And how are we feeling today Mr. Marsh?
Marc
What doers it mean when you have nightmatres of perfectly normal-sized walls built along the lines of Euclidean geometry?
That an Accountant will rise from his aeons-long slumber…and do your taxes.
Quite batrachian, thank you.
Wait a second. How do we know that this isn’t Xenu, at long last escaping from his imprisonment? Who’s laughing now, huh?!
You know, I’d originally read the title of this as “La! La! Cthulhu returns!” Sounds like an advertisement for Peewee’s Blasphemous Non-Euclidean Playhouse…
No, no, no. All of you have it wrong.
It’s not the rising of Cthulhu.
It’s ZENU!!! He’s come back to drop hydrogen bombs in that volcano!
Dood! I’m right there with you!
(see post #25)
Oops! Missed that one.
Dude.
How’s the neck?
Do not force me to open up a can of adjectives on you.
Far beyond the limits of mortal perception there exist forms of prose so shockingly purple that their color ultimately transcends the visual spectrum entirely, ensnaring the hapless observer until various organs and eyeball structures writhe and gibber in a dread cacophony of blasphemous glee. Seriously, some of this stuff you can’t even read. But your atoms can. And they will hate you, maybe even enough to just give up and leave. And then I’ll have to put another quarter in the “Atomic Revulsion-Inducing Language” jar, which is really starting to cut into my sardine money, so it’s no fun for me either, I can assure you. So just don’t, okay?
And people laughed at that poor man in the Holy Grail that said really small rocks would float.
OOooohh!
So that’s what happened to your neck!
You know what’s good for that?
Ointment.