Thoughts on Lovecraft and Gladiator

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My theory is, Russell Crowe looked like Woody Allen until he teamed up with the Muscles Out of Space.

The seething, disturbing Muscles Out of Space, that came from the outer reaches of the void where nothing should tread. Old farmer Crowe heard them land, but he didn’t dare open up the door. ‘Don’t go into the fields, my son,’ he said. ‘Something monstrous has landed there.’

‘I won’t, Dad!’ said young Russell.

But in the dead of night, when no one could see him, he crept down the stairs.

Gingerly, he listened at the door. Thump-thump. Thump-thump.

‘There’s something out there!’ said Russell to himself.

‘I should find out what!’

So he gingerly opened his door and peeked out. There was a strange carmine light shining in the field. It pulsed and writhed like some maddened beast.

‘That must be my ticket to stardom!’ said young ‘Weedy’ Crowe.

He gleefully ran out into the fields, the dead and mangled squirrels flash-burned by the landing crunching under his feet.

Crunch! Crunch! went little squirrel bones. ‘Oh boy!’ thought Russell Crowe.

Suddenly, tendrils of muscle rose from the fields. They reared up over Russell, their rugose and unholy pulsations rich with the potential for box office success.

‘I’ve been waiting for you!’ said Russell. ‘Ever since my Dad told me about the star people! I’ve been setting aside a corn flake from every box I eat!’

The Muscles Out of Space poured down over Russell, weaving in and out among his sinews in mad dark synthesis. The air rang with the piping of sinister flutes.

‘Please stop that,’ said Russell, to his neighbors, who liked to play the flute at odd hours of the night.

‘I’m sorry,’ they all said, and went back into their houses.

They piped sadly.

Tweet.

Tweet.

Then, with a final tweet, they were gone.

Russell felt strange, invading tendrils of muscle enter his mind. ‘We must be rugged,’ it/they/he thought, all of a sudden. ‘We must be rugged and have a manly chest!’

He clenched his jaw, muscle and Russell working an ungodly metamorphosis together.

‘Ia! Ia! Tekeli-li! Tekeli-li!’

Russell looked irritably at the remaining neighbor.

‘Oddly populated farmland,’ it/they/he thought.

‘Mr. Crowe,’ said his agent. ‘I cannot help but notice your new star potential.’

‘It’s not just star potential,’ said Russell, Weedy no longer. ‘It’s potential out of space!’

‘That’s right,’ said his agent. ‘And you and me, we’re going to go all the way!’

The muscles out of space extended two tendrils into the agent’s brain.

‘That we will,’ said Russell Crowe. ‘That we will.’

FINI!

Russell would later take inspiration from this event to fuel his portrayal of the Muscles Out of Gaul.

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