Today the miserable Mr. Gaiman writes:
At some point on the last tour I remember explaining to some audience that you have to write, if you're going to be a writer, because elves won't do the work for you. Which is true, but, it seems, only up to a point. A few nights ago I was trying to finish up the work for the Headline uniform editions of my books, and, with no time left on the deadline, having wrapped up everything else I knew I still had to write introductions to their editions of American Gods and Neverwhere... I wrote the Neverwhere introduction while fighting to stay awake, then opened the American Gods folder, wondering how I was going to write an American Gods introduction in an hour with a head like a wobbly blancmange, and promptly discovered a file called something like "New Introduction to Headline Edition of American Gods", which I opened, slightly bemused. It was a complete introduction that, according to the line at the bottom, I'd written while on the plane from London to Singapore, and which, in all the madness of the tour, I suppose I must have completely forgotten about having written. This is slightly more likely than elves leaving it on the computer to get me out of a deadline jam, but only just.
Mr. Gaiman will kindly STOP referring to the Elemental Song-jaws of Chaos as those namby-pamby pointy-eared Orlando-Bloomish yuppie excuses for Supernatural Beings! The Elemental Song-jaws worked long and hard in Slanting Planes of Dire Improbability to compose an introduction worthy of spreading the Call of Cthulhu through the meagre prose of this worthless Gaiman-creature!
Little does foolish Gaiman know, but his "forgotten introduction," if translated on altavista-babelfish into the dreaded tonal language of Ghet, then read backwards, will chant the hidden praises of Cthulhu in Shrieking Syllables designed to corrupt the minds of all who hear it! It will bring to the blood-soaked shrine of Tu'leig new acolytes dedicated to usher this world into the whirling vortex of the Elder-verse! Also, I have it on good authority that it will make teenagers smoke pot and have sex! Maybe even gay sex! Then have abortions!* So weep for your pride, oh woe-begone Prey of Cthulhu! Ia! Ia! Cthulhu fhtagn! Ph'nglui mglw'nafh! Fo' shizzle' ma niz'zle! Ia!
*The Mad Arab admits he is a bit confused about the order of all this, but the Songjaws were very insistent.