Sweet tapdancing Dagon, this is nasty

I was spawned in a simpler time, when evil was straightforward and profound, and had minimal standards of literacy.

Sigh. It's not easy being a lurking horror in a millennium with eight-cylinder insanity like this rolling down the highway of the soul.



The picture is a bit disturbing. But it captures the essence of the woman's writings: propelled by Schlitz; no direction; all momentum. A juggernaut of nutrition-free filler that targets children and composes jingles that you'd willingly use a backhoe to scrape from your cranium.

Dr. Deborah Frisch: you make Chtulhu scared.

okay, now I'm really freaked out

Harry f'n Reid?

Nancy goldern Pelosi?

Daniel bleedin' Ortega?

I think my Maya calendar is off by six years. This planet is hosed.

Dreamers are not what they used to be

In the old days, I could haunt dreams and inspire nightmare visions.

I have been heartened by the results in some cases.

This is not one of them.

Nor are these. (At least this one captures my artistic bent.)

It is good that my secretions are lethal. It takes away the shame of weeping.

(And no, I am not marketing. I'm not THAT evil.)

Today's anxiety: WalMart

You'd think there would be more fear and respect of a deathless demon god and his hellish alien environs.

So how come when I stepped out of my sleeping chamber into the daylight of R'lyeh there was a friggin' WalMart?

Dagon was a greeter.

I hate this realm.

What's a cthulhu to do?

Osama.

Zarkawi.

Tesh.

Shudder.