The species: Loving father. Caring husband. Secret Octopus. That’s all Octodad wants you to think he is, minus that last part. Trust me when I say marrying into an unassuming, suburban family is no isolated incident for the eight-limbed arthropods. They're everywhere, embedded deep in society, just waiting for the perfect moment to rise up and strike. If our species needs spectacles this badly, then there’s no telling what creature we’d share a bed with. Just imagine: little half-breed octopi everywhere, flailing around supermarkets, slapping children with suctioned hands, leaving our lawns uncut. There goes the neighborhood.
The stupid defect: If there’s one card to be played here, it’s a little thing called coordination. It’s hard to envision an army of octopuses marching down main street triumphantly with a flag in hand without them crashing into each other. Oh, and there's the fact that octopuses can’t have sex more than once without dying. Bummer of a honeymoon, huh? Score one for humanity.