Pus to the eigth degree

Octopus has had a rough life. It gets vilified in movies (Octopussy, The Goonies), it has to sit back and sulk in a cloud of its own ink while it's more mobile cousin, the squid, gets deep-fried and served with sauce of the fiercest tartar. And to make it worse, just when it makes it to the big leagues, in sushi restaurants, it ends up placing second to shoe leather in terms of tenderness and flavor.
And the name. What, was it first discovered by the math club from some Mediterranean high school? "Use the latin word for eight in a real-world situation." "Oh, and throw pus in there if you can." As a math club member myself, I can attest to the fact that math dorks can't float or swim so good, so we actually make great divers. I can see it now...
Diver 1: "What the Eff is that thing?"
Diver 2: "I don't know, but it's cute."
Diver 1: "Cute? Do you even know what cute means?"
Diver 2: "Um, apparently not. Help me, would you? It's eating my arm."
Diver 1: "Now that you mention it, it does remind me of my ex-wife. Same crazy eyes."
Diver 2: "Ow! What is that, a freaking beak? Holy crap, it is like your ex-wife...except it doesn't bite as hard."
Octopus: "Oooh, awkward."
(Note: I realize that very few high schoolers would be married, and certainly not math club kids, but it's a funny vignette, so shut up and go with it, ok?)
The one thing I will say about the octopus though...it puts up a fight. Birds can just fly around until they get shot. Even squirrels will just stare out you with their wee beady eyes and cheeks that remind you of the fat kid in the fourth grade until their head gets taken off by a hammer at 50 yards (story for another time.) But I think food is tastier when it comes after a fight to the death. Which is why, from this day forth, I shall only eat octopus that I personally kill with my bare hands. Because I want to revel in the silence of bringing my own kill into a sushi restaurant. that silence that falls over the dining room as they see the round bruises on your arm? They know that you're a suction junkie, they just don't want to say anything.
See, that's why I can't understand the whole beating-the-hell-out-the-octopus-by-beating-it-against-a-rock thing. You've already killed it, already pulled it out of its natural habitat. It's been speared and subsequently drowned. But go ahead, wail away on that thing! Yeah, cuz you're a MAN! You don't taken s--t from no sea creature! That thing was talking about your mama not five minutes ago.
Seriously, though. The tenderness thing? I've seen the cork trick, the braise-in-wine thing, the absence of salt during cooking, and the afore-mentioned beating. Just cook it slow. Put on some Barry White, light some candles, braise that thing slower than...well, that fat kid I talked about back in the fourth grade? Slower than he could run the bases in kick ball. I guarantee you'll have yourself some crazy-tender octopus. So help give the octopus a raison d'etre: cook it slow.