collar turned against the malodorous sleet pounding down from greasy skies, I watch as the clouds scrape the last vestiges of hope from the atmosphere. The pale fungus of Yuggoth slumbered beneath the snow, and foetid wisps of steam drift lazily down from high smokestacks of the abbatoir of Hatheg Kla, where disembodied knife wielding arms slaughter night-gaunts whose oily hams and chops and loin feed the ravenous armies of zooks

Despair ruled over the land, a despair with a foundation as deep as the roots of Unknown Kadath. The Mad Arab Abdul Alhazred giggled with glee from the abyss when Nyarlathotep, the Crawling Chaos, listened to the eldrich tones of his strange instruments of glass and metal, and wept in fear of the coming emptiness.

Nah, I just got off work in Pontiac.