by P. R. Frost
There’s a rocket on the cover of the book.
There’s a rocket on the cover of the book.
It’s a phallic and a stout one,
But my novel was without one.
There’s a rocket on the cover of my book.
There’s a castle on the cover of the book.
There’s a castle on the cover of the book.
Every knight is fit for battle,
But the action’s in Seattle.
There’s a castle on the cover of the book.
There’s a blurb on the backside of the book.
There’s a blurb on the backside of the book.
There’s one story on the cover;
Inside the book’s another.
There’s a blurb on the backside of the book.
And my name is on the cover of my book.
Yes, my name is on the cover of my book.
Although I hate to tell it,
The publisher misspelled it,
But my name is on the cover of my book.
They reviewed my book in Locus magazine.
They reviewed my book in Locus magazine.
The way Mark Kelly synopsized it,
I barely recognized it,
But they reviewed my book in Locus magazine.
Well, my book won the Nebula Award.
Yes, my book won the Nebula Award.
Still it ended in remainders,
Ripped and torn by perfect strangers,
But my book won the Nebula Award.
So put that bimbo on the cover of my book.
Put a bimbo on the cover of my book.
I don’t care what gets drawn
If you’ll just leave the cover on.
(Don’t remainder me!)
So put that bimbo, dragon, castle, rocket, vampire, elf,
or magic locket—
Please put a bimbo on the cover of my book!
Epilogue
GOLLUM AND I FLEW to Seattle together the next afternoon. He stayed there. I flew on to Providence. As the plane circled Mount Rainier, the setting sun caught the folds of the uppermost glacier in a peculiar light.
“Is that what I think it is, Scrap?”
Might be. Y’ never know, dahling.
“Can you sense anything?” I checked him for signs of solidifying and transforming. He remained a translucent pink.
The plane’s in the way.
And then we were past the strange phenomenon.
The moment the captain cleared us to use the built-in phones, I dialed Gollum’s cell, heedless of the hideous price they charged per minute.
“Gollum, have you ever noticed that the glacier on top of Mount Rainier looks an awful lot like Cthulhu, the alien god in Lovecraft’s novels?” Cthulhu had become a cult figure, and most dealers at cons featured stuffed animals shaped like the multilimbed squid-faced embodiment of evil. “Do you suppose that Cthulhu is alive and well on top of that mountain?”
“Of course he is,” Gollum replied nonchalantly. “The mountain claimed the lives of fifteen climbers and three skiers already this year. Can you think of a better explanation?”