Soph, how did you know that??? Of course, it was the poor mans TOTAL lack of success with the opposite sex that slowly drove him utterly made, and caused him to concoct weird stories, thus securing his immortality in the hearts of lovers of gothic horror (I think that's what it's called...am I right?).

There was also Clark Ashton Smith, a far better writer in my opinion, but I hate his stories because his heroes always end up doomed. I prefer heroes who triumph against the odds.

I invented a fictional writer called Herbert Paisley (H.P.) Lusthouse. He reputedly began writing similar tales after his great-uncle, Sir Snidely Tillinghast, went mad, following an encounter in the Antarctic with a gigantic flock of perverted penguins who were engaging in mass coition out on the icepack. Sir Snidely and his crew were so horrified by what they saw that their minds became permanently unhinged. The weaker crew members returned to civilization unable to control their compulsion to engage in group sex at the slightest provocation. They were all sequestered in sanatoriums, after causing much social chaos. The stronger members either blew their brains out with Navy revolvers, or retired to their country estates, never to emerge into public sight again.

H.P. Lusthouse also had absolutely no luck with the fair sex whatever, and poured his frustrations into ever more lurid stories that kept Weird Tales rolling merrily along.

How we suffer for our art!

By the way, Cthulhu is now running for president. His campaign slogan is: Why choose the lesser of two evils?