As you may have heard, Other Worlds Austin moved into a new office last month, so it was only a matter of time before honorary programmer Cthulhu stopped by to check out the new digs. Unfortunately, I was out of town on the jury for the Greenwich International Film Festival when he arrived. I received the following email later that same day.
From: The Great Old One <CthulhuATX@OtherXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX.com>
Date: Friday, June 5, 2015 at 4:27 PM
To: Bears Fonte <bears_fonte@otherXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX.com>
Subject: Pathetic Human Toil Place
Having a free afternoon after retrieving my tuxedo from the dry cleaners, I happened upon your modest workplace to rally the pawns that play out my whims in this vast game of global decimation. I was most unamused to find the access code I entered upon the keypad was rejected. I even tried two or three of my favorite numbers, death tolls from various intergalactic wars, but none of them were apparently what you had selected. How rude of you. I was left with no choice but to toss a nearby Scoop Wizards Van through a window (they appear to be some sort of animal companion waste product removal corporation), and slither inside.
Once I found the Other Worlds Office (the directory was inconveniently not translated into R’lyeh, I found no portraits of myself on the walls or idols on pedestals dedicated to my worship. I have yet to devise a suitable punishment for you or the OWA staff, but that should offer little solace. The oldest and strongest emotion of mankind is fear, and the oldest and strongest kind of fear is fear of the unknown. So be afraid.
But now I think, would it be fitting for my visage to rest so near staplers and three-hole punches, and staple removers and other such fastening devices? And should I paint these walls with your blood, would it be truly that much worse? No new horror can be more terrible than the daily torture of the commonplace. If you were sensible you would seek death--—the same blissful blank which you enjoyed before you existed. I know not of this realm. The Old Ones were, the Old Ones are, and the Old Ones shall be. Not in the spaces we know, but between them. Therefore, I leave you to your paper clips and your brads, your binders and your binder clips, your rubber bands and your sponge-tipped enveloper moistener applicators. I must to slumber. Wake me when you have filmmakers to be eaten… I mean judged.
Yours Under Gof'nn Hupadgh Shub-Niggurath,