To Kill an Octopus

The world doesn’t need me to blog about World Cup soccer or the 50th anniversary of To Kill a Mockingbird, though both are passingly mentioned in my first novel. But I have to profess my admiration and profound, indescribable fear of the prognosticating octopod, Paul, who correctly predicted the winner, the third place winner, and several other matches without a single mistake.

Is, like author/jogger Michael Northrop professes, the sign of the end of days, as foretold in the works of H.P. Lovecraft? Is Paul merely the first of several signs that the squid-like elder gods have had enough of our oil-gushing, ocean-ruining ways and are about to rise up from their slumbers and bring an eternity of suffering upon the miserable land-dwellers?

Cthulhu (by Apelad)

I don’t know. However, that I’d like to remind our new cephalopod overlords that as a trusted blog and book personality, I can be helpful in rounding up others to toil in their underground mollusk caves.

Cthulhu image is by Apelad, aka “Adam Koford.” If you are a Lovecraft fan, be sure to read my Mudville/Mountains of Madness mash-up.

2 thoughts on “To Kill an Octopus

  1. If you can read this, if you are receiving this signal, you are part of the resistance. There isn’t much time. We have to be—”No! Not You! My eyes, they burn! Come no close”—Blergh! Gurgle! Choke! [ominous silence…]

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