I am a C! I am a C-H! I am a C-H-R-I-S-T-I-A-N! And I have C-H-R-I-S-T in my H-E-A-R-T and I will L-I-V-E-E-T-E-R-N-A-L-L-Y!
Hello, brothers and sisters! This is your old friend H.P. Lovecraft and have I got some good news for you!
You may remember from the last time we talked that I was going to kill myself because I was prideful and couldn’t stand the crushing poverty and my loveless marriage any longer. Yep, Ol’ H.P. was feeling pretty low back then.
But it was as I was laying on the floor, lolling in opiate ecstasy, that a realization came to me. I knew suicide was not going to save me. Friends, Jesus came to me in that moment and I was saved! Born again! I knew then what was wrong with my life. I had my wife drag me right out of that wine cellar and into the nearest church and I accepted God into my life. I was baptized right there and Rev. Randolph Carter said I was now a heavily armed member in the Army of God.
I survived my suicide attempt! And I’m here today to tell you that the old yarn about the footprints in the sand is true: “When I saw only one set of tentacle tracks, it was then that He carried me.”
I’m much happier today. I’m using my gifts as a writer to spread the message about our church’s love. Rev. Carter even said how impressed he was with the manifesto I carved in the door of the new Muslim community center in town. How about that?
Unfortunately, before I can continue doing the Lord’s work, there’s some business I have to take care of. Namely, my contract with Scholastic publishing that states I need to turn out another book of Halloween jokes.
Now, I want you to know that I don’t believe in Halloween anymore. I plan on spending Trick Or Treat this year handing out free VHS copies of this inspiring little tune. But a deal is a deal, and Rev. Carter said the royalties I make off the book can go to buying that compound in Montana he’s had his eye on.
Here’s just a few of the jokes you can read this fall in “H.P. Lovecraft’s 101 Hell-oween Punnies.”
Q. What do you get when you take the circumference of your jack-o-lantern and divide it by its diameter?
A.“Gods, Jacobson! Those aren’t mountains at all. It’s a cityscape!” Our plane flew low over the arctic on our mission to witness to the last Un-Christified place on the planet. In the belly of our freight jet, crate after crate of tracts waited, depicting sinners flying from the loving arms of the angels into the pit of fire Jesus prepared for his lousier children. Our plan: dump these over the arctic wilderness and return to the Mississippi Synod for a leisurely afternoon of snake handling.
The expedition to that point had been a success. Jacobson successfully witnessed to several Esqimeaux and I took their head measurements for my seminary senior thesis on phrenology and the holy spirit.
But the dread city (which was probably built by Turks) filled our field of vision. And how can I describe it? It was all wrong! Our laws of geometry apparently did not apply to it’s cyclopean angular madness! Obtuse angles of buildings squatted hideously in ways the human mind could hardly comprehend. Suddenly, we had a feeling that Ezekiel probably had when God (NOT ELDER THINGS!!!!!) took him up into the sky on a chariot of fire and showed him creation. The plane turned this way and that, at one time appearing to be plummeting to the earth, at another flying toward the stars, at still another, time traveling sideways.
With the mad city in our view the physical properties of things changed, with me entering Jacobson’s body and with Jacobson entering mine.
I want to be clear here, we did this merely as a perversion of physics and not as a perversion of the body. Rev . Carter said God has a plan for gays and AIDS is just the beginning.
In our shared horror we prayed to Jesus to save us from the Non-Euclidean Hell that was playing out in front of us. When we looked up again, the dread city was gone. In its place the sun shone beautifully through the clouds. Our Earth’s geometry had returned to its proper place.
“It just goes to prove,” Jacobson said, smiling slightly. “When you give Jesus pumpkins, he makes pumpkin pi.”
Q. Who helps chickens who are possessed by evil spirits?
A. Let me ask you something, friend: If you died today, do you know where you’d go? Would it be to someplace sunny and warm, with everyone you ever loved and every childhood pet you thought you’d never see again waiting to meet you?
Or would it be an infernally hot place where you are penetrated hourly by a cackling Leslie Nielsen with bat wings?
Q. Why did the Demon eat a whole Shoe store?
A. Ragnar, Glutton of the Wastes, laughed horridly to himself on his throne built of skulls, heavy metal CD’s, Magic the Gathering Cards and textbooks from a public school. His six breasts swayed like pock-marked red moons as he gurgled in fell joy from the bounty he just consumed.
He picked his teeth with a lawyer from the ACLU as he ate sole… after sole… after sole…
Well, I hope you’re satisfied with that, because I have to go now. With my worldly contractual obligations fulfilled I have to go take care of my spiritual contract. You see, there’s an abortionarium that opened in Providence recently, and you-know-who (it’s Jesus) told me a certain doctor there needs to have his baby-killing soul aborted with the Lovecraft-family blunderbuss.
See you on the six o’clock news, everyone.