“Squalid” refers to something filthy and repulsively foul — like the living conditions of a cat collector with an affinity for gourmet cheese — but to me it sounds even worse. When I hear the word “squalid” the very sound of the letters makes me think of a “squid” with a “wall” in the middle of it — the wall of a nasal cavity. It also sounds sort of square, sort of solid, but not quite either of those — more lumpy and slumping like some lesser Lovecraftian monstrosity. Yeah, Squalid is the younger brother of Nyarlathotep, but he isn’t quite so scary — he just sits on the couch all day, playing X-Box, festering in a pile of cookie crumbs and black ooze, sickly digging into an economy sized bag of Ctheetos every minute or two with a soiled tentacle, wiping the combined orange residue and ichor of his suction cups all over the arms of the sofa. As you can imagine, Squalid — like most young tentacled creatures — kind of smells bad, too.

His older brother, “squalor” is much smarter, an honor’s student at Miskatonic U, majoring in Home Ick, and he’s even currently on the Dean’s List.