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Fan Slants, v. 1, issue 1, September 1943
Page 34
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54 FAN SLANTS OUT OF THE NIGHT FANTASTIC out of the night fantastic, out of the intricate shadows, from the deep black gloom of the stench filled fen, came the hoary shades of midnight. up from the depths of the pit, from the hated realms of hades, the tormentors came to join the game, my soul was the pawn they played for. from the marsh of abomination, those foul and stagnant waters, oozed out all the filth that within them lay, in the deathly temple MOLOCH, the evil god, the devourer, a black barter was made, for my soul they paid, and the hungry fire leapt in expectance. from the frigid polar regions, stole a million chilling death sprites, and the sands of lost hope from the desert wide, blow their arid breath upon me. out into the night fantastic, lost in the intricate shadows, my soul was drawn to unwilling trust, delivered to my new master. leaving my body behind it, a sunken shallow carcass, and the torment to which my soul was tossed would never be the telling. An article titled "The Death of the Pro Mags" was originally scheduled for this page. However after considerable research, we find that this particular subject has already been exhausted. Therefore please accept our apologies for the error on the contents page. .... Mel & Mike.
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54 FAN SLANTS OUT OF THE NIGHT FANTASTIC out of the night fantastic, out of the intricate shadows, from the deep black gloom of the stench filled fen, came the hoary shades of midnight. up from the depths of the pit, from the hated realms of hades, the tormentors came to join the game, my soul was the pawn they played for. from the marsh of abomination, those foul and stagnant waters, oozed out all the filth that within them lay, in the deathly temple MOLOCH, the evil god, the devourer, a black barter was made, for my soul they paid, and the hungry fire leapt in expectance. from the frigid polar regions, stole a million chilling death sprites, and the sands of lost hope from the desert wide, blow their arid breath upon me. out into the night fantastic, lost in the intricate shadows, my soul was drawn to unwilling trust, delivered to my new master. leaving my body behind it, a sunken shallow carcass, and the torment to which my soul was tossed would never be the telling. An article titled "The Death of the Pro Mags" was originally scheduled for this page. However after considerable research, we find that this particular subject has already been exhausted. Therefore please accept our apologies for the error on the contents page. .... Mel & Mike.
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