Twittering the GOOs

Outer Gods are just a click away

From the Azothiated Press, Seattle:

Nyarlathotep's Facebook account has topped ninety thousand friends, and Cthulhu is Twittering to masses surpassing seven digits. The days of masked cultists communing with dark deities in the middle of the woods at midnight, wearing robes or leaves or even less, chanting for hours under a precise phase of the moon, appear to be numbered.

The New Worshipers

They call themselves cyberpnaks (the p is silent) after Pnakotis, a tony suburb in the ancient Great City of Yith. They are young, moneyed and ready to deal in the New Decay. They are the next generation of sorcerers snorting lines of Ibn Ghazi. Look for them not in the pits of hidden degenerate masters but sprawled under cathedral ceilings on Pottery Barn chaises longues. Primarily appealing to the corporate set, the new social media has taken hold in board rooms and conference calls across the country.

It is drawing a generation of teens awkwardly trying out sacrifice for the first time. “Before Facebook,” says Melinda Davis-Johnson of Pepper-Partidge Way, “no one had any idea you could totally offer up your little brother's life force to R'lyeh. Psh, yeah, as if they'd want him. But teh totallytentacles.com pwns with movies and animations and even a cool game that teaches you the Rituals of Ebon Slumber while you play. That's on my Wall!”

Conservative Opposition

Traditionalists are decrying the use of the new technology. At a rally of his constituents, octogenarian state senator Thoran Shrewsbury (R-Moses Lake) spoke to reporters. “Rituals are the heart of our folk. When we drink the blood of our victims under Aldebaran during the Cycle of Mu, we're celebratin' more than contact with Azathoth: we're gatherin' as a faith community. This new-fangled thinking, using the Interworms ta remote slaughter, it's sacrilege! If y'all want ta make an offering to the Black Goat of the Woods With a Thousand Young, you don't sing her ninety-nine part moniker on YouTube, following a little happy ball bouncin' along to ia ia shuunb nigg'rothe phthwa aghlaa! No, ye gits ta be alone in the deep forest, brazen buttocks in not less than six inches of muck, naked under a new moon in the Cycle of the Maggot while Shoggot roams the bleeding corridors of yer inner midnight! As my granddaughter would say: 'duh'.”

Senator Shrewsbury then went up on stage and yelled over the cheers: “Elitist light boxes and electronic Inter-tubes ain't gonna replace the honest labor o' regular folks! No how, no way! No how, no way!!” His enthusiastic supporters fired rifles into the air and commenced biting the heads off of the local fauna.

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Response from the Great Old Ones

In a note which arrived at our Montana office as a glowing inscribed meteorite - killing two staffers and turning six more into cloven-hoofed obscenities of gibbering maleficence - Great Old One Yog Sotheth wrote: Who has time for enduring Eibon's Eight Circles? All right, admittedly I do: I am not constrained to your puny notions of dimension, but tedium is tedium whether in the Billion Baths of Blighted Blood on the Plateau of Leng or in Grant county.

MyVoid.com lets me scan the tormented pleas of my demented victims at a glance; I can plan my day, and that's productive.