My neighbor’s Cthulhu pooped on my lawn again. He denied it; said it was the pomeranian from across the street. But do pomeranians crap green toxic sludge that kills the grass and burns a fucking hole in the ground? I think not. Keep your damn Cthulhu on a leash. My neighbor’s wood fence is scorched and smashed to pieces. I don’t think it is doing much good keeping his Cthulhu in. I couldn’t sleep last night; I was up late listening to the screams, howls, and blood-curdling shrieks of my neighbor’s Cthulhu. I was late for work the next morning because I came outside to my driveway and discovered I had a flat tire. I just know that damn Cthulhu was humping my truck again. My neighbor of course denied that, too. Every time I turn around, there it is, that damn Cthulhu. I’m consumed by grim visions; the voices inside my head are like a drumbeat, terrifying tentacles trying to punch their way out. My eyes are crying blood. All because of my neighbor’s damn Cthulhu.