“‘A total disappointment’: revelers face unbearable heat at Great American State Fair.” — The Guardian
I drove from Dubuque for this, you know. My remaining friends are all longtime Nyarlathotep supporters, and the ones still able to speak coherently always tell me my homemade Dread Lord memorabilia is top-notch. Hats, T-shirts, beer koozies, flaying scythes—I make ‘em all myself. There’s even a diner in town that sells some of my wares. You know the place; The New York Times interviewed me there two or three times about my thoughts on various issues.
So when my buddy suggested I toss some of this swag into my truck and hit the road for President Nyarlathotep’s Great American Shitshow, I thought, “Why the hell not?” The kids are off at college, at least that’s what they told me before they stopped answering my calls. Walmart cut back on my greeter shifts while they test out their Tesla Optimus pilot program. The nightly plague locust swarms are hell on my sleep schedule. I might as well go ahead and check out the Dread Lord’s official celebration of “This Decaying Empire of Mud,” as He so eloquently put it on Fox News the other day.
It was easy enough to secure a table on the National Mall. The registration fee was “my next born progeny,” but the ol’ vasectomy has held strong for over twenty years now. I got a great location in front of the Ferris wheel right—it’s right beside the Carrion Orgy Tent. I should have made hand-over-foot at this thing…
Can I be honest with you, though? Business was a bit of a letdown. I was out there in the Blood Summer heat for days, and I moved, like, two Nyarlathotep keychains. I only sold my first red, white, and blue self-flagellation cat-o’-nine-tails on Saturday. Just one!
I expected patriotic Dread Lord acolytes from all across this great country of ours to be out in full force this weekend. It was the Fourth of July, for crying out loud. Who doesn’t love hot dogs and fireworks and those mysterious, deafening keening wails coming from the renovated Reflecting Pool? I know there’s been some pushback on the addition from the Fake News, but I really think it jazzes it up.
Looking back on all of it now, and well… it was pretty darn desolate and demoralizing. And not in the way that Nyarlathotep promised, either. The Dread Lord’s fever rallies always felt energized, you know? And they were! I can’t even fathom the number of kittens needed to fuel generators so the speakers could blare “Y.M.C.A.” for the fourth time in a row, as per the Crawling Chaos’ demand. It was unlike anything else in the cosmos, and it felt so good because we were all there together, frothing at the mouth and rending the scalps from our heads.
I can’t put my remaining finger on it, but I’m beginning to suspect Nyarlathotep’s Great American Shitshow… repulsed people? I’m having a hard time comprehending it, but it’s like they wanted nothing to do with us.
Being a loud and proud death cultist used to command some weight around here. We always knew we weren’t popular, per se, but the Democrats weren’t exactly making it hard for us, either. Now that we’re inching closer to midterms, it’s like the winds of hope are pushing against the all-encompassing noxious fumes Nyarlathotep and His administration worked so hard to cultivate.
In any case, I’ve had a lot of time to think about it this weekend. On Saturday, I decided to close my stall early for the day and go check out Nyarlathotep’s rally featuring Lee Greenwood and friends. I was one of the four audience members in lawn chairs, but we were all trying to make the most of it. Between “I’m Proud to Be an American” and whatever other songs Lee wrote, I started to feel this really strange sensation. No, maybe it was more of an emotion or feeling.
With fewer people than ever around to back me up, I felt something I hadn’t felt in years. I think the word for it is “shame?” Yeah, shame. The Dread Lord’s big speech was—dare I say it—kinda half-baked? He isn’t flailing his tentacles nearly as much as he used to, and the festering ooze wounds are barely oozing at all.
I dunno. It’s hard to tell these days. For all we know, Nyarlathotep and His cultists could reign for another eon or two. Anything is possible in the Dread Lord’s reality. But I don’t feel too good after attending the Great American Shitshow. I didn’t even stick around for the grand finale. I had to pack up all those patriotic cat o’ nine tails—and who starts a fireworks show that late, anyway?
