Good thing Squidward had swallowed his first sip of tea, otherwise it would have been spilled all across the table. He had to triple check. This must have been some kind of dream?

SQUILLIAM FANCYSON III HAS DIED! That was what the headliner read. Squidward read the rest of the article, his mind racing and thoroughly fixated on it.

"Last night, beloved millionaire and artistic genius has been pronounced dead?"

"Bikini Bottom in shock?"

"Everyone caught up in collective mourning?"

"Died at the tender age of 35?"

"Held huge celebration in honor of winning the Nobel Prize for musical achievements?"

"Retreated to the bathroom after witnesses claimed to have seen Mr. Fancyson exhibiting signs of fatigue?"

"After failing to arrive to blow his birthday candles on the largest cake in Bikini Bottom history, his staff went looking for him?"

"Died of heart attack on toilet?"

"Funeral held in two days?"

Squidward read the article two more times. He couldn't wrap his mind around it? It was real? Squilliam Fancyson, the person he hated the most had passed away? Squilliam was gone? Dead? Just like that? Squidward put the newspaper down, and proceeded to stare blankly into space, caught up in his own musings.

"Squilliam died?" he said impassively. Slowly but surely, he was grasping the reality of the news. Accepting it as reality, and not just as some hallucination or dream. Now that he thought about it, Squidward made sure to pinch himself a couple of time just to be on the safe side.

After tearing up in pain and seeing several bruises form on his teal-colored tentacle, he knew that what he had read was in fact real. Right now would have been the moment where Squidward leapt with joy and threw a one-man party, like on those few occasions he though Spongebob had moved out of Bikini Bottom.

Why shouldn't he? This was the person who had been making his life miserable since high school? The person who took such glee in rubbing his success in Squidward's nose? Who made it a hobby to watch him get humiliated? And now he was no more. A long-running and very, very one-sided rivalry that had been going on since the spring of 1973, when the two octopuses met in band class as high school freshmen, was finally over? Squidward no longer had to worry about his arch-enemy.

Squidward had certainly entertained the idea several times when he was especially mad at Squilliam, and needless to say, the rich snob had really ticked him off on numerous occasions, and now that idle fantasy had become a reality? This should have been a moment of celebration. But, that's not what happened.

Squidward was surprised by it, but his immediate response to reading this news wasn't overwhelming joy. It sure wasn't sadness. Heck no! What was it then? His feelings about the news could only be described as hollowness. It made him feel empty? But that couldn't be right? Why would Squilliam's death fill him with emptiness of all things? He should have been ecstatic right now. Jumping with joy despite the decrepit nature of his aging body. Maybe he was still processing the news? Trying to accept the fact that this was real after all? But it was printed right there, in the newspaper he was holding? What more proof did he need?

He finally remembered his tea. Squidward touched the pot and realized it was icy cold. Had he really spaced out that long? Over Squilliam?

"Fishpaste." Squidward grumbled and drank the rest of his now cold tea. Why waste it? Maybe a refreshing drink would help clear his mind? But after emptying the pot, he still felt the same. Confused. Hollow.

"Maybe finishing that self-portrait will clear my mind?" he thought and remembered that he had planned to have a fun evening tonight. Why should this news spoil that? Not like he cared about Squilliam. By all logic, this news should have made his evening all the more enjoyable. He punched out at work two hours early and now his hated enemy was a goner. By Squidward's standards, he was on a roll today.

Squidward spent the rest of his days working vigorously on his painting. As usual, his focus was entirely on it, the world around him melted away. But he couldn't get Squilliam out of his head. Instead of feeling a sense of exuberance as he painted tirelessly and meticulously, he was met with more frustration and confusion. By the time he finished, he realized that he had made one big error. He gave himself a unibrow, making himself look like…

"Dangnabbit.." Squidward grumbled and almost punched a hole though the painting but then calmed down. Getting up from his chair, he walked up to his porthole window and looked out into the night sky.

Squilliam's funeral was scheduled in two days? But that newspaper was two days old? So had the funeral been held today? Doing the math, Squidward realized it must have been. Was that the reason there hadn't been a big rush at the Krusty Krab? Why he had to deal with relatively few customers?

Squidward felt the need to check again, so he walked downstairs and sat down on his couch, next to Patrick, who was still asleep face-down on the coffee table. Not even noticing the fat slob, Squidward changed the channel to the evening news and sure enough, there were Perch Perkins and Realistic Fish Head in a newsroom discussing the most high-profile funeral to ever happen in Bikini Bottom.

Both news anchors talked about it like it was some profound tragedy, and it was accompanied by plenty of b-roll showing masses of fishes dressed in black assembling at the Bikini Bottom cemetery, even standing in lines outside the cemetery as if they were waiting to go on some popular new ride at Glove Universe. There were plenty of brief interviews with people who mourned the octopus's passing, ranging from other artists and performers he had collaborated with, to numerous people that sponsored him and endorsed his work, to the many girlfriends he has had, and he had amassed a whole nation of them over almost five decades.

Squidward recognized quite a few of these faces. Specifically, they were people who had publicly lambasted Squilliam, people he had slighted, be it professionals calling him out on his tactless behavior and poor treatment of them or mere bimbos who whined over him leaving them with the check and never contacting them again. All of their accusations had been, unsurprisingly, forgotten by the media as quickly as they were brought up. Much like the people themselves, the media had the attention span of a fish. But now they all changed their tune? Was it for the sake of good PR or did they just not want to speak ill of the dead?

Either way, any idiot could tell that any dirt surrounding Mr. Fancyson would be swept under the rug and the octopus would forever be lionized as a great hero and genius. He would remain very much alive in this town, via his image being plastered everywhere and constantly being endorsed by the media. Future generations of Bikini Bottomites would probably be taught about him at grade school via very biased lectures citing whitewashed biographies. Squilliam Fancyson would, in a sense, achieve immortality through his mere legacy.

Squidward watched the news report impassively but then he saw what he had been looking for, video footage showing an open casket. That's when Squidward's eyes widened and his vertical pupils dilated ever so slightly. There it was. Indisputable footage of his rival lying on his back, holding a rose and wearing the finest suit, completely limp and peaceful, his eyes closed, as numerous mourners passed by him and bawled their eyes out while giving their final farewell. The final bit of b-roll showed a huge tombstone surrounded by a whole forests of flower bouquets.

That's when Squidward turned the tv off. Now he was sitting quietly in the darkness, the only audible sound being Patrick's snoring. He had his conformation, but it didn't make him feel any less hollow. Just what did he expect to find? The Bikini Bottom Examiner was a very respectable source, a legit newspaper company, not some dodgy at best tabloid like Bottomfeeder? That should have been all the confirmation he needed? Perhaps he just needed to hear other people say it out loud in order to truly accept it? Whatever it was, Squidward felt no less confused.

With nothing else to do, he walked upstairs, took a shower, brushed his teeth and went to bed. Just going through the motions. Sleep didn't come to him easy, as his mind was still racing and he spent some two hours staring at the ceiling before finally drifting off to sleep.

Three years ago…..

This had been the last time Squidward had spoken to his long-time rival personally. As much as he enjoyed seeing "Squiddy" squirm, Squilliam was a very busy octopus. You didn't get to be a celebrity by doing nothing. Well, some did….okay, many did, but Squilliam was surprisingly not one of them. As much as it pained Squidward to admit it, Squilliam did have talent. For that reason, he only had so much spare time to torment his old schoolmate. Besides the Bubble Bowl thing, which Squidward was pretty certain Squilliam had set up to humiliate him, many of their encounters were actually by accident or they were instigated by Squidward himself, or both.

The year was 2017, and as usual, Squidward got entangled in Mr. Krabs's latest hairbrained scheme to make a quick buck, and share as little of the profit as possible with Squidward and Spongebob. Patrick was being paid in rocks. No, really. It started off simple enough, the Krusty Crew, along with Patrick, tried their luck at the catering business. Their latest gig had been to cater at a kid's birthday party, and suffice to say, it was a nightmare, but by some stroke of luck, they ran into an upper-class twit who thought they were a fancy catering company. Yes, two middle-aged men-children, a crusty, old sailor and an aging tortured artist all dressed in raggedy, casual clothing definitely invoked the image of high-class caterers.

But of course, Krabs jumped at the chance for a big paycheck. A literal big paycheck. Needless to say, the exploit was a complete disaster and Squidward was sure it was a one-time deal, like so many other wacky schemes his tightwad boss had dragged him and Spongebob into. But then a weak later, they got a call from the Fancyson estate. That's when Squidward begged Neptune to have him get run over by a bus, or get caught by a hook, or mauled to death by a pack of rabid alley worms. Anything to get him out of this.

He naturally tried everything in his power to bail out of this but his penny-pinching boss strongarmed him into doing this with the usual "Do it or ye're fired!" threat. At least this time, their "Krusty Katering" operation was done completely legally. Squilliam claimed this was his way to show that he did not view himself as above the little guy, but Squidward knew his game.

They were far from the only people catering at Squilliam's 36th birthday party, four waiters couldn't possibly suffice for a giant mansion filled with thousands of party guests. Squilliam did it to flush out Squidward and make him be present at his big party so the former could witness firsthand how successful Squilliam had become and how many people adored him.

Squidward had hated every second of that night. Every second was pure agony. He actually missed serving disgusting, germ-ridden children. He would have preferred being strapped to a chair and forced to listen to Spongebob's laughter nonstop for the entire night. It's been so long since he felt so much dread and hate, given how years of utter misery had made him virtually numb to emotion at this point. He would have preferred literally being anywhere else but some grand event lionizing Squilliam Fancyson.

"Who wants food? I'm a mindless drone with food. Working for the man." He, dressed in a rented tuxedo, droned lifelessly.

"Don't mind if I do." Lord Royal Highness appeared and tasted some of the fine cuisine. The Atlantean monarch did not recognize Squidward at all. Why would he?

Squidward and co only came to his city for one day ten years ago, and Patrick did what he did best by destroying the Atlanteans' most ancient and valued relic. Just as they were in hot water, Plankton randomly appeared in a tank that shot ice cream of all things and conveniently absolved them of their crime by becoming the city's new big attraction. That was a pretty stupid day, now that he thought about it?

"Simply divine. Keep up the good work, my good man." Lord Royal Highness walked away just as quickly and tipped Squidward with a shiny, multi-colored moon rock. Apparently, that was Atlantean currency.

Squidward rolled his eyes. Guess he could use it as a fancy paperweight?

"If there's a bouncer nearby who would like to throw me out into a dumpster for some perceived offense I didn't commit, be my guest?" he droned, but no bouncer took up the offer. Just his luck.

But there was at least one positive to this night, if you could call it that. At least he didn't have to deal with Squilliam himself. After all, Squilliam was the big star of the evening, the millionaire celebrity birthday boy, whiles Squidward was the lowly nobody serving shrimp cocktail and caviar to the snotty guests, which was pretty disturbing and unethical when you thought about it?

Squilliam had so many famous and equally rich guests to greet and chat with, why would he bother to look for his old classmate, a nobody who was working as a cashier at the Krusty Krab? Why, that in of its self would have been like looking for a needle in a haystack, given how massive this gathering was?

But just as Squidward felt a small slither of hope, he heard a familiar voice.

"Enjoying the evening, Squiddy?"

Squidward nearly dropped his tray. A look of pure horror washed over his features as he slowly turned around and found the birthday boy himself facing him, tentacles folded, wiggling his unibrow and sporting a smug smirk, which was pretty much his default expression. He was wearing a sparkling, silver tuxedo and red bowtie, just to emphasize he was the star of this party.

"Squilliam?!" Squidward blurted. "What are you doing here?"

"Oh, I dunno?" the other octopus humored him in a smarmy tone. "Could it be that this is my mansion and my birthday party?" For emphasis, Squilliam gestured at a 6-foot ice statue of himself standing in the middle of the punch fountain. Patrick, also wearing a tuxedo, was leaning on the side to lap up some of it and inevitably fell into it.

"But…but…how did you find me?" Squidward was besides himself. "There are so many people here, and I…I…"

Squilliam pretended to be shocked. "Why, Squiddy? I'm crushed! You thought I wouldn't find the time to seek out my oldest friend and catch up on things?"

Squidward's brow dropped into a scowl. "You mean so you can rub your success in my nose for the umpteenth time?"

"Well, yes." Squilliam admitted candidly. "But I was also curious to know what you've been up to? I haven't heard of you in almost two years, not since…" he stopped and pretended to ponder "…where was it that our paths last crossed again?"

Squidward seethed. Squilliam was egging him to admit about his latest humiliation at Squilliam's hands. Might as well get it over with.

"The Bikini Bottom's Community Rec Center." He grumbled. "I was led to believe they wanted me to hold a clarinet recital but…"

"But you were actually just called in to flip the music sheets for the real star of the evening." Squilliam said nostalgically. "Moi."

"Yeah, a real side-splitter that was." Squidward grumbled. "So, eh…can I get back to catering your guests?"

"There's no rush, Squiddy." Squilliam took his tray away and handed it over to a passing shrimp waiter and placed a fifty-dollar bill in his chest pocket.

He then put his tentacle over Squidward's shoulder. "As your temporary boss, I have the authority to give you a break for as long as I wish and your superior, Eugene Krabs was it? He can't do anything about it."

"That's what I was afraid off." Squidward said meekly as he was led through the crowded party by Squilliam.

"Is this shrimp on the tray?" the other waiter asked in a nasally voice but was ignored.

"So, what have you been up to?" Squilliam asked.

"Working as a lowly cashier, don't act like you don't know." Squidward grumbled, barely keeping his composer.

"I know about your day job, but I'm curious about something else? You've been rather inactive lately, no zany schemes to achieve fame and success that would inevitably lead to failure? To be frank, that was a major reason why I invited you to my party." Squilliam explained patronizingly, while maintaining his affable demeanor.

Typical Squilliam. He looked for any excuse to see Squidward squirm and as usual, he was being very insidious, trying to coax Squiward into admitting that he was an utter failure. But Squidward wouldn't give him that satisfaction, partially because he had nothing to say to him.

"That's because I'm not trying much these days." He said simply.

"But why, pray tell?" Squilliam smirked. "Are you suggesting that you lack the talent necessary to achieve the kind of success I have?"

Squidward felt very flustered. Truth be told, that fact had been dawning more and more on him at this point in his life. How could you tell yourself otherwise when you were a 57-year-old guy who was still working as a cashier at a fast-food joint and you were also the universe's kickball? But at the same time, how could you acknowledge that in front of your biggest rival while maintaining any shred of dignity?

"It's a simple question, Squiddy?"

"I…I….the crowd at the Bubble Bowl sure seemed to think I had talent!" he said abruptly.

Squilliam yawned. "That? Why are you brining up such old stuff?" Squidward fumed.

"I'll admit, I was pleasantly surprised." Squilliam continued. "But that was 16 years ago, old chum. And who remembers that event now? You might have been on to something but let's not kid ourselves. It was not meant to last. You knew you couldn't keep those scatterbrained roobs disciplined long enough to continue your momentum. It was, in the end, just a one-hit wonder, now buried by the sands of time."

Squidward scowled. "I also got Nicolas Withers to call my home fancier than yours."

"Eh.." Squilliam twirled his tentacle "…Withers has odd tastes, but once more, does anyone remember that now? Nope. What do they remember and still talk about? Oh, right, little ol' me."

Now Squidward was at a loss for words. He had used his two biggest trump cards and they did little to win this verbal argument. Now he was out of ammo. And Squilliam very well knew it.

"You see, Squiddy, the true sign of success is not to have your fifteen minutes of fame, any nincompoop can do that if they try hard enough. No, no, you are a success only when you succeed at making a lasting impression on the world and that's something I've managed to do a long time ago, hence why I'm still a big success and not some washed-up hazbin like so many old collegues of mine." Squilliam told him.

"So what point are you trying to make?" Squidward asked bitterly. He knew he was already defeated, Squilliam was just dragging it out.

"Well, not to step on any proverbial tentacles, but I simply wanted to know why you haven't been trying as much to achieve success lately?" Squilliam smirked. "Personally, the only explanation I can think of is that you've stopped believing in yourself?"

Squidward said nothing, he just looked away. Squilliam had read him like an open book.

"Because I really hope that's not true." Squilliam said with faux-worry as they came to a halt outside by the very busy and filled-up pool, and he turned around to confront Squidward face to face. "I sincerely hope that burning if misguided drive inside you hasn't finally been extinguished?"

"What drive?" Squidward inquired with contempt.

"You know what I like about you so much?" Squilliam sneered. "For all your faults, you are no quitter. No matter how many times you are met with failure, you still try again and again to become a star like me, despite inevitably failing in the end. To be honest, that's the thing that attracts me back to you time and time again."

"What do you mean "attract"?"

Squilliam let out a hearty laugh, his nose inflating and deflating as he did so. "Don't play dumb, Squidward. I know you're not."

He put his tentacles on his hips. "You think you're the only person in this town who has an axe to grind with me? Far from it. The number of people that hate me could fill up the vault containing my fortune, but in the end, they don't matter one bit to me. They just come and go. They get mad at me and some try to publicly slander me only to fail at it and quickly be forgotten about by everyone, myself included. Same for the competition, many envious saps have tried to one-up me only to fail and never try again."

"And what makes me worthy of your attention then?" a crabby Squidward shrugged, now seriously confused. "If I'm just one in a million to you, why do you-"

"Oh, but you're not. You're special to me. Precisely because of your misguided determination." Squilliam huffed and pinched his cheek patronizingly. "You're the one opponent who keeps coming back, who keeps trying against all odds. And that's what makes our little rivalry so much fun. You are an endless source of entertainment."

"I don't know if I should admire you or pity you for your sheer gall." Squilliam let go and shrugged. "Maybe both, but the important thing is that, for all my riches, I am still a guy who can appreciate the simple things in life. And watching you squirm and make a fool out of yourself of your own volition is one of those."

Squidward's look of contempt melted to one of pitiful sadness. He didn't quite realize it at the time, but something broke inside of him that night. It took its time to manifest itself, but it was Squilliam's dressing down from that night that changed something inside of him.

"Well then, it's been nice as always chatting with you, but I really gotta go now." Squilliam said candidly and patted his head. "I've got plenty of other guests to greet."

He now placed a fifty-dollar bill in Squidward's chest pocket and patted it. "You've been doing a marvelous job catering though, so keep up the good work and I might give you a few more tips for your troubles." Squilliam said as he walked away. 'After all, serving food is your forte."

As he let out his honking laughter, Squidward could do nothing but stand there and wallow in his own sorry thoughts, broken and defeated.

"Hey, Squidhwath?" Patrick slurred as he stumbled past him and hiccupped. "Suthm pathy, eh?"

A loud splash was soon heard, but Squidward didn't notice it.

That was incredibly brutal. I'm not trying to defend Squilliam at all, but he did, in his own egotistical way, make a fair point. Most of Squidward's humiliation, at least when it comes to his rivalry with Squilliam, was his own fault, as he was actively trying to one-up his rival, such as in "Squilliam Returns", "House Fancy" and "Professor Squidward". Squilliam's introduction in "Band Geeks" was the only canon example where it was truly him who goaded and manipulated Squidward into making a fool out of himself, which ironically wound up being one of the few canon empales' of Squidward experiencing genuine success.

But as Squilliam explained, it's one thing to have your fifteen minutes of fame, it's another to uphold it. Squilliam might be a huge jerk, but he knows the game and ultimately, he won his success more or less fair and square, since it is the public who ultimately decides who is going to be popular and who is not. If that wasn't obvious, there's plenty of social commentary during the two octopuses' conversation, with Squilliam being a classic example of a celebrity flaunting and abusing their power.

As was shown in "Band Geeks" and in his subsequent appearances, Squilliam defiantly is a sadist, given his gleeful enjoyment at seeing his old high school rival squirm, but at the same time I tried to be more nuanced with it. Logically, someone with Squilliam's celebrity status would have lots of enemies, so there needed to be a reason why he was fixated on a nobody like Squidward. My answer to that is that Squidward was the one enemy who kept coming back, who never gave up, hence he provided an endless source of entertainment for Squilliam.

I do feel kind of bad about making the events of "Band Geeks" meaningless in the end, but Nickelodeon already did that years ago by continuing on the show despite Hillenburg's wishes to end it after the first movie. Squilliam's comment about pointlessly bringing up old stuff mirrors the show's own sad fate when people claim it has merit, as it went from a critically lauded show with a wide appeal to an oversaturated, overcommercialized joke.