I’m Sorry, Nyarlathotep, But Now Is Not the Time to Pursue a New Hobgoblin Consort Like Laura Loomer

Thank you for granting me a moment of your precious time, Dread Lord Nyarlathotep. Especially given how busy you are during these final days of your gruesome campaign to reascend the Gore Throne. Very pleased to hear you dodged yet another banishment spell from your enemies—and so proud to see you standing up to the fearsome Swiftie zealots.

Look, you must know I am as committed as the next Death Cultist to getting you back in office. I’ve been an Anti-God advocate ever since that shrieking rip in space-time first vomited you onto the golden escalator. But I… well, honestly, I don’t know how to say this politely. It’s probably best that I just put it out there before you turn my tongue inside out or what have you.

Sir, it’s about Laura Loomer, your newest daemonic hobgoblin consort. I’m sorry to say this, my Stalker Among the Stars, but she may be a step too far for even the most devoted fiends among your abominable retinue—she’s that goddamn weird.

Oh. Wow. I take it from this terrifying silence and the fact that you didn’t swap out my eyeballs that you’d like to hear more about these rumblings of discontent. I can only assume it’s to amass a list of these naysayers to add to your Torment Tally, which—okay, fair. That’s a sign of the real leadership that America’s husk needs right now.

But it’s true, my Dark One. Loomer is a foulness that even the most vile polling number incantations cannot guard you against. She makes the she-vampires of Deimos look like nuns by comparison. And I’m talking, like, old-school sisters of the cloth, not your Order of Lust Cenobites. Even Marjorie Taylor Greene is worried about her, if that tells you anything.

Maybe you weren’t really familiar with Laura until recently, so you don’t know much about her. If that’s the case, then boy, do I envy you, ha ha. There’s no denying that you’ve shown me so many irrevocably mind-shattering visions since I signed my blood pact into your service. But I truly believe in my hollowed-out heart of blackened hearts that even you, the Black Pharaoh Itself, could not conjure an entity as detestable, ruthless, and wholly tainted as Laura Loomer.

And that’s not a dig at your unholy capabilities! I’m only saying Laura is, well, Laura is an incarnation of madness that sort of defies all previous conceptions of madness, if that makes any sense. Madness squared, I suppose? Which, when you think about it, technically makes her one of the purest forms of mindless barbarism, sociopathic cruelty, and narcissistic ghoulishness to ever crawl out of the rancid chaos realm.

Not that she could ever compete with the merciless tyranny of the Crawling Chaos, of course. In all likelihood, she wouldn’t know what to do with the unmitigated dominion of the cosmos if she obtained it. But that’s not what Loomer’s really all about, you see? She’s just super icky and strange, man. She’s literally not allowed in Ubers or Lyfts anymore. The alt-right avoids her like one of your minor plagues. She even said some stuff the other day that made J. D. Vance gag. Can you even imagine how offensive someone has to be to manage that? J. D.’s whole job is licking your entrail-soaked boots day in and day out. If you can make him dry heave, then that’s a foulness that even the Dread Lord needs saving from, as far as I’m concerned.

Listen, I know you are an Outer God with needs—detestably dirty, hauntingly horny needs. I understand that this scorched-earth mission to stamp out this country’s last vestiges of hope isn’t exactly going as smoothly as planned. I mean, who could have predicted the Yellow King would renounce a second term in favor of endorsing his Priestess of Carcosa? But just because you are the Dweller in Darkness doesn’t mean you need to dwell in such a sordid pitch-black abyss right now. There are plenty of rabid void-ghouls out there who would love to be Mrs. Nyarlathotep for a day. I guarantee that, unlike Laura Loomer, none of those monstrosities would make Marjorie Taylor Greene uncomfortable. MTG, my Dread Lord!

There. I said it. I shall now fall upon my knees and await whatever sadistic fate you have in store for me. I know it cannot be worse than whatever it was I saw when I accidentally walked in on you and Laura last night in that Outback Steakhouse bathroom.