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Cthulhu
Or, "It's marvellous what a difference Milo makes"
"Our girls (or gays) will talk you through to orgasm in a special way. Have a bar of soap and a cup of warm water ready, also a rolled up newspaper with a wet end and tissues.' I suppose it's my fault - I just wasn't thinking at the time. Hell, I didn't know it was that dangerous, and there certainly aren't any warnings on the label. So, the microwave went PING, I went and got the mug out and examined it. Too much milk; it had boiled over, and steaming, lumpy streaks of chocolate ran down the side. Knowing how hot they were, I licked them off anyway, thinking of that line from TISM's The Mystery of the Artist Explained - "Somehow, I LIKE the pain..." I went back to the machine, idly humming the chorus from that song ...
and took a sip. It tasted the same as it always did, conjuring up visions of nights where it was freezing, raining outside; sitting inside with Teresa, warm and safe, watching Star Trek: The Next Generation and making fun of Jonathan Frakes' beard. I read half-a-dozen witless diatribes in the PODS Gay_Pagan echo. My forehead itched; I scratched it. I took another sip. My forehead itched again, this time more near my temples. I rubbed them for a few minutes, my middle fingers occasionally moving down to the stubble where my beard would start (if I had one). When my fingers moved back up, I felt lumps underneath the skin. Veins? I pressed harder, and they grew more prominent. I quit out of the QWKmail reader and went to the bathroom. JESUS! My skin had turned the same colour as Worf's! While I had been reading, my eyes had clouded over, until they were two milky pools of white. I looked like a survivor of an atomic blast. I touched my temples again, wondering if I had enough money for a taxi to the Frankston General Hospital... the lumps had grown and fused into single bumps on either temple. I could see them pulsing, in my reflection. my skin had darkened again, until it was about the same colour as ... as the chocolate in the mug. I ran to the kitchen and read the label on the tin. Nothing about gross physical alterations, although there was an 008 number to call if the customer had any complaints ... yeah, I could imagine ringing them and saying, "Hey, your product is making me mutate!" I dropped the tin in shock. My fingers had grown longer, and the joints had smoothed out. I now had ten-tentacled hands. I dared to glance down at my previously-bare feet - fuck, I was turning into Cthulhu! The lumps at my temples were now tentacles, also, waving and poking me in the eyes. I sort of flopped back to the mirror in the bathroom, and when I saw my reflection in the mirror, I screamed... |
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