The C'thulhu Experience

   All of us who are actually awake on this planet, which is about 1 ten-millionth of the global population, realize that C'thulhu is actually real and that when his day comes it will spell the biologically engineered return of humanity to a worm-like state, only we will be a bit larger, perhaps the size of European wild boar-sized worms, and it will be our job to be food for the Great One's attendees, who themselves defy description even though their lord and master himself can to some extent be described. The C'thulhu Experience will be a thrill ride that will take the visitor through the massive labyrinths of R'lyeah, the eerily-lit gigantic passageways through which the slumbering C'thulhu, in his slogging, wet, splashing crawling, sploshing temporary delirium wanders unconcious in foodless, unbreathing sonambulistic foulness and endless clouds of emanating steam from the 140 degree engine of swamp production that is his foetid body temperature. The cars will quietly and almost relaxingly take you through the waterless world beneath the Earth's ocean where C'thulhu awaits the alignment of the galactic rotation to the fixed spot of the "place" the big bang occurred which C'thulhu himself did create from his separate dimension of putrid expanses far far huger than our comparatively puny and spacially restrictive universe; our universe which he created for himself to cover and drown with his own unholy semen, piss, shit and drool all for the purpose of seeing it collapse into useless and meaningless parsec-spanning filth. None of this of course is explained in the ride. In fact nothing at all is explained in the ride. You go on the ride in your roller coaster-like carlets, and as you slowly weave and rise and fall through vast arenas of rock and drippage that makes even more rock, nothing is said. Only the essence and sleepy absolute dominance of C'thulhu in his temporary realm of cold mist and hot steam and subterranean vistas greets your eye and from somewhere back 5 billion years in the memories still held by your busily dividing cells when C'thulhu created them for his eventual unholy disgusting meaningless purposeless pleasure you somehow sense and understand what it all means and you sense that what it all means is that you have no meaning and only C'thulhu is actually real and only C'thulhu has an actual meaning.
   At the end of the quiet, clacking journey of steel wheel upon steel track you emerge once more into the normal world above ground in the hot arid expanse of a portion of the Las Vegas desert and you look up at the merciless sun beating down on you and you softly weep because the merciless sun is actually vibrant exciting healthy life compared to where you just were if for no other reason than that there is no eternal endless curtain of unholy steam and stench coming off it.