June 15:
Those cult guys came around again today. I know they are in a cult because of the nametags, photocopied literature, and matching discount suits from Tip Top. I pretended I wasn’t home. I hate those cult guys.

June 16:
Cult guys are back, they knocked, and knocked, and knocked. They must have waited on the porch for twenty minutes. I think they stole my newspaper. I would never be an asshole like those newspaper thieving cult assholes. Do they know I’m home?

June 17:
Cult guys are back again. If I open the door naked, would they just be all weird and enjoy it? Or rape me? Or, even if I’m not naked. I mean, should I invite them in? They sure are persistent.

June 18:
Okay, I’m thinking of inviting the cult guys in, but not with the house like this, I mean, look at this place?

June 19:
No cult guys today. First day I received newspaper this week. Also, all my mail was open.

June 20th:
This time they sent girls! This might be one of those cults where they try to bait you with the cheap sex. I like the cheap sex, I’m gonna finish cleaning and invite the cult ladies in tomorrow.

June 21:
What sort of appetizers do you serve cult ladies? I guess I’ll put out what I have here.

Wait, have I been out of the house this week? I guess not since the 15th. Do I even have a job? Maybe I should join this cult. Joke’s on them if I do, I rent this apartment.

June 22:
Well, I guess I can have as many kinky threesomes with hot cult chicks as I want as long as I give the Supreme Love Over-Watcher all my money and worldly possessions. Also, I have to eat a diet entirely of celery and bean curd. The diet seems to foster some indifference in the ladies to the threesome thing- Are all threesomes so quiet and bored?

June 23:
Well, The cult ladies came by again today, but I’m a bit full of bean curd and celery to do anything too sexy. We mostly just talked about the splendour of The Supreme Love Over-Watcher.

August 17:
Sorry it’s been a while, I’ve moved to the compound. The girls made me a uniform out of all the newspapers these guys have been liberating for the greater good. I sold my blood to buy a discount suit from tip top, and every day is like a sexy slumber party that smells like celery bean curd fart, and that also isn’t sexy at all.

August 19:
Busy yesterday, cut off my own balls to please The Supreme Love Over-Watcher.

September 19:
Woke up in hospital. Apparently, the bean curd and celery diet made me somewhat anemic, which is only problematic if you do something like cut your own balls off. Evidently I am also allergic to certain types of common antibiotics. I miss The Supreme Love Over-Watcher, I know he’d know just what to say through his discount-suited emissaries.

October 20:
Well, My lawyer helped patch things up with my landlord, and now that I am eating regular food again, I’m having a hard time remembering what I enjoyed about cult life so much.

Oct 21:
It was the threesomes.

Oct 22:
No, maybe it was something about The Supreme Love Over-Watcher. Pass the bean curd please.

This excerpt from a Lovecraftian “Choose Your Own Adventure” story, unpublished and partially complete, was submitted to The Correctness anonymously.

You are an intrepid adventurer! You are Dr. Louise Klimt, Professor of Antiquities at the Miskatonic University near Arkham. You are well respected, and you have an impressive knowledge of arcane matters and the occult. You are also a sincere looking brunette woman with knowing doe-eyes. Maybe you are a red head, but most likely you are a brunette. Whatever the case, you are an implausible knockout babe. Just to be really clear, you are not a blonde. Oh, and you paid your way through grad school by being a dancer- a legitimate one- maybe not- no, definitely not. Yeah, actually, you were a stripper, but in a self- actualized kind of way, you know, like you were really comfortable with your sexuality, so you could strip and still not get caught up in the awful culture of that trade. Only once or twice did you seduce one of your fellow strippers, and it was all in good fun.

Today a letter arrived at your door. It was an urgent missive from a friend who had journeyed to the deepest heart of the Amazon. It contained a dire warning.

“Dear Dr. Klimt:

I fear things here have gone horribly awry. Half of the archaeological team is missing, and Jenkins seems possessed by some ancient spirit- it’s hard to say if he stumbled upon some jungle hallucinogen or not, but he keeps repeating “h’nglui mglw’nafh Cthulhu R’lyeh wgah’nagl fhtagn,” and I fear that means our team is in great peril. Please send assistance as soon as humanly possible, we will need your expertise most urgently!

Sincerely,

Jonothan Buckmueller”

What do you do?

If you would like to hastily arrange travel to the Amazon, flip to page 17.

If you would like to reminisce about your lesbian experiences in college, flip to page 29.

Page 29:

Terrified for your Friend Jonothan Buckmueller, you arrive at your home in the historic Klimt Manor and make your way to the library. There, you will have the privacy to think and consider your options.

To take your mind off things, you slip into something more comfortable than your fitted academic garb, opting instead to change into your favourite costume piece from your days at the club, and elaborate and lacy French maid ensemble.

Able to relax for a moment, you find yourself in a meditative state, able to recall in precise detail the night you delicately seduced a new young dancer with your wiles, wanting, in a way, to both punish and sensually reward her for the charm of her naivete.  She was fresh from a small town, and had no idea how to cope with the overwhelming sexual authority you exuded. So easily you unlaced her corset and ran your other silk gloved hand up the soft skin of her inner thigh, kissing the side of her neck.

If you want to rush to the amazon now, flip to page 27.

If you want to become visibly aroused, and be interrupted by the milk maid who, alarmed by your saucy attire, spills cold, fresh milk all over herself, flip to page 18.