I know, I know, English profs are always whining that HP Lovecraft‘s use of “the Unspeakable” and “the Unnameable” is a literary cop-out, but that, my friends, is because they are English profs, with circumscribed, English prof-y lives and limited, English prof-y experiences. If they’d venture off-campus once in awhile (let alone down eldritch and unsuspected catacombs beneath the decayed megalopolis in which they scratch and scrape an oblivious, complascent living, never venturing to the secret, subterranean city) they might have their eyes uncomfortably opened; indeed, peeled, if not actually sucked out of their sockets by …
We have, in deference to our readers of more delicate sensibilities, hidden this abomination over the jump. Before you click on, please stow all baggage in the overhead bins or underneath the seat in front of you, ensure that your seatbelt is securely fastened, and return all trays, maiden aunts, and reanimated corpses to the upright position.
Don’t blame me. Archie made me do it.