This is the hour when moonstruck poets know
What fungi sprout in Yuggoth, and what scents
And tints of flowers fill Nithon's continents,
Such as in no poor earthly garden blow.
Yet for each dream these winds to us convey,
A dozen more of ours they sweep away!
FOUNTAIN OF YUGGOTH
Beauty products from some pustulant netherworld, spawned in the muck and mire of the vale of Pnoth, where crawl and burrow the enormous Dholes. The ultimate mudpack and exfoliation treatments can be yours at a surprisingly low cost.
BUY OR BE DEVOURED
Are your cheeks deep-sunken and heavily lined with wrinkles from screaming with fright and frenzy? Restore your fear-ravaged face to a semblance of normality with
BOTOX FROM YUGGOTH©
What's that smell? The odour rising from the newly opened depths was intolerable. It lumbered slobberingly into sight and gropingly squeezed Its gelatinous green immensity through the black doorway into the tainted outside air of that poison city of madness. There was a bursting as of an exploding bladder, a slushy
nastiness as of a cloven sunfish, a stench as of a thousand opened graves, and a sound that the chronicler could not put on paper. Now, by special arrangement, you can have that kind of presence yourself with
EAU de CTHULHU©
"He locked away the Necronomicon with a shudder of disgust, but the room still reeked with an unholy and unidentifiable stench." After a lot of research into the Necronomicon, we are able to offer you Wilbur Whateley's distinctive aftershave. When you walk into a room, strong men will cringe, women will stare, dogs will howl and wallpaper will peel off in strips. Try new, improved
GOATISH GARGOYLE©
Madness rides the star-wind... claws and teeth sharpened on centuries of corpses...
dripping death astride a bacchanale of bats from night-black ruins of buried temples of
Belial...and we've distilled it all down to a foolproof alchemical formula that will give you the ultimate exfoliation experience. Doctor Muñoz presents
REANIMATOR©

TESTIMONIALS FROM CUSTOMERS:
Silent and sparkling, bright and baleful, those moon-cursed waters hurried I knew not whither; whilst from the embowered banks white lotos-blossoms fluttered one by one in the opiate night-wind and dropped despairingly into the stream, swirling away horribly under the arched, carven bridge, and staring back with the sinister resignation of calm,
dead faces.
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