In Which I Go Out On A Limb -- Or Seven

These kids today, with their new-fangled memes --
Or rather Great Old Ones. Witness this guy,
Cthulhu, who, if we're to trust the themes
Of his vast media presence, still is spry
And waiting in his city 'neath the waves
As he has been since ere life stirred upon
This damp old rock. Someday we'll be its slaves
(Or worse), if all the cultists who have gone
Insane on his behalf achieve their ends.
These console games and books of smut both are
Great starts that way, created by my friends.
So mark my words: this thing will be a star,
This Great Cthulhu fad; man, it's got legs!
I say we drink it up, down to the dregs.

Sonnet Dare: In Which I Cotton To A Coconut-Carting Cephalopod

It's veiny, vaguely pink and near some nuts --
But get thy mind from yonder gutter, please!
I'm speaking of a freaky octopus
Who lives exposed in sandy-bottomed seas,
The Amphioctus marginatus would
Be vulnerable there were not for its
Ingenious use of coconut shells, good
As snail or nautilus ones, when they fits
The octopus's body. When it must
Go roaming, Marinatus sometimes goes
On two tip-tentacles; the others just
Wrapped tightly 'round his head; therefore what shows
Looks like a walking coconut. So smart!
He shows Cthulhu's lineage in part.

In Which I Brazenly Risk Being Pulled Down To Sunken Rl'yeh Several Times

Beside us and this lodge where we will pass

Our night tonight, I hear Cthulhu's roar.

A soup of clam cum, goo from mollusk ass

Shark spit, fish urine, seagull snot and more

Doth churn and crash in waves against a mix

Of ground-up glass, shell bits, rocks, plant rot, and

Some severed feet and rubber ducks and sticks.

I guess that stuff is commonly called sand,

The fluid called the sea, but let's be real:

A Great Old One won't live just anywhere

In anywhat. I'm sure, though, that he'd feel

At home wheree'er he wants, would never care

If it were blood or water where he swam

As long as he's believers, which I am.