I’m pretty sure you haven’t seen one of these before. Whatever the heck it is. Wherever you’re supposed to put it, however you’re supposed to wear it, whatever appetizers you’re supposed to serve in it, you’re not prepared to face this on a Monday, so here it is.
The jury is entirely out as to what is going on here. We have a mouth, we have flippers, we have a sort of duck-like bill, we have a nose positioned well over the oral cavity, which is I suppose sort of accurate, but it’s been “Mr. Potatohead”ed all kinds of ways.
The Master of the Rite at the temple of Tsathoggua, the sloth-frog god “mentioned in the Pnakotic Manuscripts and the Necronomicon” (according to Lovecraft), wears one of these. Probably on his head. Unless this is the special NC-17 ritual. In which case, still on his head, but no pants.
Its song is beautiful, and rolls across the countryside like a melody scored for conch, bagpipe, and tuba in E flat minor. Its barbaric “yawp” sounds over the roofs of the world. It would also like it if you fed it something, maybe like a cookie or a couple dove bars. That’d be nice of you.
We bought this and put it on the bric-a-brac shelf. Three days later, none of the clown statues had their heads. So no change there then.
Savers on North Loop and Burnet, Austin