Geometry and Sand

It was a calm place, that small simple town,
Where things seemed idyllic, without a frown,
But as is necessity, when finding such a place,
Not all is what seems, as one looks through facades.

Walk down the main road, and you quickly reach,
A house so dammed crooked, upfront from the beach,
You'll ponder for sure, look straight at the angles,
Refuse to believe, start to going to shambles.

For who could have built, such a bizarre place,
Who'd defy God, who'd make it their base?
For the roof begins, where the walls fall,
And all the right angles, are not present at all.

A stranger approaches, hidden in cloth,
Telling mad tales, and smelling of scotch,
You run from the smell, as fast as you can,
For a minute or two, 'till you run out of land.

And then you will sink, into the sea,
Thinking "oh why, woe unto me!"
Blackness will come, encroach on your mind,
And you'll finally see, truth from behind.

A monstrous thing, with so many tentacles,
And a massive head, made up of pentacles,
The truth now so clear, it waits for the clang,
When it'll awake, for C'thulhu fhtagn!

And on that day, cursed for evermore,
It'll arise from the sea, as foretold by lore,
And finally enter, it's place of doom,
That crooked beach house, and fate will loom,

On all of mankind, for the truth is so simple,
All it ever wanted, was a house with no wrinkle,
To enjoy the seaside, and go to the fair,
To drink lemonade, and into the sea stare

But man choose to twist, the house into disrepair,
And for that he was cursed, drawn into despair,
What could be, the moral of this tale?
I answer quite quickly, lest it get so stale:

Never hire man, when building a beach house.
Or
Even C'thulhu likes a day in the beach!