Honey, I Don't Think Our Relationship Will Survive This Doomsday Cult
by Zin'rokh, Caller of the Destroyer of Worlds (formerly Jeff Bilt, Stock Broker)Darling, I know we haven't seen as much of each other as we might have wished, but I'm afraid that events have moved beyond my control. You remember all those weekend trips I've been taking? Well, I think now it's time to come clean with you. I haven't really been going fishing with buddies from work, and I should think since that disaster at your parents' house (and I'm truly sorry about your nephew), you've realized by now that all of those live chickens and virgins we were taking aren't a very good lure for trout. You never even asked once why they never came back, but you're such a sweet and unassuming girl that the animals, the scars, and the semen stains were easily explained away as just another wild weekend with the guys.
The truth of the matter is, I'm not a stock broker anymore, though I can't say I've really changed that much. Now, I'm a high priest in a cult bent on releasing the Great Old One Cthulhu upon the world, he who is neither dead nor alive, and lies dreaming beneath the unholy city of R'lyeh. He who awaits a time when the stars are right so he might again consume all he sees. He who was ancient when the world was young, who came from the sky before there were men, and will revel in the ecstasy of destruction when the morals and laws of the world have been thrown aside.
What? Oh, I'm sorry baby, I get carried away sometimes. Please stop crying. I meant to say "gives puppies to all he sees." There you go, let's see a little smile. Adorable puppies, with big brown eyes and floppy ears. Cute little critters that lick your face and scurry around your living room. Puppies that breathe fire. Puppies with teeth as sharp as razor blades, that piss sulfuric acid on your favorite rug, and shit that smells really, really bad. Puppies with souls dark enough to make the guardian of Hades, Cerberus himself, weep from his three heads. The most evil puppies imaginable.
Well, if you can't stop crying for even a second, I guess I'll just have to talk over you.
What I'm trying to say is, I don't think this relationship is going to work out. In all honesty, and I hate to sound cliche, it's not you, it's me. You're such a nice, sweet Catholic girl and I'm a guy who's mindlessly fixated on the destruction of civilization and the cessation of all life as we know it. There are too many issues to work out. I've been gone all the time, and you know how much stress that's put on our relationship, and it's just going to get worse. When Cthulhu has risen and begins his eternal feast, he will devour me and my cultly brethren, where we will paradoxically rest at the bottom of his ceaseless innards. In time, you will be consumed as well, only one of billions of people piled on top of us. I just think too much is going to come between us.
I wish you the best, and hope you can find someone to make you happy again. At least until you hear the horrible, blood-curdling scream from behind the mass of feelers and tentacles and smell the body odor that reeks of thousands of rotting corpses and realize that the apocalypse is at hand. Then, you're probably not going to be so happy anymore. But, such is life. As we say in the business, "Ph'nglui mglw'nafh Cthulhu R'lyeh wgah'nagl fhtagn." Which, I think, means "Holy shit, that giant green thing just ate Uncle Lewis."
Goodbye, my love. May your consumption be rapid and unremarkable.