I’m still approximately two weeks behind, post-wise, and that’s partially because I worked a bit over 46 hours this past week (21 and 1/2 of it over the course of two days, mind you).  Story number 3, as well as an extra, bonus short story (story 2.5) will be posted at points throughout the day tomorrow.

Goals such as getting back to regular blogging are also slowly coming to the surface now that I’m getting more used to my new job, but we’ll see how effectively I can manage that soon enough.

HOWEVER!  On to the actual story, which was tremendous fun to write.

The Cult of Old Skarrgluth on Appeasing the Ancient, Mad Ones with Pot-Luck Dinners

O, Brothers.  It is of the highest importance to remember the most revered process of worshipping our many-mouthed masters does not end at the weekly sacrifice to the burning vigils nor does it end with the spreading of our literature to those otherwise-ignorant to the great madness lurking in every shadow and beneath every word whispered by man.  The most sacred of such practices is the pot-luck dinners we hold once a month to foster a stronger sense of camaraderie within our congregation.

First and of greatest importance, are the finger sandwiches.  Let it not be said we haven’t addressed this issue on many occasions how finger sandwiches, despite their name, are to never contain any fingers (human nor animal nor unknown entities; spirits are infamous for becoming extremely distraught, for instance, when their digits are used in recipes).  Keeping snacks light and simple is key to offering a nice introduction to the meals our members have provided, and by no means does this mean to use ingredients such as the heat from the dying body of one’s nemesis/nemeses.

A question often raised is on the matter of casseroles.  While these occasions are to celebrate those who never truly die, we must remember they are not dining with us in their physical manifestations (only in spirit, and in the blood-boiling cackles pervading our every thought).  That being said: casseroles should showcase one’s hard work and culinary prowess, but not actually feature blood, sweat, tears, or other bodily excretions, as we have been cited for health code violations in the past and such things do not help our financial situation one bit.  Also worth nothing, and this is something we have stressed many times in the past, is how no number of people standing in an oversized casserole dish will be considered as a meal.  Our sacrifices and our sustenance are to be kept separate for such occasions.

Notes on dessert are fairly simple, and the only constant reminder that must be made is as such: nobody actually likes Jello.  Even when it’s shaped like little tentacles and jaws.  Especially not when it’s shaped like other anatomically correct portions of the ancient horrors we are so reverent of (no names will be mentioned, but I can’t help but think of someone whose name rhymes with bark, who made some truly startling desserts at this past month’s gathering; please never do that again).

Lastly, we must remember why we gather, and for whom we gather, and how these events only bring us closer to the deep, unending nightmare realms we so crave after spending forty hours a week held down by our earthly shackles.