tirsdag 1. desember 2009


All this talk of Lovecraft and fungi, drove me to dig out some favourite lovecraftian jokes from my archives:

“You Goth?”

“No, I’m just a Fun Guy”

So Nyarlahotep pops across to the library where Cthulhu’s actually a bit more rugose and squamous then usual. And he says, what’s up?

And Cthulhu says “Rl’yeh fthagn, ahem! Blimey! Sorry, phlegm. Bit ill, actually.”

So Nyarlahotep rubs three of his pseudopods together and says, “I have just the thing!”

And he leads the mighty Elder One across the non-Euclidean town sqaure, down a dodgy back alley, where an eldritch couple of debt collectors are lurking.

And Nyarlahotep says:

“Here’s that sick squid I owe you.

“Waiter! Waiter! There’s a dead squid in my soup!”

“It’s not dead, Sir. It’s just dreaming.”

HP Lovecraft and August Derleth are sitting at an al fresco cafe on the abominable plateau of Leng. Sipping absinthe, as you do. It’d be a nice place if it wasn’t for the maddening cyclopean architecture with the obviously alien non-Euclidean geometry, but it’s the only spot for unthinkably vast distances and it’s got a lovely view, so you make do.

As they sit there, the ground before becomes disturbed by the passing of a great Dhole, burrowing beneath the earth, space rippling around it as it goes.

They sip their absinthe as the Dhole is followed by a Mi-Go, flapping and screeching – the noise driving several nearby patrons mad.

A shoggoth comes after, shambling along. It takes some time to pass, so they order another round of absinthe.

Then a long train of the spawn of Shub-Niggurath, the Black Goat of the Woods, ooze, crawl and tilt their way past – the locomotive systems reminiscent of slime running down a rock… but sideways… unthinkably sideways.

Then for a moment, there’s quiet and the plateau is empty… and Derleth turns to Lovecraft and says…

“Good Lord, Howard. Today it’s just one damned thing after another.”

Necrotelecomnicon: the book of dead phone numbers.

6 kommentarer:

  1. That was mind-bendingly awful. I boggle at the unmistakable sense that my sense of humour was just pulled through a vortex in space, and into the chaos that is Azathoth's Court.

    Some vicodin ought to take care of that.

  2. Thank you, my boy. Your suffering is, as always, my aim.

  3. As long as it's not your ears, o doggy one.

  4. This is an old one (not that kind of Old One), and only remotely Lovecraftean, but it remains a favorite:

    Q: What do sea monsters have for lunch?
    A: Fish & ships

  5. You truly are the most amazing blogger. Are you a writer or professional comedian. You are quite mad in the best way.


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