Although he would never say it to him, Bill always felt that Jim’s insistence on full protective apparel — including respirator — whenever going into the basement was somewhat unwarranted; after all, the room was nearly finished and the bulky suits made playing Foosball a chore at best.

Sewer Spelunkers [My Confined Space]

Being the first part in five of the autobiographical chronicle of a curious dwarf and his even curiouser career, as related to Mr. Florian Eckhardt at a Men’s Penal Colony in the late autumn of 2007. Read onward!

When people first meet me, the first thing they notice is not the tiny dwarf standing before them, or — as my school chums used to call me right before grabbing me by my ankles, swinging me around their heads and lazily chucking me into the stratosphere — “Tiny Midget Mowcher.” Nor is it my throbbing biceps, my oiled pectorals, my abdominals arrayed like a colony of quivering, bronze-shelled oysters. In fact, when people first meet me, they don’t notice me at all, but only the enormous, fluid-filled scrotum I carry around on my back. In short, I suppose you could say that the first thing people notice about me is my career, and considering the fact that most people define themselves by their professions, I guess that makes me as normal as the rest of you.

Continue Reading…

Gather round Ectotots, for I have a tale to spin. You see, in my day we only had one kind of Asteriskpunk; the Cyberpunk. Making do with discarded circuit boards, thrifted leather coats, and a gaggle of goggles, we’d spend hours on painfully slow BBS’ trading questionably witty banter and dreaming of the day our neural interface wet-dreams would become a reality.

However, things, as they are wont to do, have evolved, and the Asteriskpunk fashionistas, in their constant struggle to remain fresh and relevant, are yet again devising new ways in which to pretend you’re from a future that time forgot. Which isn’t to say I haven’t enjoyed the evolution; Cyberpunk is my one true love, Eliza adores Steampunk (romanticizing an era in which “larger” women were popular how could she not), and Brownlee remains the one true Fezpunk.

Sadly, one member of our quartet has always felt left out; previously relegated to 21st century costuming (and hopping mad as only a man with the body of an infant can be) the inimitable Mr. Rosenberg can now join in our frolicking! Oh the fun we shall have, flying pretend airships over pretend post apocalyptic landscapes, battling golems and the Tzaddik along the way; all while Brownlee sits calmly at the helm, a fez resting up on his head at a rakish tilt.

Hebrewpunk [WarrenEllis] : SF Scope

Having already been privy to the insanity that is High Seas Cthulhu, it only makes sense that Lovecraft’s invention would explore other genre clichés. With that in mind, allow me to present Frontier Cthulhu: Ancient Horrors in the New World which really sounds more like an Eldritch/Barbie playset but is, in actuality, a series of Mythos related stories that take place in the American West. No doubt there is a heart-wrenching story of the love between Cthulhu and a cowboy which blossoms as they herd shoggoth in the mountains of Wyoming and ends once Cthulhu swallows the cowboy’s soul.

Frontier Cthulhu: Ancient Horrors in the New World (Call of Cthulhu Fiction) [Amazon]

Recently, a group of devoted Cthulhu cultists Lovecraft fans produced an astonishing silent-film adaptation of Lovecraft’s “The Call of Cthulhu” that is simply a must see for any and all devotees to the Big Squid Himself. Witness the trailer above, and then tell me that 1) this is not the definitive adaptation of the story and 2) it’s actually more eerie in black-and-white. Can’t, huh? Precisely.

The Great Old Ones demand that you order the DVD here.

Trailer - the call of Cthulhu movie [YouTube].

Gather ’round the Samhain fires, boys and girls, and shiver as you read one of the spoooOOOOOoookiest literary mashups I’ve ever read: “The Great Old Pumpkin,” by John Aegard!

As you are no doubt aware, I am the issue of solid Dutch stock—the prosperous Van Pelt family of St. Paul. Mine was a comfortable and happy childhood, and I spent much of it in the devoted service of the Great Old Pumpkin. For him, I cultivated an annual pumpkin patch—mostly Autumn Gold and Big Max, as I thought he would find the Atlantic Giants tacky. I also evangelized him in the community, relating the tale of how, every year on Hallowmas Eve, the day when the spiritual most strongly encroaches on the substantial, this mightiest of gourds would rise to revel across the world with the most sincere of his adorers. My neighbors were understandably skeptical; after all, not once had this superbeing ever chosen to grace my pumpkin patch or any other place in our town. I vowed that I would coax him into my backyard, and I set out in the manner of a learned man to discover how I might do this.

You shall experience, much as I did, a ghastly thrill when you come to the story’s thunderous climax! If you are not left shuddering in terror at the sight of those great orange squashes so common to porch-steps and doorsills at this time of the year, then you are more of a man than I, an advowed and unashamed “pussy,” shall ever be.

Spooooooky monster pumpkin pic by the inimitable Matt Sharp!

The Great Old Pumpkin [Strange Horizons] (Thanks, Ian!)

As my week has been busier than most, I’m sorry to say I simply haven’t had the time to finish the 11th, and nearly final part of “Trois Freres.” Yet fear not, fellow Lovecraftian nihilists! I bring to you instead a sneak peak at the follow-up tale to “Trois Freres,” the prologue to “Goodnight, Antarctica”!

“Goodnight, Antarctica” follows the disastrous International Expedition to the Elder Ones’ Antarctican cities on a last-ditch effort to search for any hints of how the Elders beat and imprisoned Great Cthulhu and its fellow-kind in R’Lyeh millions of years ago. Continuing the tradition of the first story in using “real life” personages (such as myself) as narrators or major figures in the tales, the leader of the International Expedition and primary viewpoint character for “Goodnight, Antarctica” is none other than well-known dark fantasy/Lovecraftian author and professional paleontologist (and Official Homegirl of the author), Caitlin R. Kiernan. Continue Reading…

Those of us lucky enough to call the Pacific Northwest our home are privy to an abundance of flora and fauna not often seen elsewhere. Lush forests dot the landscape just outside of our picturesque waterfront cities and strange creatures step lithely through the wood. Imagine my surprise when after 6 years of residency in these viridian wilds I discovered a creature sure to strike a cord of sympathy and adulation with even the most voracious of the carnivorous set, the noble arboreal octopus.

Cold, uncaring haberdashers of the early 20th Century in their pursuit of the most unique and fashionable cranial accoutrements drove the beast to near extinction, receiving help in their anti-conservationist efforts from the lumber industry. Pound the jump like the tentacle of an angry cephalopodian god to learn more about what is easily the greatest creature to ever grace this Earth.

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“In 1927, scientist Vivtoria McAllester invented the formula for the world’s first bullet-proof lemon. McAllester was considered by many as a maverick in the field of forensic horticulture, she was often called an abrasive polymath. Others were devoted follows of her lectures on economics, which were often sung in her cheery trademark falsetto…

She disappeared suddenly in the fall of 1930 at the age of 27. On December 14th of that year her lab and the vast majority of her notes were destroyed in a fire. The mainstream scientific community were unable or in many cases unwilling to recreate the work she did on the bullet-proof lemon.”

The Bullet-Proof Lemon [Flickr] : hentooth’s journal