And low the maw of heaven open, and the hot rains became sweet. The skin of holy men turned to fondant and sloughed off, to be licked at by mongrel dogs. Men beat their chests and women tore at their hair, weeping rivulets of liquid chocolate.
The children did not know if they should cry or cheer in gluttonous jubilation.
Somewhere in the distance, a white-whiskered prophet whispered, “It is as foretold, the sugary elder god has arrived…”
“Behold Diabeetus! And weep at the doom of icing come to your world!”
(That really is some kind of Lovecraftian vagina-dentata made entirely out of cake frosting)