Monthly Archives: December 2007

A Cthristmas Cthlassic

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The Last Christmas

Do you, too, remember this golden Cthristmas Cthlassic from your Cthildhood? I can remember the plot to this very day…

It was a dark and stormy night. In his house at Rlyeh, Great Cthulhu was Fhtagning.

Fhtagn, Cthulhu, Fhtagn.

But though dreaming, he was not dead. He merely seemed dead. In reality, his malign consciousness was free: free to roam the galaxy, seeking ingress to the minds of the weak, the stunted, the insane. Finally, after torturous aeons of fruitless fumblings, he had found his entry point.

Television.

“Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the haunt, Not a tentacle was stirring, not even the night gaunt. The brains were hung by the intestines with care, In hopes that St. Cthulhu soon would be there.”

Infiltrating the airwaves with his inhuman, eldritch thought-patterns the sinister Great Old One was able to connect with those who had remained loyal to him throughout all the dark aeons of his silence. A little “shipyard accident” here, a little “missing in Arabia” there and poof! The stage was set for the Greatest of the Great Old Ones to rise again, striking fear into the hearts of all puny humans.

The stars (m)aligned. The Great Cthulhu rose, slavering for victims.

But how to get to all of them? Why, look to the Ancient Masters for instruction, of course. Who has free access and welcome into all households? Who has profound, unthinkable powers of transportation, manifestation, and time-manipulation? One, and only one being, my friends.

Santa Claus.

Yes, the old man had to be gotten out of the way. Thus began the battle between The Old Man and the Sea Creature from Beyond the Abyss of the Star Spaces and the Clamoring Chaos Which is the End of All Things, by Asenath Waite.

I won’t go into the details of the battle (too gruesome for a wholesome, all-ages blog such as this one) but rest assured, there was much mucous involved.

That accomplished, Cthulhu settled down by the fire with a nice, wholesome snack, and waited for breakfast delivery.

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a learning experience

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What yesterday taught me:

  • After ten at night, downtown in the boondocks is filled with attractive, well-dressed young couples strolling and chatting to one another and greeting friends.
  • After ten at night, downtown in Vancouver is filled with staggering drunks, beggars, dopey hipsters wearing secondhand clothing they haven’t even brushed the dead owner’s dandruff off, and those so outrageously obnoxious that their own mothers out in said boondocks threw them out of their basement apartments and told them to go “get some fresh air.” This is much like the tourist effect, to whit: the reason most tourists are so obnoxious is that they are not traveling because they wish to, but rather because they have been thrown out by their homes.
  • When I have that nagging feeling that I’m forgetting something in my apartment, that thing invariably turns out to be the keys to the place where I’m headed.
  • When I forget the keys to the boondock-ridden locale where I am supposed to be house-sitting, it will be on a night when I decide to take the Skytrain to the very farthest station in said boondock and walk to the house via the “scenic route” which, of course, takes place in the foothills of the Coastal Mountain range.
  • I must be getting fitter because, although the walk wiped me out, I no longer smell like wet pennies when I sweat, so this is an improvement.
  • Conrad Black has two sons, in addition to the daughter who’s been doing the “faithful supporter” thing at the trial. Funny, I read his whole autobiography and he didn’t mention them. Nor getting married, if memory serves. What a family guy!
  •  Those graveyards that have the small, flat stones set flush into the ground? When you pass them at speed on the Skytrain on a dark and stormy night, they sparkle. Almost worth forgoing the weeping angels. Somewhere in Boondock, Ontario, my mother is sparkling. Unless it snowed; then she’s twinkling.
  • It is indeed possible to live off nothing but meat, cheese, caffeine and scotch for a week, but when you do
  • you will crave, I mean actively crave, multivitamins.

That concludes tonight’s lesson.

The Little Drummer Boy, the Gimungous Drag Queen

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I. Can’t. Believe. that I didn’t post this last year. Or the year before. Or, like, ev-ar. But this is, in my opinion, the only acceptable update of that Christmas classic The Little Drummer Boy since Bing and Bowie. It is, ladies and gentlemen and those on whom the good Lord and the rest of us reserve judgement, Ru. Fucking. Paul. and the bounciest choir of angels you’ve ever seen (even if that shepherd totally has white man’s rhythm).

From RuPaul‘s excellent blog, our thought o’ the day:

sometimes i find myself saying ‘where am i’ or ‘how do i know that person’, but more and more it’s becoming very evident that it really doesn’t matter.
all that matters is that we are here together.

Inspired by a slight difference of opinion over at TeenyManolo regarding “The Worst Christmas Songs of All Time” which list is, in my opinion, incomplete without this abomination (NSFdiabetics).

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SLUT: quote o’ the day!

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Seattle Space Needle

Seattle Mayor Greg Nickels said,
“I don’t care what you call it as long as you ride it.”

Yes, folks, that’s what we around these parts call a real friendly city.

crab stew

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If they’re trying to use this enlightening ad to sell 42 Below, I’m thinking that the plan may have backfired. Click to enlarge, in case the details are fuzzy, as, indeed, they would be the next morning.

Crab Stew

From the Clio Awards

. Be sure to click the NEXT button when you’re on the site: the second one in the series is particularly amusing!