My dear Wilmarth,
Yes, you’re right about the abominations
living in the hills, unholy and unspeakable emissaries of blasphemous
old gods. I don’t like them either…
Oh come on Albert, we know
what all this talk of the unnameable, crablike, fungal spawn of Yoggoth
is really about! I want you! I want to bend you over my bust of Milton
and have you roughly like the horny little bitch you are! And I know
you want it too, you little cocktease!
Yours,
Henry Wentworth Akeley
P.S. I am wanking as I write this.