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Excerpts from H.P. Lovecraft’s Yelp Page

27 August 2010 Lies and Entertainment 9,809 views 3 CommentsPrint This Post Print This Post Email This Post Email This Post

The Cupcake Place ***

After awakening from a troubled sleep infected with visions of demonic abstractions pitched at odd angles against an impossible landscape of stark horror, I decided that I would quell the inescapable hunger rising up inside me like a fetid army of the undead from an unspeakable dimension. I am cursed with what is referred to as a “sweet tooth” but is truly more of a sucrosiated fang.

While plodding down the streets of madness I came upon The Cupcake Place, its wares laid out in the window as they were the eyes of a transdimensional fear-beast coated with the unblinking frosting of eternal torment. I asked the shadowy female figure behind the counter for a chocolate peppermint patty cupcake and a cup of coffee as black and endless as her eyes. Their service was quick and before me sat the questionable confection which I consumed as if possessed. I found the frosting delicious, but the cake was a bit dry. I’m going to have to come back and try the salted carmel. Yum!

Joe’s Mr. Fixit *****

On July 16, 2009, I moved into my parent’s house after the last workman had finished his labours. The restoration had been a stupendous task, for little had remained of the deserted pile but a shell-like ruin; yet because it had been the seat of my ancestors I let no expense deter me. The place had not been inhabited since the reign of George W. Bush, when a tragedy of intensely hideous, though largely unexplained, nature had struck down the master, five of his children, and several servants. Despite a gnawing horror in my gut, I plodded forward on what seemed a dark and impossible task. That’s when I called Joe.

Joe was a miracle worker. He and his crew not only fixed all the little problems, but also got rid of a potential rat infestation. Having rats in my walls would have driven me crazy! Thanks, Joe!

Miako Dry Cleaning *

Cascading events beyond my control, such as the crack of light that appeared in the wall of my cellar that was revealed to be a portal to a dark place of damnation only rumored to exist in the whispers of those that discuss the forgotten and the cursed, caused my shirt to become stained with an ooze that may be the blood of the one whose name we must not speak aloud.

Despite pointing out this dark ichor to the ghoul behind the counter, it was still present when the shirt was returned to me. When I pointed this out to him, he lied and said that I hadn’t asked to have it removed and that it had caused one of their steam presses to fall through a dimensional void. I have never had such rude service at a dry cleaners’. They didn’t touch the stains but still charged me for a poor job. I won’t be going back there. After all, “Cleaning” is in the name of the business and it doesn’t seem “cleaning” is a task they’ve mastered.

Donny’s Hamburger Oasis **

There exists a castle in a dream existence, its spires reaching toward the sky like hands prodding through the soft earth of a freshly dug grave toward the dead sun that hangs in the sky like hole in reality. In this castle a coven of dark sorcerers murmur incantations written on human skin in the blood of saints. Their purpose is to produce an army of Azatrans, the gibbering children of insanity that know nothing of human ways, but simply of their most basic hungers and evil whims.

When they set this platoon of idiot soldiers loose on the world, civilizations will fall and we will be destroyed by them. Until then, they will serve as the wait staff at this mediocre hamburger shop serving slabs of undercooked beef — have they never even heard of Salmonella? Gave them the second star because their fries are the bomb.

David Wahl


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  1. Outstanding! You have truly outdone yourself this time. My Friday is complete and it’s only 6:00 AM.

  2. This is brilliant! And I love that you worked the word “ichor” in. I just wish you had worked the word “foetor” in, too…..

  3. Since I liked the band a lot, I once tried reading some H.P. Lovecraft. Of course that was untold millennia ago, in the early 70s. I was young and impressionable, but I still came away with a nagging doubt or two that his stuff was really all that good. It failed to scare, or even worry, but it increased my vocabulary a bit. Surely he deserves a contest bearing his name at least as much as that Bulwer-Lytton dude.

    Thanks for the burbling chortles,

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