Over on Goodreads, a reviewer named Paul wrote what could be the single most ingenious review of Winnie-the-Pooh ever penned.
You really don’t see many Nabokov mashups. I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or bad thing. But once this got me thinking about mashups it compelled me to something not nearly as clever as Paul’s review [or Steve Halter’s Kinks and Moody Blues mashups, or Scott Denning’s Simon & Garfunkel and Chuck Barry mashups, in the comments below] but certainly inevitable:
Cthulhu, light of my life, fire of my mind. My sin, my soul. Cuh-thoo-loo: the tip of the tongue taking a trip of three steps down the cliffs to smash, at three, on the rocks. Cuh. Thoo. Loo.
It was Lhu, plain Lhu, after the stars had aligned, standing forty-foot ten on one burial mound. It was Clooloo in slime. It was Kulhu in R’lyeh. It was Dread K’t’hoo-lhoo in the sacred scrolls. But in my mind it was always Cthulhu.
Did it have a precursor? It did, indeed it did. In point of fact, there might have been no Cthulhu at all had I not worshipped, one summer, a certain initial maggot-god. In a princedom under the sea. Oh when? About as many eons before Cthulhu was spawned as my age was that summer. You can always count on a cultist for a fancy prose style.
Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, exhibit number one is what the shoggoths, the misformed, simple, many-orbed shoggoths, serviced. Look at this tangle of tentacles…
There. Now that that is out of my system, I can go back to doing something halfway useful.
[And speaking of Goodreads, I’m running a book giveaway until April 7. Details here.]