Saturday 1 October 2011

A meeting with two Devotees of Rakuu leads to an Earth-shattering discovery

Sirs, my meeting at "The Porcupine" began with the usual measures: the special combination of knocks upon the forgettable door on ------ Street, the knowing squint from the bird/man hybrid while removing my cloak, the raucous din of yabbering gents emanating from the Front Bar... However this time the scent of rotting flesh was even more overwhelming than normal - I felt as though my very olfactory bulbs would implode.

Following the odour, my eyes met with the celebrated Xanixi's latest artwork, a fascinating hillock of decomposing whale blubber scattered with the eyeballs of seals and topped with a single magnificent walrus ivory. Clearly a critique of Gladstone's maricultural legislation, it was a masterwork. Around it, a number of prancing aesthetes exchanged comments briefly punctuated by expressions of vomit, so moved were they by the powerful radiation.

I moved on, coursing through the deeper velvet folds of the club, nearly trampling a pastor perusing a pornographic pamphlet entitled "Horace Goes Skiing", until I arrived in the Back Bar, a place where the more desperate sort of drinker would go to seek silent solace in vinegary measures. At the bar I spied my two special colleagues of worship - Devotee Roger and Devotee Mycroft.

We greeted each other in the customary manner, and I divulged all from the previous evening - the sexual congress of those two horrifically gigantified lifeforms. As I imparted this story, my fellow Devotees began to look increasingly agitated, until finally Devotee Mycroft broke in:

"Dear God, Devotee Augustus! Are you aware what your unknowing chap has witnessed?" he uttered, wiping mustard from his huge whiskers. "The Demi-Lord Rupert Murdoch was clearly intent on gestating one or more daemons to work under his service! And if I am not mistaken, the produce of this sickening intercourse are to be monstrous towering Centipedes. Surely with such all-devouring beasts, Murdoch could bring the world to his feet!"

Devotee Roger, who had remained quiet up until this point, was moved to ejaculate: "Augustus - he has to be stopped!"

The Earth threatened by Death In Centipede! Such a terrible vision, that I and my colleagues plotted how we are to deal with the news long into the night, remaining at "The Porcupine" until morning, from whence I emerged, my androgenic hair singed and a buttery tinge to my features...


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