From Defamer comes pictoral evidence that Michael Jackson, the so-called King of Pop, is well on the way to Transition in the classic Innsmouthian mode, if not actually Arkhamian.
Eagle-eyed commenter Valet of the Dolls was the first to suggest the uncanny resemblance to legended and unspeakable aquatic hybrids. I think the connection is more sinister still.
It is the Thing on the Doorstep.
There are black zones of shadow close to our daily paths, and now and then some evil soul breaks a passage through. When that happens, the man who knows must strike before reckoning the consequences…The butler, tougher-fibred than I, did not faint at what met him in the hall in the morning. Instead, he telephoned the police. When they came I had been taken upstairs to bed, but the – other mass – lay where it had collapsed in the night. The men put handkerchiefs to their noses.
What they finally found inside Edward’s oddly-assorted clothes was mostly liquescent horror. There were bones, to – and a crushed-in skull.
Well yes, but he paid for that. And the nose is his own; he still has the receipt!
“Well yes, but he paid for that. And the nose is his own; he still has the receipt!”
I think he should get his money back. This may be one of those few cases where it makes sense to buy the extended warranty.
“New! Improved! 60% more plausible!”
I bet he wouldn’t sneeze at a refund.
If he did I’m sure Quentin Tarantino would make it into a four-hour movie.