Am I the only one fantasizing about Alan Watts trying to sell H.P. Lovecraft on his "trust the universe" hustle?
Meanwhile, I'm about to leap out of the bushes in my Cthulhu cosplay, bellowing, "Surprise, bitches!"
Lovecraft drops dead of fright. Watts is desperately trying to hand over his wallet.
In the end, I'm good for Taco Bell and action figures across two Sundays. Three, if I economize.
