A Cthulhu Hymnal

H.P. the Writer

By Bryan M. Ball. ``I was sitting here on a beautiful Sunday afternoon doing problems from Jackson (Classical Electrodynamics, or Hell for those in the know), when I found myself jotting down the following carols. Hope you enjoy.''
To the tune of ``Frosty the Snowman'':

H.P. the Writer
Wasn't happy so we're told
With his horrid health
and his lack of wealth
he wrote tales to make blood cold

H.P. the Writer
Got an idea in his head
We weren't meant to know
of the things below
He would make up more instead

There must have been a reason
for the strange names that he chose
When you first read of Cthulhu
You couldn't pronounce it, we all know

H.P. the Writer
Shuffled off this mortal coil
Now in Providence
he's behind a fence,
buried underneath the soil

[Next: ``I'd hate to play under R'leyh'']  [Previous: Helpless]