Curt Chiarelli
Yog-Sothothery on the Fly
Curt's 24 Handy Dandy Survival Tips For Better Living in a Lovecraftian Universe
These are some handy, helpful hints for the hapless individual who may find himself trapped inside of a Lovecraftian universe. The following unsolicited advice and home-spun homilies are offered as a gesture of good faith and as a public service announcement only. It has been said that temptation resisted is a true sign of character. Perhaps so, but it's also a primary indicator of who makes it to retirement age, too. Not that it really matters - as you'll see, oblivion does have it's benefits. Consider yourself forwarned, smarty-pants:
1) If you find yourself in a position to inherit or otherwise acquire your ancestral estate (castle, manse, manor house, whatever), resist the temptation. Especially if it's built on a promontory overlooking a primordial bog or has a warren of subterranean tunnels of untold antiquity beneath it. Simply trust in the knowledge that your ancestors had more common sense than you do, abandoned the family seat for a damn good reason and steer clear of the place yourself as though it were infested with the plague. Don't even go there on holiday with your girlfriend in an attempt to impress her. Or, for that matter, even try to shill it off on some poor, unsuspecting schmuck. No reputable real estate agency will handle the account (which is to say that nine out of ten will). We don't care if it does make Buckingham Palace look like a toolshed. Just call in the air strike and have it napalmed.
2) Never read anything written by anyone who was reputed to be insane and was publicly dismembered by invisible demons in the presence of reliable witnesses.
3) Now, a word about the Necronomicon: twenty-four generations and thousands of victims later, do you really believe you're the one able to harness its awesome destructive abilities? Get a grip on reality you dolt: that's like letting a toddler tinker with an H-bomb. Do the world a favour: put the energy drink down, back away from the Miskatonic University Orne Library Special Collections Room and check out something closer to your own reading level . . . . like say, Hairy Pothead and the Bong of Doom, Frog and Toad Get Naked Together Again or, perhaps, Thomas the Suicidal Train Engine. And no more talk about scanning it in and publishing it on the internet either, fanboy. In case you haven't been keeping up on world affairs, George W. Bush, Jr. is currently Leader of the Free World. More than one apocalypse in a lifetime is serious overkill, wouldn't you agree?
4) If, whilst dreaming, you find your dream-self going descending a long, winding flight of steps toward a gate of ethereal beauty, immediately turn around, go back upstairs and chuck the Silver Key. Settle for a nice, sleazy wet dream featuring a harem of choice supermodels instead. Trust me on this one: the final outcome will be far more salutary to your long-term mental stability. I promise you.
5) If you find yourself on the Plateau of Leng or some such far-flung, exotic locale, do not drink the water or sample the local cuisine. Chances are the F.D.A. has no jurisdiction there.
6) Any electronic equipment you may bring along for the purpose of artificially enhancing your sensitivity to and/or recording unknown inter-dimensional phenomena will only increase the likelihood of you going stark raving mad and/or getting eviscerated. Just stick with a flashlight if you really must be able to see where you're going (and even then that's often ill-advised).
7) Don't be cheap. Invest in a really good pair of quality, brand-name running shoes. It may clash with your vintage three-piece suit, but hey, that's life, kiddo. You'll thank me later.
8) Purchase a .45 calibre semi-automatic pistol loaded with hollow-tip cartridges for only select situations: if somebody you know claims to have been dispossessed of his/her body and inhabited by an alien intelligence - ice them. You're doing him/her/it a favour . . . . not to mention yourself and everyone else on this dimensional plane of existence. Likewise, if you ever suspect that your own mind has been has been displaced by another, do not hesitate to splatter your own brains out against the nearest convenient wall. It's all for the best because you're going to go down slow and ugly anyway. Avoid the stress and aggravation. Don't procrastinate. Do yourself in now.
9) In all other situations such ordnance will be useless, so leave it at home. It's awkward, expensive, heavy, you'll incur the added expense of having your tailor let your jacket out and you'll only drop it in a paroxysm of terror, uncontrollable nausea, nervous collapse or your reckless head-long flight to safety anyway.
10) Do try to avoid fainting when confronted by unspeakable cosmic entities: it jeopardizes the mission, it's unmanly and bad social form to boot. Always exercise tact, discretion and professional courtesy towards your university colleagues: shower frequently and wear adult rubber diapers while in the field on an expedition. Daily applications of Grecian Formula are also a welcome, classy touch.
11) Shun fog, mist, shadows and anything or any place that reeks of decaying corpses, moldering crypts, ectoplasmic putrescence, overripe sushi, unspeakable depravity or the Republican Party. Avoid frequenting primeval forests, caves, bogs, swamps, cemeteries, charnel houses, laboratories, abandoned mansions, unconsecrated churches, stuffy attics comprised of strange angles, glens, hollows, grottoes, ancient temples, ruins, monoliths, sacrificial altars, dank basements, G.O.P. convention halls of the damned, abbatoirs, unhallowed aquariums, blasted heaths, darkened pantries, root cellars, inter-dimensional portals, smelly wharves, unregistered seafood restaurants, crystalline labyrinths, telephone booths, tourist kiosks and outhouses of the Pre-Georgian Period that have acquired a sinister local reputation.
12) Break-off friendships with anybody who frequently uses the following terms in their correspondence: "eldritch", "aeon-shadowed", "Crawling-Chaos," "fungoid", "daemoniacal", "Cyclopean", "Lurker-at-the-Threshold", "Goat-of-a-Thousand -Young", "piping", "gibbous" or "compassionate conservative"- especially if any of these words are used in combination with one another or in conjunction with learned references to such forbidden texts as the Necronomicon, De Vermis Mysteriis, The Pnakotic Manuscripts, The Books of Eibon, Unaussprechlichen Kulten, Cultes des Goules, Saducismus Triumphatus, Daemonolatreia, De Umbrarum Regni Novem Portis, Non-Euclidean Architecture for Dummies or anything written by Anne Coulter. In case you haven't already gotten the message: these guys are bad news for your continued welfare. Strike them off your Holiday gift-giving roster. Believe me, you'll be happy you did (and pray that there's no payback for the snub later on . . . .).
13) Ruthlessly jettison any artists, youthful prodigies of uncanny precociousness or university professors steeped in arcane lore, occult knowledge, obscure linguistics, non-Euclidean geometry or astrophysics from your circle of associates. These people quite simply know far too much for their own good . . . . or yours, for that matter. They're also a real social liability at parties, bar-mitzvahs and weddings. Announce your untimely demise in the local obituary column and slink out of town under cover of night without paying the next months rent. Do it now before it's too late.
14) Never travel to the following destinations, particularly for exploratory or genealogical purposes: rural New England or any obscure seaside town or city in America that can be described as more than three centuries old and cannot be found on a modern map. Furthermore, Central Europe, the Indian sub-continent, Africa, Australia, Asia, Antarctica, Kansas or any place previously submerged or currently below the ocean's surface that might ever have been within close proximity of the sunken city of R'lyeh is simply out of the question. If you live in any of these places, move away immediately. And don't leave a forwarding address.
15) Never trust television repairmen, public relations mavens, press secretary Svengalis or advertising/marketing gurus with a lean, ascetic frame, a pronounced Egyptian accent and eyes that are obsidian pools of infinity.
16) Fix the electronic buzzing sound on your telephones' answering machine greeting - it sends the wrong message to callers.
17) Fly-fishing, snorkeling and scuba diving on vacation . . . . Have you been paying attention at all?
18) If you do happen to have relatives of Innsmouth stock it's considered de rigueur for you to keep a pair of swim trunks packed at all times. On this point of ettiquette, home aquariums and fishing equipment are considered in very poor taste, whilst amoeba-shaped, in-ground swimming pools are merely retro-kitsch. Don't even consider a subscription to Field and Stream magazine.
19) Advanced theoretical trigonometry, fried calamari, poor Latin syntax and witchcraft are a dangerous combination. Bear this in mind.
20) Resist the impulse to maintain a journal. The only people who write about things that happen to them are the people to whom ghastly things are about to happen. Don't become another statistic. Skip the diary.
21) If an artifact ever comes into your possession that is clearly inscribed in a language not hitherto known by linguistic scholars, composed of a material unrecognized by geologists or metalurgists and is clearly not the work of human hands, just toss the f*cking thing away. And the ornate box it came in too, just to be on the safe side. Then go home and wash your hands with industrial grade Fels Naptha soap.
22) Never do any manner of genealogical research or investigative work into your own family's history. Let lying dogs (or, if you prefer, shoggoths) lay. I promise, you won't like what you find. Guaranteed.
23) Don't procreate. There's a very good reason why your bloodline should die out. Be courteous: don't share the pain of congenital madness, miscegnation and hereditary debasement with future generations. Avoid beautiful, but mysterious women whose lips taste like salt water, cheap lipstick and choice caviar. Keep your love-tentacle dry and your wetsuit zipped up. Please.
24) In case this point has escaped your notice, no matter where you turn, no matter what you do you're thoroughly, utterly screwed . . . . R'lyeh will rise again soon . . . . so, kick back, pour yourself a tall glass of suds and relax. In the meantime, to fully savour the effect of your inconsequentiality in a vast, meaningless and uncaring cosmos may I suggest that you take up radio astronomy as a hobby? Life does suck, now doesn't it? And please don't send me any hate mail. I am merely the messenger, not the message. Besides, I have problems of my own.
Copyright 2007 by Curt C. Chiarelli
These are some handy, helpful hints for the hapless individual who may find himself trapped inside of a Lovecraftian universe. The following unsolicited advice and home-spun homilies are offered as a gesture of good faith and as a public service announcement only. It has been said that temptation resisted is a true sign of character. Perhaps so, but it's also a primary indicator of who makes it to retirement age, too. Not that it really matters - as you'll see, oblivion does have it's benefits. Consider yourself forwarned, smarty-pants:
1) If you find yourself in a position to inherit or otherwise acquire your ancestral estate (castle, manse, manor house, whatever), resist the temptation. Especially if it's built on a promontory overlooking a primordial bog or has a warren of subterranean tunnels of untold antiquity beneath it. Simply trust in the knowledge that your ancestors had more common sense than you do, abandoned the family seat for a damn good reason and steer clear of the place yourself as though it were infested with the plague. Don't even go there on holiday with your girlfriend in an attempt to impress her. Or, for that matter, even try to shill it off on some poor, unsuspecting schmuck. No reputable real estate agency will handle the account (which is to say that nine out of ten will). We don't care if it does make Buckingham Palace look like a toolshed. Just call in the air strike and have it napalmed.
2) Never read anything written by anyone who was reputed to be insane and was publicly dismembered by invisible demons in the presence of reliable witnesses.
3) Now, a word about the Necronomicon: twenty-four generations and thousands of victims later, do you really believe you're the one able to harness its awesome destructive abilities? Get a grip on reality you dolt: that's like letting a toddler tinker with an H-bomb. Do the world a favour: put the energy drink down, back away from the Miskatonic University Orne Library Special Collections Room and check out something closer to your own reading level . . . . like say, Hairy Pothead and the Bong of Doom, Frog and Toad Get Naked Together Again or, perhaps, Thomas the Suicidal Train Engine. And no more talk about scanning it in and publishing it on the internet either, fanboy. In case you haven't been keeping up on world affairs, George W. Bush, Jr. is currently Leader of the Free World. More than one apocalypse in a lifetime is serious overkill, wouldn't you agree?
4) If, whilst dreaming, you find your dream-self going descending a long, winding flight of steps toward a gate of ethereal beauty, immediately turn around, go back upstairs and chuck the Silver Key. Settle for a nice, sleazy wet dream featuring a harem of choice supermodels instead. Trust me on this one: the final outcome will be far more salutary to your long-term mental stability. I promise you.
5) If you find yourself on the Plateau of Leng or some such far-flung, exotic locale, do not drink the water or sample the local cuisine. Chances are the F.D.A. has no jurisdiction there.
6) Any electronic equipment you may bring along for the purpose of artificially enhancing your sensitivity to and/or recording unknown inter-dimensional phenomena will only increase the likelihood of you going stark raving mad and/or getting eviscerated. Just stick with a flashlight if you really must be able to see where you're going (and even then that's often ill-advised).
7) Don't be cheap. Invest in a really good pair of quality, brand-name running shoes. It may clash with your vintage three-piece suit, but hey, that's life, kiddo. You'll thank me later.
8) Purchase a .45 calibre semi-automatic pistol loaded with hollow-tip cartridges for only select situations: if somebody you know claims to have been dispossessed of his/her body and inhabited by an alien intelligence - ice them. You're doing him/her/it a favour . . . . not to mention yourself and everyone else on this dimensional plane of existence. Likewise, if you ever suspect that your own mind has been has been displaced by another, do not hesitate to splatter your own brains out against the nearest convenient wall. It's all for the best because you're going to go down slow and ugly anyway. Avoid the stress and aggravation. Don't procrastinate. Do yourself in now.
9) In all other situations such ordnance will be useless, so leave it at home. It's awkward, expensive, heavy, you'll incur the added expense of having your tailor let your jacket out and you'll only drop it in a paroxysm of terror, uncontrollable nausea, nervous collapse or your reckless head-long flight to safety anyway.
10) Do try to avoid fainting when confronted by unspeakable cosmic entities: it jeopardizes the mission, it's unmanly and bad social form to boot. Always exercise tact, discretion and professional courtesy towards your university colleagues: shower frequently and wear adult rubber diapers while in the field on an expedition. Daily applications of Grecian Formula are also a welcome, classy touch.
11) Shun fog, mist, shadows and anything or any place that reeks of decaying corpses, moldering crypts, ectoplasmic putrescence, overripe sushi, unspeakable depravity or the Republican Party. Avoid frequenting primeval forests, caves, bogs, swamps, cemeteries, charnel houses, laboratories, abandoned mansions, unconsecrated churches, stuffy attics comprised of strange angles, glens, hollows, grottoes, ancient temples, ruins, monoliths, sacrificial altars, dank basements, G.O.P. convention halls of the damned, abbatoirs, unhallowed aquariums, blasted heaths, darkened pantries, root cellars, inter-dimensional portals, smelly wharves, unregistered seafood restaurants, crystalline labyrinths, telephone booths, tourist kiosks and outhouses of the Pre-Georgian Period that have acquired a sinister local reputation.
12) Break-off friendships with anybody who frequently uses the following terms in their correspondence: "eldritch", "aeon-shadowed", "Crawling-Chaos," "fungoid", "daemoniacal", "Cyclopean", "Lurker-at-the-Threshold", "Goat-of-a-Thousand -Young", "piping", "gibbous" or "compassionate conservative"- especially if any of these words are used in combination with one another or in conjunction with learned references to such forbidden texts as the Necronomicon, De Vermis Mysteriis, The Pnakotic Manuscripts, The Books of Eibon, Unaussprechlichen Kulten, Cultes des Goules, Saducismus Triumphatus, Daemonolatreia, De Umbrarum Regni Novem Portis, Non-Euclidean Architecture for Dummies or anything written by Anne Coulter. In case you haven't already gotten the message: these guys are bad news for your continued welfare. Strike them off your Holiday gift-giving roster. Believe me, you'll be happy you did (and pray that there's no payback for the snub later on . . . .).
13) Ruthlessly jettison any artists, youthful prodigies of uncanny precociousness or university professors steeped in arcane lore, occult knowledge, obscure linguistics, non-Euclidean geometry or astrophysics from your circle of associates. These people quite simply know far too much for their own good . . . . or yours, for that matter. They're also a real social liability at parties, bar-mitzvahs and weddings. Announce your untimely demise in the local obituary column and slink out of town under cover of night without paying the next months rent. Do it now before it's too late.
14) Never travel to the following destinations, particularly for exploratory or genealogical purposes: rural New England or any obscure seaside town or city in America that can be described as more than three centuries old and cannot be found on a modern map. Furthermore, Central Europe, the Indian sub-continent, Africa, Australia, Asia, Antarctica, Kansas or any place previously submerged or currently below the ocean's surface that might ever have been within close proximity of the sunken city of R'lyeh is simply out of the question. If you live in any of these places, move away immediately. And don't leave a forwarding address.
15) Never trust television repairmen, public relations mavens, press secretary Svengalis or advertising/marketing gurus with a lean, ascetic frame, a pronounced Egyptian accent and eyes that are obsidian pools of infinity.
16) Fix the electronic buzzing sound on your telephones' answering machine greeting - it sends the wrong message to callers.
17) Fly-fishing, snorkeling and scuba diving on vacation . . . . Have you been paying attention at all?
18) If you do happen to have relatives of Innsmouth stock it's considered de rigueur for you to keep a pair of swim trunks packed at all times. On this point of ettiquette, home aquariums and fishing equipment are considered in very poor taste, whilst amoeba-shaped, in-ground swimming pools are merely retro-kitsch. Don't even consider a subscription to Field and Stream magazine.
19) Advanced theoretical trigonometry, fried calamari, poor Latin syntax and witchcraft are a dangerous combination. Bear this in mind.
20) Resist the impulse to maintain a journal. The only people who write about things that happen to them are the people to whom ghastly things are about to happen. Don't become another statistic. Skip the diary.
21) If an artifact ever comes into your possession that is clearly inscribed in a language not hitherto known by linguistic scholars, composed of a material unrecognized by geologists or metalurgists and is clearly not the work of human hands, just toss the f*cking thing away. And the ornate box it came in too, just to be on the safe side. Then go home and wash your hands with industrial grade Fels Naptha soap.
22) Never do any manner of genealogical research or investigative work into your own family's history. Let lying dogs (or, if you prefer, shoggoths) lay. I promise, you won't like what you find. Guaranteed.
23) Don't procreate. There's a very good reason why your bloodline should die out. Be courteous: don't share the pain of congenital madness, miscegnation and hereditary debasement with future generations. Avoid beautiful, but mysterious women whose lips taste like salt water, cheap lipstick and choice caviar. Keep your love-tentacle dry and your wetsuit zipped up. Please.
24) In case this point has escaped your notice, no matter where you turn, no matter what you do you're thoroughly, utterly screwed . . . . R'lyeh will rise again soon . . . . so, kick back, pour yourself a tall glass of suds and relax. In the meantime, to fully savour the effect of your inconsequentiality in a vast, meaningless and uncaring cosmos may I suggest that you take up radio astronomy as a hobby? Life does suck, now doesn't it? And please don't send me any hate mail. I am merely the messenger, not the message. Besides, I have problems of my own.
Copyright 2007 by Curt C. Chiarelli
Very good.
