Where Threads Come Loose
"The Babbler From Beyond

The Recording Script

• Written and directed by Christopher Bahn. Copyright 1996.
• Episode 13 (1997 Edition) of the radiodrama series Where Threads Come Loose
• Originally broadcast on KUOM-AM, October 1994.
• Engineered by Rex Wilhm and Christopher Bahn

• Narrator; Otis: Christopher Bahn
• Voice on telephone: Rex Wilhm
• Frank: Chuck Keller
• Postmaster: Dan Grothe
• Cthulhu, Ominous Voice, Cult Member 2: Tony Pagel
• Cult Member 1: Rebecca Pofahl
Narrator: (Otis' voice becomes steadily louder as Narrator talks; he's just ad libbing) Today on Where Threads Come Loose we bring you the tale of Otis Torkelson. You can probably hear Otis in the background now. That voice is a familiar sound to his neighbors. A little bit too familiar, because Otis is one of those people who always have a foot in your door, a nose in your business and an opinion on just about every subject you never want to hear about. Once Otis is in your life, it's next to impossible to get rid of him.... But Otis the talker is about to meet his match: The Babbler From Beyond.

(SFX: TV on in background)

Otis: Oh, I simply cannot be-leeeeve these talk shows these days. All those people up there on a stage, talking talking talking and none of them ever have anything interesting to say! Where do they get these people? I can't believe the topics. Filth filth filth, nothing but filth, nothing any decent person would want to tune into. And it's even worse when it's in re-runs! What fun is that? I've already got these episodes on tape, I don't need to see them again. Oooooh! This makes me just livid. Why doesn't anybody do anything about this? It's an outrage! Television isn't fit for decent people any more. It's all based on money anyway, I always say. All the programming power is in the hands of the big fat executives in their Brooks Brothers suits -- so upscale -- and if they just throw the big bills around, they get what they want. Bah! I'm going to take some action! Enough of this sitting on my couch talking to myself... I'm going to call that TV station this very second and give them a piece of my mind. They're a public trust! They've got an obligation to serve the public, not their own silly little whims, and if I'm not a member of the public I don't know who is. Well, besides the homeless, of course. Silly people, why don't they just find a nice apartment? I can't understand why they like living on the streets. Silly, silly homeless. Well, let me make that call... (SFX: Dialing, ringing) Nobody ever hears the voice of the downtrodden anymore. I've got my rights, and nobody should have to watch re-runs if they don't --

Voice: Hello?

Otis: Ah, yes, hello there, I think it's just shameful what you're doing there, and I want you to stop it right now!

Voice: What?

Otis: The television, for heaven's sake. Why don't you show some new programs once in a while? I simply cannot abide watching the same episode of Geraldo over and over and over again. You people should have some pity on me -- I'm unemployable! I've got nothing better to do!

Voice: Who is this?

Otis: Oh, oh, yes, I'm sorry, I was in such a rush to register my complaint that I neglected to tell you my name! I do apologize, I don't know what got into me, you know how it is when you've really got a sudden strong opinion and you just --

Voice: Who is this?

Otis: Well, there's no need to get snappy about it. I'm a private citizen, sir, and you have no right to take that tone with me! I pay your bills with my taxes, you know.

Voice: Who are you calling?

Otis: I think that should be obvious. (scornful) Who am I talking to, indeed? You, of course. I swear, the television media gets more and more dense every single day --

Voice: Wait a second... Are you trying to call a television station?

Otis: What did I tell you? You people don't even know who you are anymore. The broadcasting IQ can't sink any lower than that.

Voice: This isn't a television station.

Otis: Impossible, I called to complain and when I make a call I do it right. I specifically dialed Channel 8 News -- you know, the one with that nice weatherman in the evenings, who likes to do that little dance when the forecast is for sunny weather -- cha cha cha! -- of course, he could stand to lose some weight, I mean, my God the man is such a pig! A bloated pig, I've never seen anybody so fat! He's not available, is he? I'd love to talk to him, I'm such a big fan.

Voice: I told you, you have the wrong number.

Otis: (Exasperated; he's just not getting through to this person) No, I absolutely disagree. If you could just see things from my point of view --

Voice: Get a life, buddy. (SFX: dial tone)

Otis: How rude! He's hung up! I can't be-leeeeeeve that someone would hang up on me -- or "ring off," as our good friends in Britain say! Ha ha! What a wonderful way with words, those British -- so cosmopolitan. And always going on about that Thatcher woman... although I guess she died or got discombobulated or something. Well, who cares! America first, that's what I always say. (SFX: Doorbell) Now who could that be? I'm not expecting anyone, although heaven knows I love visitors, it's just that these days you can't trust anyone off the streets, even girl scouts carry switchblades and rob people, I read it in the paper so it must be true. (SFX: Door opens) Yes, hello there, how can I be of service to you on this fine day?

Ominous Man: The gathering is tonight. The blood of the sacrifice will be spilled.

Otis: (this actually shuts him up for a moment, if a brief one) I... I beg your pardon?

Ominous Man: Take this letter. It has your instructions.

Otis: My instructions? I don't understand.

Ominous Man: Be at the gathering at the appointed hour. All is prepared, and we await the dread arrival.

Otis: Arrival? See here! I'm not about to receive any visitors, I've only just cleaned the apartment, and --

Ominous Man: (shouts) Ia! Ia! Shub-Niggurath, Cthulhu ftaghn! The Black Goat of the Woods with a Thousand Young! Ia! Ia!

Otis: Oh, I see, you're one of those religious types. Well, I've got plenty of back issues of The Watchtower, thank you very much, and I don't need -- Say, why are you emitting smoke like that? This is a non-smoking building, you know, I could have you arrested! Good heavens, I can see right through you -- you're fading away before my very eyes. Stop that! Stop that this instant and obey the laws of physics. I simply cannot abide --

Ominous Man: Read the letter. Follow the instructions and all will be clear.

Otis: Come back here! What are you talking about, instructions? See here! I'm a private citizen, I don't have to take instructions from a mail carrier! Oh, blast, he's gone. (SFX: Door close) Whatever did he mean? I appreciate a man of few words, don't get me wrong, I think everybody appreciates a person who knows when to just stop talking, just keep his big trap shut if he doesn't have anything to say, but that man was so reticent he was positively cryptic! What a mystery! And look at this envelope! It's completely black! What a singular thing! You don't find many black envelopes these days, not with inflation being the way it is. Oh, I say, this letter isn't addressed to me! It's for my neighbor, Frank in the upstairs apartment! Oh, my, what delicious irony, him being a mail carrier himself. Oh, that silly, silly, U.S. Postal Service. Well, there's nothing to do but bring out the old teapot and steam the thing open. (SFX: clanking of teapot on stove, water running) Ordinarily I'm terribly, terribly opposed to opening other people's mail, but it's always delivered to their apartments before I can get my hands on it. Besides, you don't see a black envelope every day, do you? Damn that inflation... This steam is coming along quite nicely, I must say. I do so love to get a good head of steam up, it just brightens the day, that's what I always say.... Oh, this dratted envelope won't unseal! How terribly unfair. I'll just turn up the gas on the stove a tad and -- oh, good heavens, the envelope's on fire! Oh, stop that, you blasted thing! (SFX: Loud burning, like a forest-fire kind of sound -- this is no ordinary envelope) Stop burning! Good gracious, it's like a fireball! I wonder why my hand isn't burning? No matter, I'll figure that out later. Just fill the sink with water (SFX: tap runs) and in goes Mr. Blazing Envelope. (SFX: Hiss, then a quiet, weird scream) What was that noise? Envelopes don't scream. At least not in America they don't. How positively strange. Oh, dear, the letter's ruined. Drat. Now I'll never know what it said. Unless, perhaps if I take it up to Frank... It's his mail, after all, although I can't imagine why he'd want it now, it all soggy and -- good heavens, it appears to be bleeding! Well, this is fine behavior for an envelope! I can't be-leeeeve the U.S. Postal Service would permit the delivery of envelopes with blood all over them. A person could catch hemophilia that way! Oh, I say, this envelope isn't bleeding at all! Oh, silly me. No, it's simply that the steam from my teapot washed off some of the ink. But heavens, what kind of ink is this? No regular kind of ink, I can assure you of that. I'm a private citizen, I know normal everyday ink when I see it. In fact, it looks suspiciously like (lips smack -- he's tasting it) blood. Goat's blood, if I'm not mistaken. Ah, that brings back memories of youth, when I worked on Old Man Parsons' dairy farm in downtown Newark. That man was so hard of hearing! I swear, it was like he had his hearing aid turned off the whole summer I was working there. Can't imagine why. And the cheese he used to make -- how awful it tasted. Of course, it did get better after I convinced him to used goat's milk rather than goat's blood. But even the goat's blood cheese was better than some of the other bodily fluids he experimented with. Ah, but the blood from that dratted black envelope is getting all over my hands. I'll catch hemophilia if I'm not careful. I can't imagine why hemophiliacs like bleeding so much. Every little bump, they get a bruise! You'd think they had a disease or something. Anyway, I'd better take this mysterious envelope up to my neighbor so I can wash off my hands.

(SFX: Over the next few lines, the door opens, then closes, and footsteps go up a staircase)

Otis: Ah, my upstairs neighbor Frank... Such a nice man. Such a quiet man, too. I'd certainly be surprised if he ever snapped and went on a berserk rampage -- it'd be the last thing anybody would ever expect, even if he is an employee of the U.S. Postal Service who doesn't like his job and over the years has slowly built up a boiling, maniacal hatred of the rest of the human race. Ha ha! There's simply no precedent for a man like that to finally snap and go out of his skull. (SFX: buzzes Frank's doorbell, then shouts) Frank! Frank, open up in there, your friend Otis is here! (pause, then in normal tone) Mind you, I'd be more surprised if a well-adjusted and happy person suddenly grabbed an Uzi...

(SFX: Door opens)

Frank: (knows who Otis is, and definitely not pleased to see him) Otis! What the hell do you want?

Otis: Frank, my friend! Wonderful to see you again. I was just commenting to myself about how likely you are to go nuts and start shooting people! I --

Frank: I said, what do you want?

Otis: (hurt) I see. It's like that, is it? Well, I just wanted a moment of your time, won't take a second, if I could just come in and rest my feet, I traveled a long way to get here, you know --

Frank: You live downstairs.

Otis: Well, I know that! Sheesh! What kind of a person do you take me for? Imagine, you thinking I don't know where I live. I mean, granted, yes, I only live one flight down, that's true, but I'm only asking you to be neighborly, I'm not going to waste your time or drive you crazy by talking your ear off. I --

Frank: No, you can't come in. And for the last time, what do you want? This better be important, Otis. I don't want to have to call the landlord again.

Otis: Well, see, only just a few moments ago, one of your compatriots from the noble U.S. Postal Service dropped by my place and gave me a letter. You know, that's pretty odd, come to think of it. The U.S. Postal Service doesn't usually knock on your door, they just put the happy little letters in the happy little mailslots and toddle off on their merry way. Wonderfully cheerful people, postal workers -- except for when they go bonkers and shoot people, of course.

F: You didn't come up here to complain about your mail again, did you? Because if you did --

Otis: My mail? Ha ha ha! How silly! Silly, silly Frank, thinking I'd have cause to complain about the sluggish, haphazard service provided by those fine men and women of the U.S. Postal Service! Although now that you mention it --

F: Get to the point, Otis.

Otis: Yes, yes, indeed, the point. The point. Now what was the point? Oh yes! Oh, yes, you see I wasn't coming about my mail, I was coming about your mail!

F: My mail?

Otis: Well, yes, your mail! I received a hand-delivered letter from a positively strange person only just a few minutes ago.

F: (angrier and more suspicious than ever) What letter? A letter in a black envelope?

Otis: Why, yes! However did you know that? Yes, it was a letter in a black envelope, with your name written on it in goat's blood. I know it was goat's blood because when I was just a young lad, I worked down on Old Man Parsons' farm, that was out in Newark, and --

F: Where is it? Give it to me!

Otis: Frank, don't you know it's rude to interrupt someone when they're talking? Now, the farm was in Newark, about five blocks away from the business district --

F: Give me that letter!

Otis: (hurt) Alright, alright! For heaven's sake, Frank, that is why I came up here. Now, where did I put that thing... Is it in this pocket? No... Perhaps I left it downstairs --

F: You're holding it in your left hand.

Otis: Oh! Ha ha! Silly me, so it is -- say, let go of me! (sound of struggle) Don't just yank it out of my hands, how rude! I'm a private citizen, I've got my rights!

F: Give it to me! Give me that letter!

Otis: Frank, you're an employee of the U.S. Postal Service! You're not supposed to take mail, you're supposed to deliver it!

F: It's my property, you loquacious toad! Let go of it!

Otis: I say, if you keep pulling you're going to rip it!

(SFX: Paper tearing, then demonic scream like before)

F: Hah! It's mine! Damaged in transit, but I've got it!

Otis: I say, what in the world was that? That's a singular envelope, absolutely singular. Envelopes aren't supposed to scream like that! Or bleed, either.

F: Bleed? What are you talking about?

Otis: Oh! Good heavens, I forgot. The envelope didn't actually bleed, it was only when I tried to steam the thing open, you see --


Otis: Ah... Um... er, well, you see, I never actually opened it, ha ha, it's not the thought that counts, right Frank? I mean I never actually read the letter --

F: How much do you know?

Otis: How much do I know? Good heavens, Frank, if you want the sum total of all my knowledge in the world, I could be here talking all night! And frankly I just don't have the energy for that. Talking is so tedious, it just drains the life right out of a person --

F: How much do you know about that letter?

Otis: Well, that strange man who brought it to me, he wasn't very talkative, but he did say something about a gathering tonight. And some kind of a sacrifice --

F: Enough! I've heard enough out of you!

Otis: But you've barely let me get a word in! I declare, Frank --

F: You'll have to come with me.

O: With you? How nice, Frank, but I've got plans already. Larry King is on tonight, and I feel sure they'll let me call on the air this time --

F: You know too much. You're coming with me.

O: Frank, I don't know anything! Swear on my mother's grave! I mean, I would if she were dead. On the other hand, she does have a gravesite reserved down at the cemetery. I hadn't thought of that.... Frank, you've got a very odd look n your eyes.

F: This will teach you to open people's mail! (SFX: crash of glass) Argh! I missed!

O: For heaven's sake, calm down, Frank! You're not behaving civilly! I can't be-lieeeeeeeve you'd think I opened your mail -- I mean, I tried, but -- (SFX: crash of glass) say, you're aim's getting better, Frank. Obviously the truth isn't going to win you over to my way of thinking, Frank, so I tell you what, I'll try a nice little social fib. Now just play along and we can pretend -- (SFX: crash of glass) ah... pretend that this never happened. Good heavens, Frank, you're going to run out of heavy objects at this rate. Try that vase over there. The blue one, with the lovely glaze on it. (SFX: crash of glass) Frank, try steadying your hand before you throw. You're not going to get anywhere with wild pitches like that. Now, um, the white lie... ah... I, um, never saw the letter! Yes, that's it, I never saw it. It must have been damaged during delivery! Those incompetent postal clerks... oh, oops, I'm sorry, Frank, I forgot... Say, put down that fireplace poker, will you? You're making me uneasy, and you know my constitution isn't what it used to be. This building is so drafty! (SFX: Loud thunk from the fireplace poker hitting the wall) Missed again, Frank. You're going to have the devil's own time explaining that one to the landlord. And don't expect me to back you up! I mean, you're trying to brain me, you won't be able to expect any help from your friendly downstairs neighbor.

F: Stand still, you.

O: What a ridiculous request. You just do your part and aim properly. I'm having a hard enough time dodging you. (SFX: Loud thunk from the fireplace poker hitting Otis' forehead) Whoops! Didn't see that one coming. Bravo, Frank! Got me right across the forehead. Although I can't say I'm terribly happy about it under the circumstances. Oh, my, the room's beginning to swirl. I do believe I'm losing consciousness. What an unpleasant feeling. (SFX: Otis falls, unconscious.)

F: At last. (SFX: Phone dial, ring) Hello, Maurice? Frank. Listen, about the cult meeting tonight. I'm going to need some help getting there. Bring your van. I've got a delivery for the postmaster.

(SFX: a gavel raps three times. Crowd silences over first few words of CM1's line.)

Cult Member 1: Order! Order! I call to order this meeting of the Royal Order of the Satanic Cult of Disgruntled Postal Employees, Lodge Number 1325, Postmaster Norman L. Hamburgersmith presiding.

Postmaster: Thank you. Everyone please be seated. Fred, would you plase read the minutes from last week's meeting?

Cult Member 3: Yes, Postmaster. Meeting last week opened with a spontaneous pledge of allegiance to the flag. Then received the report from the Committee on Public Charity -- that's Ted and Marty -- who asked for a vote on donating $500 to the public library for purchasing a new set of encyclopedias. Vote passed 14-1. Next, the Lodge voted 10-5 to "adopt" a highway -- after much debate, we settled on a stretch of I-90 south of Hibbing. Next, heard from the Committee on Summoning Elder Demons from Dimensions Beyond Known Space. They asked for a vote on whether to bring the dread spirit of Cthulhu from beyond to kill all life on Earth. Measure passed unanimously. Meeting adjourned to Lodge Brother Harold Johnson's house for beers and bratwurst.

Postmaster: Thank you, Lodge Brother Fred. Now, the next order of business is --

(SFX: Door bursts open)

Frank: Postmaster! Something terrible has happened!

Postmaster: You're late, Frank.. Who's that man you're dragging in behind you?

Frank: It's my neighbor, sir. He's breached our security -- he knows of our plans!

Otis: Mmmph! Mmmmph!

Postmaster: Oh, dear. Well, I suppose we'd better interrogate him.

Otis: Mmmmph!

Frank: No! Sir, don't remove that gag, you'll regret it!

Postmaster: Silence, Frank, I'm the leader of this cult, not you.

Otis: Oh, thank you, my good man. It's so good to get that sock out of my mouth. That was really quite rude of you, Frank. People have told me before that I should put a sock in it, but you're the first person who ever actually did it.

Postmaster: What do you know about --

Otis: Aren't you even going to formally introduce yourself? My name's Otis, Otis Torkelson, and I'd be very pleased to shake your hand except that Frank here has tied up my arms and legs. You know, you should really install some brighter lightbulbs in here. What are these, 20-watts? It's so dark!

Postmaster: It's a Satanic coven, you moron. Now tell me what you know --

Otis: I know it's a Satanic coven, my friend. I'm just saying you could do with some cheerier decor -- perhaps some nice yellow drapes. This room is full of cobwebs and burning torches, it's like something out of a Boris Karloff movie. And what are you thinking, with that giant inverted pentagram drawn on the floor? That style hasn't been in vogue since -- oh, since I don't know when. At least since lunchtime. I'm afraid I just don't see what you people are trying to accomplish here.

Postmaster: We are trying to summon forth the greatest evil ever to crawl across the planet Earth. Dread Cthulhu, who ruled this world in darkness millions of years before the advent of humankind.

Otis: I see. Why?

Postmaster: That's not your concern!

Otis: Well, you must have a reason.

Postmaster: Ah, yes... why? Well, that is a toughie. I don't know. We're members of a Satanic cult. It seemed like the thing to do at the time.

Otis: (he's not being sarcastic; he genuinely means this) Good enough for me! I think it's terribly important for people to have hobbies. I'm into cheesemaking, myself. Learned it when I was working on the farm --

Postmaster: Silence!

Otis: When you bring this demon up from wherever it's been hiding, what are you going to say to him? "Hello, Darkness, my old friend, I've come to talk with you again?"

Postmaster: We shall praise him with great praise! Mock not the awful power of Cthulhu, lest he rend you to oblivion!

Otis: You said he was going to do that to me anyway. What the harm in a few questions, my good man? Goodness, a person meekly inquires for information, just a few words seeking knowledge, and you respond with such rudeness! I would have expected better treatment than that, even if you are a bunch of nutcases bent on world destruction. Incidentally, may I say that those black robes suit you very well, they really set off your eyes, but that hat with the ram's horns you're wearing has simply got to go. How terribly gauche, it's so very 9th-century. (continues in this vein until gagged)

Postmaster: Put his gag back on.

Cult Member 2: But we're not done interrogating him!

Postmaster: Put it back on! I can't stand listening to him anymore!

(Sounds of struggle, Otis "mmphs", silence)

Postmaster: That's much better. Let's get down to the business at hand. Are all the aspects of the ritual in place?

Cult Member 1: Yes, Postmaster.

Postmaster: Who brought the tarot cards?

Cult Member 2: I did, Postmaster.

Postmaster: The black candles?

Cult Member 1: I did, Postmaster.

Postmaster: The goat's blood?

Cult Member 3: Me, Postmaster. And I brought the rice.

Postmaster: The rice? What did you bring rice for?

Cult Member 3: I'm a postman, sir. The postman always brings rice!

Postmaster: (pause) Shut up, Morris. Who brought the innocent child to be sacrificed?

Cult Member 1: Ah...yes... We had a little trouble getting the child sacrifice. But we do have this autographed picture of Macaulay Culkin.

Postmaster: Macaulay Culkin.

Cult Member 1: Yes, Postmaster. We could rip it up into tiny bits, and then stomp on it.

Postmaster: I see... Well, that will have to do. What about the Satanic rock music?

Cult Member 2: Yes, we have the Black Sabbath album right here. But the other cultists are having a disagreement.

Postmaster: (horrified) A schism?!

Cult Member 2: Unfortunately, yes. They want to play a record by Henry Rollins instead.

Postmaster: Rollins? Henry Rollins does not play Satanic music.

Cult Member 2: Well, no, postmaster. But he rocks so hard!

Postmaster: Out of the question. The Necronomicon explicitly states that a Cthulhu conjuration must be accompanied by the music of Black Sabbath, or failing that George Michael. Why can't you people have any respect for tradition?

Cult Member 2: Sorry.

Postmaster: Now put the record on and let's get on with the ritual. And play "Iron Man," will you? That guitar bit's just to die for.

Cult Member 1: Yes, postmaster!

(SFX: Crunchy heavy metal starts up, continues until otherwise noted)

Frank: Wait a minute. Look at Otis.

Postmaster: What about him?

Frank: Look at his jaw. We stuffed his mouth with socks and tied it shut tighter than Queen Victoria's --

Postmaster: Language, Frank. I'll have none of that dirty talk here.

Frank: Um, tighter than her control of the 19th century British political system. But Otis is still talking!

Postmaster: So what?

Frank: So it unnerves me, that's what.

Postmaster: It doesn't matter. We can't hear him, so it won't disrupt the ritual.

Frank: It would take an act of God to shut that guy up!

Postmaster: I see. Well, that is rather unfortunate, don't you think, Frank? Considering that the being we plan on conjuring up tonight is about as far away from God as you can get. Maybe if we're lucky, dread Cthulhu will devour his soul right away, and we can put the poor man out of your misery.

Frank: Don't mock me! Otis would probably stick in the dread one's throat. Imagine, Cthulhu awakes after his sleep of three million years only to choke to death on that talkative cretin.

Postmaster: No, I will not imagine such a dreadful situation. Get a hold of yourself, Frank. We're about to kill off the human race and you're moaning about your downstairs neighbor. I think you're losing your sense of proportion. Our cult has labored for hundreds of years in secret places, chanting the obscene rhymes from Abdul Alhazred's mad visions. We have suffered burning at the stake, we have drawn the scorn and unreasoning fear of a dozen nations. We have even been forced to rent rooms in bad neighborhoods!

Cult Member 1: Yes, a person can't walk down the street at night in this area!

Cult Member 2: And don't even talk to me about the airport noise.

Postmaster: But we have persevered! And at last we will be vindicated. Our brethren around the world stand in circles of their own, praying to the goat and the inverted pentagram and sending their rage here, to our circle, to our shriveled, disgruntled hearts! We are the chosen! We who stand here have the honor of summoning the Great One!

Otis: Jackie Gleason?

Cult Member 3: (panicky) His gag's loose!

Postmaster: Get his gag back on! (sounds of struggle, Otis keeps trying to talk, but they finally re-gag him) When I say the Great One, I mean Cthulhu! Cthulhu the Old One who has walked among the stars, who slithered across the surface of this earth millions of years ago. He will come to exact destruction, and neither snow nor rain nor heat nor gloom of night shall stay Cthulhu from the swift completion of his appointed rounds.

Frank: Shouldn't we begin the ritual, postmaster? Baywatch is on in an hour, and --

Postmaster: Frank, I'm not going to rush this so you can watch Baywatch.

Frank: But it's the season premiere!

Postmaster: Oh, alright, alright. Everyone begin chanting.

Cult Members: (chanting, repeats over next few lines. Heavy metal is still audible in the background) Yog-Sothoth, Yog-Sothoth... Cthulhu ftaghn... Yog-Sothoth, Yog-Sothoth... Cthulhu ftaghn... (they continue this until Cthulhu arrives)

Postmaster: Send me your petty hate, my brethren! Concentrate! Form a picture in your mind, a picture of loathsomeness! An image of shrieking fear! Savor its taste, the most horrible thing you can imagine, and send its awful power to me! (SFX: Storm winds rise) That's it, my brethren! Yog-Sothoth! Yog-Sothoth! Dread Cthulhu, I call your name from across the wastes of the cold dark. Hear my cry! Come, let your loathsome form take flesh here! We call to you, Cthulhu! Come to us! Come, and destroy!

(SFX: Cthulhu arrives in a great convocation of sound effects)

Postmaster: Dread Cthulhu, we have awakened you from your long sleep, that you may feast on the souls of all humanity!

Cthulhu: Well, heavens me, that was awfully nice of you.

Postmaster: I don't think I understand, O Most Horrible.

Cthulhu: Well, it's just nice to feel needed, isn't it? And I've been cooped up for such a beastly long time in that dimension beyond normal space, it just doesn't give a thing space to stretch its tentacles. (Cthulhu continues on, uninterrupted, under the rest of the scene until it has lines again.)

Postmaster: Oh, no.

Frank: Why does he sound so familiar?

Post: Frank, you idiot! We're doomed!

Frank: Why?

Postmaster: Because you brought Mighty Mouth over there to the summoning! He disrupted the entire ritual!

Otis: That is just not fair! I've been quiet as a mouse, especially with that gag in my mouth. Do you know how difficult it is to have a conversation with a sock jammed down your throat? I've tried it before, just on a lark, and --

Postmaster: Shut up! You've done enough.

Frank: I don't understand, postmaster.

Postmaster: Brother Frank, in summoning Cthulhu, we all had to keep an image in our minds of the most horrible thing we could possibly imagine. That thing would give shape to the evil form which Cthulhu would take on entering our world. Now, what were you thinking of?

Frank: Well, actually, I was thinking of Otis.

Postmaster: Me too. Who else here was thinking of Otis? Come on, let's see a show of hands. Everybody. Every single cultist.

Frank: Oh, no.

Postmaster: Oh, yes.

Frank: Well, maybe it's not too late to send Cthulhu back.

Postmaster: (incredulous) Send him back?! Frank, you can't treat an Elder God like a package marked with insufficient postage.

Frank: We can kill it, then!

Postmaster: Don't be daft, Frank, we haven't the power.

Cthulhu: I beg your pardon, but did you just say you wanted to kill me?

Postmaster: No! Not at all! We'd never attempt --

Cthulhu: Oh, please, don't be bashful about it. I'm touched, really, just that you'd think of me.

Postmaster: Oh... Thank you, Most Horrible.

Frank: All hail Dread Cthulhu!

Cult Member 1: The Black Goat of the Woods With a Thousand Young!

All: Ia! Ia! Shub-Niggurath! Ia! Cthulhu ftaghn!

Cthulhu: Oh, stop it, please, I'm getting all embarrassed.

Postmaster: You're, uh, not quite what we expected, O Monstrous Behemoth.

Cthulhu: Good heavens, please, stop with the honorifics! I mean, I'm flattered, but really they aren't necessary. I just want you guys to think of me as a regular Joe.

Postmaster: Really?

Cthulhu: Yes. Albeit a regular Joe who came screaming from the darkest pits of Tartarus itself. (pause) Now, hey, chin up, gang! Are we gonna wreak some bloody mayhem or what?

Postmaster: Um... bloody mayhem, dread lord.

Cthulhu: Oh, just call me Cthulhu. My fiends do. Now, c'mon, guys, what's the game plan? Do you want me to devour a couple of cities, a small third-world nation? What did you have in mind?

Postmaster: We, um, hadn't thought that far ahead. We were hoping you'd have some ideas.

Cthulhu: I see... How about this. I'll start by eating all of you!

Postmaster: What?

Frank: Run, Postmaster!

Cthulhu: Down the hatch. (SFX: Sluuuuuurp, chewing, screaming, swallowing) Aaaah. Breakfast.

Otis: Say, that wasn't very sporting of you.

Cthulhu: Well, what do you want? I'm evil incarnate. Besides, it's such a bloody nuisance, every few months or so some silly coven or other summons me up out of a perfectly good nap and tries to get me to destroy the world. (sighs) Been there, done that, y'know? Where's the challenge? I just can't be bothered with that kind of stuff anymore. I've got new interests.

Otis: Oh, really? Hobbies? What kind?

Cthulhu: It's embarrassing, really, a demon of my stature... But lately I've become very interested in cheesemaking.

Otis: You don't say! Why, that's one of my hobbies as well!

Cthulhu: (pleasantly surprised) Really?

Otis: Oh, yes, I've got a churn back at my apartment. I've been experimenting with goat's milk cheese and let me tell you, it is a taste sen-sation!

Cthulhu: Wonderful! I'll have to come over and try it sometime!

Otis: Well, how about now? Unless, of course, you had to be getting back to that other dimension.

Cthulhu: No, I'm stuck here on your planet for some time. It's too bad, too, because I think I left the iron on. No way back, y'see, unless I can get a priest to exorcise me. As a matter of fact, I suppose I'll have to look for a place to stay.

Otis: Well, now that you've eaten him, my upstairs neighbor Frank won't be needing his apartment.

Cthulhu: Say, that's true. Let me just get his keys. (SFX: Belch) There. Now, what about that cheese?

Otis: After you, Cthulhu!

Cthulhu: You know, Otis, I think this could be the beginning of a beautiful friendship.

(they both laugh, credits roll over sprightly music)