Cthulu Has a Bad Time on Television – F. Northrop

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DI McAllister pinched the bridge of his nose and squeezed his eyes in frustration as the vein in his forehead pulsed urgently. “If I understand you correctly, you claim to be the elder god known as Cthulu, and you are here to proclaim your rightful position as ruler of all humanity on Earth. Is this correct?”

“Correct,” said Cthulu.

“And for this you auditioned for a place on Britain’s Got Talent…” replied McAllister.

“Precisely,” said Cthulu.

“And your talent is?”

“Ripping apart human beings limb from limbs and feasting on their entrails.”

“I see. And this is the reason you murdered one Lindsay Buckingham of Sheffield, the recently hired personal assistant to Simon Cowell?”

“Oh yes, Mr. Cowell is known as the most successful of all our brethren on Earth. His dinner parties are truly legendary.”

“We’ll return to that in a moment, first please tell me about your encounter with Ms. Buckingham.”

“Well, she asked me to demonstrate my talent. Eager to impress and well aware of the impatient queue of contestants behind me, I immediately tore her head off her body and attempted a full body swallowing to set a new record in entrail feasting time. Unfortunately I choked on her clipboard. It was terribly embarrassing.”

“Well, you see Mr. Cthulu, it’s not just embarrassing, it’s actually illegal.”

“I don’t follow you.”

“It’s against the law Mr. Cthulu.”

“What, eating entrails? You’re having a laugh.”

“I assure you, this is no laughing matter. It is, in truth, rather a serious affair. You are in very deep trouble Mr. Cthulu.”

“But, I’m an elder god. Eating entrails is part of my cultural heritage. Why I remember, just last summer, a bbq at ol’ Sy’s country estate where we feasted on many delicious entrails from several talented young humans in Cow-zee’s employ. He has even discovered a wonderful ancient re-animation spell so he can send them back into his recording dungeons…is there something the matter detective?”

“No, no it actually explains a lot. Please tell me all about this party at Mr. Cowell’s.”

“Fantastic lad that Cow-zee, isn’t he?”

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