Of the Kardinya Cthulhus?

“Ph’nglui mglw’nafh Cthulhu R’lyeh Kardinya wgah’nagl fhtagn.” … “In his house at R’lyeh Street Kardinya, dead Cthulhu waits dreaming.” The call of Cthulhu, H.P. Lovecraft.
Well he looks healthy enough, drinking what Mojitos? Daiquris? He seems to have a brace of them ready, so some kind of dream is quite likely. (Click larger) Marvellous adornment to Da Silva Fishing’s O’Connor Kardinya business in Bowen Street. Nice Cocos too. I’m going to go not worst. Marvellously insane. By Rob F, who guesses concrete or ceramic. I’m thinking fibreglass. It would take quite the Grano to get that lot up there in concrete.

About The Lazy Aussie

Commended Haiku writer. A lover of The West's Worst. Perth stand-up comedian, photographer and writer.
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27 Responses to Of the Kardinya Cthulhus?

  1. WAtching says:

    Cthulhu vs mouldy toast death match?

    Yes please.


  2. rottobloggo says:

    Great Scott.

    Also, at first glance the sign looks like it says FISTTING.


  3. Snuff says:

    Before. After.


  4. vegan says:

    i’m hoping it’s papier mache.


  5. Water poured through the roof and plasma at work. No lights, and worse, NO QUINCY! This is not happening.


  6. poor lisa says:

    I actually missed this, definitely not worst. He has a lovely smile and a nice hat.


  7. The Legend 101 says:

    Someone probally wants to go on a holiday so they put it there to tell people the Message!


  8. RubyRuby says:

    Speaking of Cocos – there’s a Cocos Backpackers in Broome, near Cable Beach, landscaped entirely with your favourite paradisical tropical palm. Didn’t get a shot, too many grey nomads in way, ended up drinking by the pool instead of treadling back around there with the camera.

    But I’m Not Sorry. Sometimes it’s just good to know that someone has been So Inspired.


  9. Geoff says:

    They won’t be laughing when mighty Cthulu and Nyalothotep get together for a garden party at their place… remember Innsmouth!


  10. NF#1 says:

    Started writing a Winton-does-Lovecraft pastiche ages back, but only got this far…

    It is beyond doubt that there are many things men should not know, Jim reflected – foreknowledge of the time and means of one’s own death; absolute awareness of how it is that others see us. No mirror can or should be perfect, for just as the glassy stillness of the ocean on a wind bereft summer day fills us with a queasy dread, so too does our own visage, seen clearly and apart from the depth obscuring ripples eddying around our vanities and blindspots. Yet—Jim shifted uncomfortably as he continued to think—there are necessarily secret truths at once less personal and more profound. Mr Dixon, one of his high-school teachers, had once called him a ‘deep one.’ He knew what that meant, recognising in himself the tendency to brood and daydream. Blurry underwater vignettes often came unbidden to his wandering mind, together with a sense of rapid movement, cold water streaming quickly over slick limbs; refracted light above and deep blue darkness below. And yet he distantly sensed another meaning, obscurely linked in his mind with the queer lumps of gold washed up from time to time on Gero’s equally shining beaches. There had always been whispers concerning these. The boffins who came up from the big smoke to investigate couldn’t decide if their grooved surfaces were random scratches, though only God knows how produced, or else some obscure, forgotten cuneiform; perhaps the desperate raving of some long ago marooned Dutch sailor who in the absence of human company formed his own idiotic script. Yet the scientists could not dissuade the locals that these were not the missals of an alien race….


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