Sometimes when walking alone at night you may find yourself haunted by this persistent apparition, which will trudge alongside you sighing loudly, openly tutting, rolling its eyes and shaking its head sadly/angrily.
When it all gets to be too much, and you finally snap and ask “What’s wrong with you?” or “Are you all right?” the creature will only ever answer “I’m fine.”
Because it’s fine. Everything is fine. Why wouldn’t it be fine? I’M FINE, OK? OK.
Every time somebody misspells “Cthulhu” on the internet, they get closer to completing the incantation which will call that monstrous entity’s slightly less impressive, differently-spelled cousin to this Earthly realm.
Cuthuthluth is damp, five foot two, and smells of seaweed and desperation. Unlike his Great and Old cosmic cousin, he is not covered in tentacles. That’s not what those are.
Occasionally you will wake up and find that a Huge Hairy Hassle has broken into your home and sat himself down somewhere, perhaps the living room, possibly the kitchen. He’ll sit there, emitting low-pitched rumbly groaning noises and taking up valuable space.
You can get rid of a Huge Hairy Hassle, but it’s a bit of a pain. You have to obtain various ingredients, combine them in the right kind of pot, recite a particular spell at precisely the right time of night, when the moon’s position in the sky is just so etc etc. You know, it’s doable, but it’s a lot of bother, frankly.
By the time they die, most people will have accumulated three or four Huge Hairy Hassles lolling about their house, emitting low-pitched rumbly groaning noises and taking up valuable space, that they’ve just kind of got used to.
This soggy, multi-suckered soothsayer launches itself out of rivers and lakes to shout doom-laden warnings of bad things to come at startled passers-by.
“Bad things are going to happen!” it yells, its tentacles flapping about all agitated.
“What, worse than a six-foot squid leaping out of a river to shout at me?” the passer-by will often ask, quite naturally.
“Oh, right, yeah, no, probably not actually,” the squid will say. “Sorry for wasting your time.”
And the Squid of Foreboding will slither back into the water, a bit embarassed, but with a weird, dark feeling that this will all happen again quite soon.
It’s nearly a narwhal. Sadly, because it looks a bit like a sausage on a stick, and it tastes a bit like a sausage on a stick, the nearwhal used to be very popular, and is now very rare.
Usually found at parties, stuck face down in a foil-covered potato.
People seeking to lose weight often call upon the demonic services of the Dark Lord Statin. He is clinically proven to reduce cholesterol levels. He does this by hacking off chunks of your arms, legs, buttocks etc with his rusty sword. The weight literally drops off you!
Although the side-effects of the Dark Lord’s treatment can include dizziness, asymmetry and/or death, he’s still quite a popular alternative to dieting and/or exercise.
One scarier than a tentacled thing.
It had been made quite clear during the interview process that if I wanted to climb the ladder at Timely Holdings I would have to be prepared to make certain sacrifices. It was also made clear that if I didn’t want to climb the ladder then I had no place at Timely Holdings. So yes, I told them, I wanted to climb the ladder and therefore sacrifices would be made. In fact, I was all about sacrifice, I told them. Had I not put that in my personal statement, about sacrificing? No? Well I certainly meant to. After the stuff about focus, innovative solutions and working well as part of a team and also on my own initiative. I got the job.
So when, at the end of my first week my line manager strode towards me in a goal-orientated way, me being the goal and his orientation being spot-on, and told me that I would have to work on Saturday, who was I to argue? I was on the first rung of a ladder that was going to take me all the way, baby.
Which is why I sacrificed my weekend. Which is why I was sitting alone at my cubicle at 2pm on that Saturday afternoon when Satan strode towards me in what I had grown to recognise as a goal-orientated way. Continue reading
This tiny, duck-footed slimeball hides in your fridge and makes all your food taste slightly of fish which is, of course, the absolute worst thing for anything to taste slightly of.
The myth of The Slender Man is very well known. He is a long man with the uncanny ability to appear unrealistic in old photoshops. And now, terrifyingly, reports are now trickling in of this, The Very Slender Man, who is, apparently a bit slenderer, and even less realistic.
I am yet to be convinced of the veracity of these sightings. I think he’s on stilts, and I’m pretty sure those are just long, empty sleeves with gloves stitched stitched to the end of them.
Fair enough, his face does appear to be a massive hole filled with teeth but a commited hoaxer could have carved that hole into his own head using a spoon or something. Yeah, I’m not buying it.