Tell a story 3 words at a time.

strode forward to

meet the assembled

crowd of degenerates

who had been

milling about aimlessly.

But, it was

all for naught,

for, unbeknownst to

the doughty Baron,

dread Cthulhu had

at last risen

from his deep

and deathless sleep

and was ready

, so terribly ready,

to bring a

nightmarish cataclysm to

its cataclysmic conclusion.

"Ph'nglui mglw'nafh Cthulhu

R'lyeh wgah'nagl fhtagn!!!"

, chanted the degenerates.

The Baron, unperturbed,

called upon the

uhlans to fire

their Weatherby magnums

straight into the

writhing maw of

dread Cthulhu.

All

blazed away furiously,

but without effect,

for the puny

magnum bullets simply

fed the eldritch

horror that loomed

above their heads.

The Baron, annoyed,

used his suspensors

to lift the

eldritch horror from

the freezing waters.

All in vain.

Why, you ask?

Because just then

Cthulhu, squamously furious,

broke free and

plunged back downward,

downward, downward, until

landing with a

sickening squelch upon

the crushed body

of Cher, surprisingly

resilient with silicone

implants that cushioned

her supine form.

But Cthulhu was

not to be

distracted by the

surgically enhanced charms

of the aging

, velvet-voiced contralto.

He ate her.

The world rejoiced!

"We love you

Cthulhu, oh yes

we certainly do!"

Suddenly, with a

speed that amazed

the non-squamous Baron,

Cthulhu leaped upon

him and did

his best to

violate him.

This

was not a

typical horrific violation,

it was far

, far, far, far

worse.

It was

nothing short of

soul defiling, mind

you, for a

horrible eldritch moment.

But the Baron

was not about

to be frightened,

no matter how

perverse Cthulhu's defilement

became. This was

War.

All the

tentacular violation was

beside the point;

he was here

to win for

all time, even

against all odds.

The Baron snarled,

"Hah! You call

those tentacular violations?

I've been violated

better than that

by Squidward, that

malcontented cartoon character!

"

"That's mighty big

of you," the

eldritch horror Squidward

guffawed rugously, as

night fell again.

"Squidward? Son?" asked

the blind hobo,

in a hopeful

tone of voice.

"Is that really

you, Daddy?", responded

a small gray

mass of cells.

Meanwhile, in a

forgotten corner of

the narrative, a

flatulent mole burrowed

into Hades. It

was seemingly a

new character, but

we know better,

for it was

that damned fool

Sipowicz, now reincarnated!

(As a parrot!)

He only looked

around briefly before

raising a leg

and firing off

a methane bomb

of white poo.

"Well," that was

quite the little

This isn't going to work with the quotation marks in post #1933.

strange but stinky

episode, but I

really think that

it's about time

we finally see

an end to

all this incongruous

folderol," the Baron

said to Cthulhu

, who chortled eldritchly.

"You would suggest

that we act

as if the

last 38 pages

were no more

than a noisome

hallucination of eldritch

horror, the likes

of which no

man could see

without going maaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaad!

No such luck,"

was the sad

reply from the

wizened old coot

in the black

trenchcoat who sat

atop the stegosaurus

(gingerly, of course)

and who now

dismounted with a

rather casual air.

Everyone gaped. The

end had seemed

to have arrived,

and yet all

the same, it

just never came.

Meanwhile, on Rigel III,

Nigel of Rigel

sighed wistfully as

Art of Arcturus

walked on by.

Art pretended not

to see the

iridescent eyes of

his greatest admirer

aglow, instead turning

both his heads

towards the moons

that circled above,

their multiringed glory

ineffably beautiful. He

was suddenly inspired

to sit down

and proposition Nigel.

"Nigel, I want

(and by 'want'

you know I

mean 'demand'), your

alien booty immediately!"

Nigel, frightened yet

undeniably aroused, paused

for a moment

while he distractedly

adjusted his junk.