Cthulhu’s Corner: Unanswered Calls (of Cthulhu)

Okay, I know I need to be working on “Dreams” right now (I’m sure you’re all anxious to see it published), but I have to get something off my chest first.

Let me set this up for everyone: I was at the club last night, blowing off some steam from another stressful week of dealing with insufferable humans and being, you know, Cthulhu. Anyway, I spot this nice-looking blonde over by the bar. I swagger on over (that’s right, I swaggered) and say, “Hey, baby. I’m Cthulhu.”
Now that’s usually when the females of your species (really, all of your species) fall face down in the dust in reverence of me or spill their own blood in my honor but she’s playing hard-to-get and says, “Who?”

Typically, if someone had shown me that kind of disrespect, I’d rip off her head, eat it, and wrap her body up in Reynold’s for later, but I decided that I’d make her scream my name until she remembered it. So I mention I’m a writer and I mention my blog and now she’s into me and she starts dancing with me. So the night wears on and we down a few more cervezas and she’s like, “Let’s go back to my place.”
Usually, I  above such base desires but I’d had a lot to drink and, like I said, I’ve had a rough week, I’ll treat myself. The whole cab ride over to her place she couldn’t keep her hands off me, and I wasn’t even using my mind control! It was nuts! So, anyway, we get back to her place, we’re making out on the couch, I’m about to seal the deal when… Wait for it… Her roommate walks in. Under normal circumstances, if someone were to walk in on me and my date, I’d incinerate them with my mind.  But her roommate was sha-mokin’! I mean, like way hotter than my date! So my date says, “Let’s just go to my room.” but I’m like, “hang on, you’re roommate just got here; let’s not be so rude.” So I say, “Hi, I’m Cthulhu,” and spend almost half an hour teaching her to pronounce my mighty name correctly. Just when things get interesting, my date gets bored and goes to bed. So I’m sitting there with Roommate but then she says, “I’m going to bed, too.” So I’m like, “Hang on a minute! I just blew of Blondie to try to score with you; now you’re just going to bed?!”
She got all indignant and huffed off.
I’ve given them both enough time to calm down, come to their senses, and call me, but I have yet to hear from either of them.
Getting back to Dreams, I began the grueling task of trying to find an agent to get my novel sold. I must have talked to at least a hundred administrative assistants this week alone, and have gotten almost nowhere. I’ve gotten it narrowed down to, like, three potential candidates, but they want sample chapters and synopses, and I’m like, it’s not that simple! Do they not understand what I am doing here? This isn’t James Patterson or John Grisham! This isn’t even Stephen King! This is going to shake up the literary world! It is going to defy genres as well as shatter them! A sample chapter isn’t enough to capture what Dreams of R’lyeh is going to be! Even a paragraph could blind them, or kill them, or even drive them to madness! Then who would publish my book? But can they understand that? No! Needless to say, I haven’t heard back from any of them. But I won’t let that get me down. When Dreams of R’lyeh is finally realized, and it is received as it is meant to be, they will throw themselves upon my altar and sacrifice themselves in penance for their short-sidedness.

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