The Temple of Dagon

Jesus Prime wrote:Choco-Jesus has arrived?

Cool!

Someone comment on my stories *cries*

this one with the farmer in the field? i thought it was pretty good. it reminds me of the way my dad tells a joke.. he stretches it into a story. what other stories are you talking about?

Ya man...your doing good...

oh nothing le sigh. I've put the final/second to final draft of my mythos story up. other than that, nothing.

oh, ruins in the earth—i bookmarked that, intending to read it again. do you want me to watch out for anything in particular this time around?

haha no, but I'm glad my desperate plea for attention worked.

anyway...

'that could mean only one thing,' ehnq'iehl said, 'and that one thing is this thing i am about to say!' most of the others already knew what would be said, but repressed the symptoms of the withering knowledge in order to preserve, at least temporarily, the morale of the lesser temple initiates, and the chamber-maid, whose name was eunice McO'delafontaine-chang.

but identity and other such distinctions would become obsolete in the new reality, the all-swallowing macrocosmic regime of madness, brought about by the terrible thing of which ehnq'iehl intended to speak.

'that which i was just about to say, and am now saying, is this!' ehnq'iehl howled to its polymorphous comrades, oscillating its stinging tendrils with some difficulty. 'the vegemite content of the irwin whiskey, reacting with the trans-dimensional enzymes of our digestive systems, reacting with the ammoniac cloud of exhaust from jhæzyss-präimn's homemade moped, has summoned habbida-bibbida—the poacher of stars, the beast of nine hairs, the unbanished pilgrim, the hypotenuse of the purple curve!'

'habbida-bibbida!' gasped the chamber-maid, whose name had already been forgotten.

then they heard the mighty roar, and knew it was too late.

the chamber-maid began to chant, 'habbida-bibbida habbida-bibbida habbida-bibbida habbida-bibbida habbida-bibbida..... . . ... .. ..... . .. .. .. . .. ... .. ... .. .

Oh Snap!

and then, for no reason at all, a different story picked up where the old one left off.

burf gargleson hit the flashing button labeled PUSH HERE IF YOU ARE BURF GARGLESON. he didn't even really think about it. how often do you find a button like that, especially on the back of a random child's head? what could it be, except an order from god? this is how burf came to believe in a supreme being. it was none too soon, because the child and he were waiting at a crosswalk. expecting something else altogether, burf inadvertently shoved the child in front of a speeding toyota. the child's mother was dismayed at this. she gave burf gargleson a stern talking-to until police and paramedics arrived on the scene, at which time burf gargleson's twin brother nerf parachuted in from a nearby water tower.

everyone was busy not believing their eyes, so the gargleson brothers were able to escape on the tandem bicycle nerf was carrying.

but they didn't get far..... . . ... . ..... . .. . . .. ... . .. ...

at the next intersection, in full view of a dozen or more patrons of donut sack, a mobile vendor of fresh donuts, the cunning gargleson boys spontaneously combusted while racing by on their tandem bicycle. everyone had seen the incident at the other end of the block, where the garglesons had apparently coordinated the assassination of a random child. no one would ever know, however, that burf gargleson's actions were guided by divine hallucination, or that nerf gargleson, then perched atop the water tower (emblazoned with the town motto: 'get your cheese from the lebanese!'), was contemplating suicide because he had just stolen a tandem bicycle from a couple of blind kids, and felt like the lowest form of life that ever climbed the proud water tower of fartonia, idaho -- but found the will to live when his brother suddenly had a murder scene to escape.

no one would ever know any of that. just to make sure, the blazing twins wheeled squarely into pump #2 at handy stan's full service fuel station, which promptly exploded and launched the charred bicycle straight up between the legs of each gargleson brother, bisecting both along their spines. each twin-half flew in a high arc in a different direction: horth, houth, heast, hest. the bicycle continued upward until it collided with one of ronald reagan's secret star wars satellites.

the satellite misfired its laser, and down on the earth's surface, burf and nerf gargleson were sizzled to a crisp while making their getaway from a callous act of homicide.

you may think this is some kind of temporal loop paradox, but you're wrong. this is what happened. just ask anyone who gets their donuts at donut sack

Just an ordinary tale about ordinary men eating ordinary donuts turns into an extraordinary story about extraordinary events... in the Twilight Zone.

Thats not too extraordinary...shit like thats happened to me before

PA-ZZZING! CHAKOWWW!!
BOOSH-BOOSH-BOOSH-BOOSH-BA-ZOOOO
PIDDLY DIDDLY
FUNCH!!!

'by the writhing cilia of my fungal symbiotes,' cried et'uurn't'ees-zendh, 'what in the bleeding dodecaverse is going on here?!' the iridescent yellow fringe of a dorsal pseudopod flared wildly as if in the presence of nepalese yodelers.

'i think steve irwin has had the last laugh,' said je-je-bhurkh'k, busily gathering its auxiliary intestines into a leathery vesicle. 'it's quite clear now what happened.'

'that vegemitious bastard!' jhæzyss-präimn sputtered from a soggy pile of crumbled brain matter. the glistening morsels crawled and slithered clumsily over each other, attempting to reorganize their communal infrastructure.

'i told you it was a bad idea to keep your brain in a booze amplification canister.' ehnq'iehl's reminder was met with an extrusion of subcutaneous pudding from jhæzyss-präimn's elbows.

jhæzyss-präimn was proud of his invention, and would not tolerate its besmirchment. 'but anyway,' he said after a partially incoherent and raving diatribe aimed accidentally at eunice, the chambermaid, 'like i was saying, he's a vegemitious bastard, and i say we drink to his death.'

'NO!' screamed et'uurn't'ees-zendh, and promptly kicked the jug of irwin whiskey out the 73,169th-floor window of the temple of dagon.

jhæzyss-präimn came <this>this</this> close to violent reprisal for such an absurd waste of mind-bending liquor. instead he sulked for a moment, then grabbed eunice and started making out with her. at least, that's what she assumed he was doing.

'all hail the temple of dagon, and the terrible visions granted to its supplicants!' said je-je-bhurkh'k with a new appreciation for the place.

then followed a bleak and hungry time in the temple.

the last of the man chicken pot pies had been devoured by the overgrown cocker spaniel steed of a monkey cowboy. in swaggered this hairy desperado with his ten-pint hat, spurs jingling, asking impertinent questions, swearing revenge of some sort upon a rival from his past. nobody wanted to hear his story because it was a western.

the monkey cowboy shot a few holes in the ceiling, as is custom, then asked for some chewing tobacco 'for the dusty trail.'

'let the dusty trail come get its own tobacco,' said ehnq'iehl, and concluded, 'talk to the hand.'

jhæzyss-präimn was nonplussed. 'whose hand is that? if you got that out of my handbag, i'm going to drink whiskey at you.'

ehnq'iehl bit off the four shortest digits and tossed the rest back to its rightful owner, who was not amused by the macabre salute it now presented.

'what's on tv?' asked je-je-bhurkh'k.