Fuck: everybody, be quiet. Or make a lot noise: it doesn’t matter. Nothing matters anymore. The sky broke in three pieces last Tuesday and a Filipino guy with a club foot stole one piece and the other two went to the British Museum, which is holding onto them. (This is in line with the British Museum’s strict policy of Finders, Keepers (for a very loose definition of “find”).)
The Abandoned Gods have abandoned us: Azagoth, Ba’al, Cthulu, Domak the Absolute Worst, Ephialtes the Traitorous, Frank from Across the Hall with the Fucking Dog, Gozer, Hecubus, Isaac from the Love Boat, Joruus C’Boath, Ken Kragen*, Lilith, Mephistopheles, Na-az’rael, Oculus Rift someone farted in, Planchette the Intern, Q-Bert, Rapin’ Panda the Raping Panda, Simon Milligan, Tushee Monster, ‘Ucifer the Speech-Impaired, Vishanti, Wucifer the Lethally Cute, Xj!tfr’rr the Unpronounceable, Yog Soggoth, Zuul…all of them have left the building, dimension, or many-angled prison of tears.
Ned Lagin is here, children. Ned Lagin is among us. He had no power…until they invited him up to jam. And now, Ned Lagin is here.
* Country music’s superstar manager of superstars, Ken Kragen, is also an Eldritch Abomination. Little-known fact.