

Squid devoured a few and thought nothing of it, besides the peculiar taste.

Not a while afterward, Squid began dancing and prancing and doing the Calypso like a professional; none of which was voluntary.

Squid’s questioning thoughts were soon rudely rebutted with a small, “I’m controlling your brain, you nonsensical dunderhead!”

”I am no dunderhead,” Squid replied, searching for the source with his whimsical flailing arms, “I am a cephalopod. Anyhow, might I ask why you must force me to create such a display, good sir or madam?”

The miniscule presence within him, again rudely, retorted, “I’m a parasite; it’s what I do. You ate me, so you’ll have to deal with me.”

”I see,” Squid declared courteously. “However, wouldn’t you agree if I told you that you’d have more fun controlling a larger host, such as Whale Shark over there?”

”Y’know, you’ve got a point, Mister Cephalowhatever,” the parasite stated with poise. “I think I would!”

So the smooth-talking squid had cleverly convinced his uncivilized attachment to dictate some other living realm.

The End.