Slimy Great Old One [to the tune of ‘Pencil Thin Mustache,’ with apologies to Jimmy Buffett]

My most recent excursion into being a terrible, horrible person, as I mangle an old earworm, Lovecraft-style.

Checkerboards of The Gods

Now they’re raisin’ horrors from out of the night,

spreadin’ ravin’ madness that no one can fight,

when the stars are right, and the world’s in a rage,

there’s monsters left and right on the cosmic stage.

I wish I knew a slimy Great Old One,

The Great Cthulhu kind, or a

puke-green shoggoth that crushes its masters,

while Hastur curses people who mention his name.

Ia! I remember bein’ human, not very finny,

changin’ to a Deep One, not Azathoth’s dinny.

Ia! I wish I knew a slimy Great Old One,

then I could cause some madness too.

Ia! It’s Yuggoth, Carcosa, the Plateau of Leng,

no blinkin’ at the things I see.

It’s because I have no eyelids, except the nictitating,

and only human cultists were sacrificed while gating, Ia!

Ia! I wish I knew a slimy Great Old One,

then I could cause some madness too.

But…

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