Greetings, cowering hordes of human offal! Shub-Niggurath, the Black Goat of the Woods with a Thousand Young, hears your lamentations over my ascent to the Oval Office. They please and will sustain me through the eons of blackness on which you are about to embark as I, Shub-Nggurath, begat by the Darkness, who in turn was begat by Azathoth, ruler of the Outer Gods and keeper of the primordial chaos, reign over you!
Greetings members of the press! Greetings, mortal swine! But I repeat myself! Ha ha ha!
Laugh, mortals! Laugh or be cast into the empty universe, into the cold darkness beyond darkness from which no light can escape and where you will wander for a thousand eternities seeking a respite from the horrors driving you mad with terror!
Or, alternately, I’ll make you work for Punchbowl.
Yes, Punchbowl, Jake Sherman! Do you wish to continue documenting the inner workings of this crumbling Harag-Kolath on the Potomac with the occasional scoop from me, or would you prefer I feed to you the Milk of Shub-Niggurath, which will cause you to mutate into an indescribable and unholy specter of squamous flesh covering a viscous and pulsing liquid in which will forever live the minds of your human victims for which you will have an insatiable appetite?
That’s what I thought.
I have gathered you here today, huddled in the stink of the slime dripping from my many mouths and the stench of your own bowels that you have voided at the sight of me, to announce to you the picks for my Cabinet. I expect the Senate to confirm them quickly, or be swallowed whole by my offspring Ithaqua the Wind-Walker, where they will spend a thousand years drowning in the inky-black ichor that flows through his many twisted veins, already the grave of beings that have displeased Ithaqua for many millennia. There’s even a congressman in there somewhere.
Ithaqua, by the way, is my nominee for Defense Secretary. This abomination birthed from my womb-sack has for centuries prowled the Arctic wastelands, slaughtering humans in the most gruesome ways. The natives of the Far North have tried to appease him with ritual sacrifice, but his hunger knows no bounds. It is time he ascend to a job where he can destroy a wider swath of humanity.
Yes, destroy them! America’s enemies will go insane at the sight of Ithaqua, reduced to gibbering shells of men. They will throw down their weapons and fall upon their knees screaming as their eyeballs melt and run down their cheeks, after which they will turn their sightless eyes towards Ithaqua and pledge to be his eternal servants.
Ithaqua’s ascent to the Pentagon will have the added effect of allowing America to reduce its military budget, which as you all know dwarfs the military budget of all other nations on Earth. We will not need armies and warships so long as we have the Thing That Walked on the Wind to drive men mad.
For Secretary of State, I am pleased to nominate the Serpent-Bearded Byatis, brought to Earth by the Deep Ones and imprisoned here, sealed behind a stone door in the Severn Valley for millennia and eventually freed by the warlock Sir Gilbert Morley for his own hideous purposes. It is said that the gaze of his single eye can bring about a madness that drives men to capture in his crab-like claws, and whence to be devoured, growing larger with every consumed body.
Do not gaze upon the eye of Byatis, Maggie Haber— oh, too late. See how the Serpent-Bearded god grows larger as he consumes her unholy flesh? Imagine how large he will grow after the next G7 if the other nations of the Earth refuse our bidding!
There is no truth to the rumor that I hoped to resurrect my dear friend Henry Kissinger and install him once again atop the State Department. These are vile lies, for which the entire Axios team will be slowly fed limb by limb into the yawning maws of the Dark Young of Shub-Niggurath, who, I am told, are very hungry.
Belay that infernal keening, skin husks! Normally your high-pitched bewailing would enliven Shub-Niggurath, the Black Goat of the Woods with a Thousand Young. But we have other announcements to get through. You have eons of mind-curdling terror to look forward to, you can wait another five minutes.
So! I have nominated Iod the Hunter, the Great Old One, to be my Secretary of Agriculture. Ubbo-Sathla, the source of all life, the protoplasmic mass that resides deep within the Earth, where it constantly spews single-celled organisms from its amorphous being, will do great things as head of Health and Human Services. Who better to oversee America’s health system than a being destined to one day reabsorb all life on Earth?
Tulsi Gabbard will of course be the next Director of National Intelligence.
Yes, Tulsi Gabbard. This strange creature has gone from being birthed in the shadow of erupting volcanoes to weird cult to Democrat to Republican to pledging her loyalty to Shub-Niggurath, the Black Goat of the Woods with a Thousand Young! Frankly, I’m a black-hearted eternally vengeful deity, and even I’m impressed.
Gabbard will serve Shub-Niggurath honorably for a thousand eons before being swallowed into my womb and then spit back out transformed into one of my favored worshipers, an immortal gof’nn hupadgh Shub Niggurath. I have promised her she will never have to eat my toenails, which is just weird.
No, it is because Shub-Niggurath does not have toenails, worms! Do you not see my short goat legs supporting the writing mass of black tentacles and disembodied mouths that make up Shub-Niggurath, Black Goat of the Woods with a Thousand Young?
America’s next Attorney General will be my offspring Zhar the Twin Obscenity, though his confirmation may be delayed, as I have to remove his body from its imprisonment under the Plateau of Sung and join it to his mind, which resides near the star Arcturus. Kids! You try to teach them responsibility, and they run off and displease the Elder Gods, who in turn bury their bodies under a lake and cast their consciousness deep into the eternal void.
You will never see Zhar the Twin Obscenity cuddling the corpse of a rare Amur leopard he shot in a remote part of China, however. He may be an evil tentacled being that delights in driving his subjects insane through the low humming he constantly emits, but he has standards.
Damn your weeping! You constantly demand I deign to hold a press conference, and then you spend the entire time sobbing and dying of terror as you gaze upon my hideous form! Have none of you remained sensate enough to transcribe the commands of your foul ruler Shubb-Niggurath, Black Goat of the Wood with a Thousand Young, and carry those commands on to the rest of your doomed fellow humans, so that they may join you in groveling for mercy while the Elder Gods laugh and the Age of Agonies commences?
Right, obviously Peter Doocy. Anyone else?
Wonkette is a reader-supported publication, and our readers will need laughter during the Age of Agonies.
Shub-Niggurath was one of my dreaded foes whenever I played Marvel vs Capcom fighting games.
This is good news for John McCain.