At the Mountains of Madness

It's that time of year, and in years past, before the advent what I can only call the collective pumpkin derangement that is now October, people used to read scary stories.  While "horror" is not my favorite genre, pretty much every fantasy writer is obsessed with H.P. Lovecraft.  I mean, they are pumpkin latte for him. 

Even though he was an early "horror" author keep in mind that this is from the olden times so you'll get statements like...the sight disturbed my countenance. (It wasn't exactly a page turner).  I don't want to talk too much about this short novella because suspense and horror are subject to spoilers.  Granted, you have had 78 years, but still....  I will say that even before I read this I knew that Lovecraft = monsters and you knew that too.  My problem is that I imagine all monsters like Zoidberg from Futurama. For instance, at one point in this book, I thought about the scene when Zoidberg is getting autopsied in Roswell and he says:  "The president is gagging on my gas bladder, what an honor!"  I think I'm doing horror wrong.

Don't go on wikipedia and look at H.P. Lovecraft's biography because it's kind of depressing.  (You should look at Zoidberg's wikipedia page because it is amazing).  Lovecraft died fairly young, broke and unknown.  Obviously people love him now but it is so tempting when people post those crappy platitudes on social media that say FOLLOW YOUR BLISS to just post YOU MAY NEED A DAY JOB FOR A FEW YEARS and then post a link to his biography. Maybe I should just post a picture of Zoidberg. He did go to medical school. 

To heck with pumpkin--this is whisky season-- so why not read this book with a Horsecar.  1 ounce rye, 1 ounce sweet vermouth, 1 ounce dry vermouth, 2 dashes orange bitters. Put in an ice filled glass, stir and strain.  Garish with a maraschino cherry. Let's face it, this is going to taste a lot like a Manhattan but I say, follow your bliss.