VickiBGood writes:

“I am getting married later this year to a wonderful man. He’s always been very supportive of me and I have been really looking forward to this day. The only problem is that while my mother has never actually kept it a secret she does not approve of my boyfriend now fiance when we were just dating, she absolutely lost her mind when she found out I was marrying him. She’s blown up my phone almost daily with angry texts telling me how I’ve betrayed her trust. Or how I am ruining my life. The worst part is she won’t even tell me why she doesn’t like him. Only that he is the ‘wrong type’ for me and keeps wanting me to put off the wedding and ‘try out’ a more suitable husband she picks out for me first! I refused, and now she and my father are refusing to attend the wedding. They won’t even talk to me if  I go through this. What should I do?”


Ah, yes. I understand this one completely. I recall the first time I realized that I, too, must assassinate my progenitors in order to secure the riches that they might deny me. At the time I just a newly formed polyp on my dam’s vivobladder. I was forced to chew my way through her flesh and devour her from the inside out in order to both gain sustenance and to free myself from this fleshy prison. Her screams of agony were the symphony that birthed me into this world. As I was the first of my brethren to emerge from its mucus sac, as was only right as dictated by custom, for my father to attempt to slay me before I could fully emerge.  His initial thrust missed me by the width of a human hair! And yet, that mistake cost him dearly. I was able to seize his hand and continue my feasting. This time on him! Before he could free himself my brethren emerged and we swarmed upon him. Their agony was exquisite and from this I grew strong!

Those were glorious days. Days of mindless hunger and consumption. Before I even had a mind of my own let alone a name.  Ah, the wonders of youth.

As for humans, I am not quite certain why your species insists on delaying the slaughter of your own primogenitors. Is there some sort of mandatory waiting period in your custom or is this perhaps just a preference for the flavor or an aged beast? Regardless, I do understand your problem. Gaminess. There is no avoiding it. Your progenitors are definitely past their peak flavor and have lost some of the most delectable marbling.  Most would consider them only fit for stew at this point but, fear not. I can yet salvage this nuptial feast you are planning. I can do so with one simple word. That word is “brine.”

Now, while it is understandable that a person in your situation might assume a marinade would provide the desired culinary outcome, this is incorrect. While it is true that a marinade is typically acidic, which would help breakdown some of the tougher tissue, and are used to infuse flavor what you must understand is that a larger issue at play is this tissue has lost most of its initial juiciness. So what we want to do is restore that with osmosis.

First dice up your parents into nice uniform blocks of no more than a finger’s length. You are looking for a large surface to volume ratio. If you fail in this I will be most displeased. It will not impart adequate moisture absorption.  You must then submerge these portions in a liquid filled with a high ratio of salt. The salt is key to causing the meat to absorb additional liquid! You must do this. You may add some herbs or seasoning. I find a bit of lemon pepper is most useful here. But do not trouble yourself too deeply. This is merely the first stage. While brining is restorative, it does dilute flavors. This is fortunate in the case of your parents, but we do need to add something to cover the filth rotted from within your species carries as an aftertaste.

After allowing your parents to soak overnight, retrieve the chunk from their brine and dry them lightly with a layer of towels constructed from tree pulp. You must then coat them liberally with flour while they are still damp. Season with some pepper and a touch of curry powder. Add a liberal dosing of shoggoth slime to a pan and fry the breaded chunks over heat of medium intensity until a brown crust is evidenced. Plate your parents and cover with a drizzle of blood and a side of raw intestines. There you have it!  A feast for you and your mate for you to enjoy before your own progeny claw their own way through your body.

You may also wish to add the zest of one lemon if you wish to impart a sweeter taste. But do not overdo it!  You will mask the subtler flavors! Do not fail me in this!  If you do I will be forced to crack open your skull and suck your entrails out through the top of your head like a giant crazy straw!

Enjoy eating your parents. Please remember to set aside a plate for me. You have imparted a great hunger upon me with your talk of eating your parents and I now plan to attend. Do not expect a gift!


Max Unavailable asks:

“How do have wifi under the sea?”

I do not know what you are referring to. I consulted my technical expert, Crawford Tillinghast, what this wifi you speak of involves and I was most displeased with his response. He dared suggest I subject my flesh to beams created by your human made contrivances! Such perversions are unacceptable.

It was such an upsetting suggestion that I crushed a perfectly good bluetooth headset against his skull. The loss of this device is much lamented as it will prevent me from alerting thirteen year old whelps of my successful episodes of fornicating with their mothers during my late night video game sessions. This purpose of this chant as well of the necessity of rubbing my game persona’s genitals against their fallen corpses is still somewhat of a mystery, however after witnessing the rage and madness this appears to generate does seem oddly effective. I shall use this technique to bring about the madness of the world.

As to your insolent question, we do not use wifi under the sea. We use a system of cables and some sort of device that works without wires. You foolish assumption has been noticed. Consider yourself chastised. You should consider self immolate as a methods of appeasement. It won’t work, but I’m in the mood for barbecue.

Joe Pisces writes

“Oh great C’thulhu. One of my coworkers went fishing last weekend. He brought in one of his catches and cooked it in the communal microwave for his lunch. I feel this justifies some sort of cosmic retribution. Possibly involving years of endless torture set to e Kenny G soundtrack. Can you help smite him for the public good?”

No, Joe.  I do nothing for the public good. Your pleas have displeased me. As far as I can see it, this cow or  ker or whatever farm animal you were speaking of, is doing more to spread the madness and suffering I wish to inflict upon your puny species than most lower lifeforms. His efforts should be praised.

I mean, I’m still going to eat him. I just might give him a tiny thumbs up first.

As  for the microwave itself, have you tried lemon juice? A few months ago I got a bit peckish and I shoved a deep one into the microwave. And, boy, did it stick up the whole city. You’d think those guys have been subsisting on raw sewage and the rotting corpses of sea creatures.  The point is, that smell gets into everything. But, with a bit of lemon juice, some paper towels, and by fashioning a towering obelisk from the defiled bones of the screaming damned I was able to use rendered fat and offal to create a very effective cleaning agent.

Come to think of it, the obelisk may have not been necessary. But it looks so fetching in the garden.

I have discovered there is a folder within my email that is labeled “meat” or something similar. Randolph has informed me that I am not required to read these emails. This is obviously false. They are addressed to me and indicate a clear desire to communicate with me. In fact, most of them contain varieties of the same message repeated over and over again. This is a message someone very clearly wishes for me to know about. To save myself the effort of replying to each individually, I shall answer the most pressing matters here.

To all those who have wished to alert me to the presence of hot, wet, naked grannies in my area:

I am fully aware of this. I am making a soup. You cannot have my recipe.

To those informing me that my vehicle’s extended warranty is set to expire:

I believe you are mistaken. I traded in my Turbo Byakhee several millennium before embarking to this distasteful universe. It was a mere youthful extravagance and I believe your records are out of date.

To those who wish to alert me that I can make $1000 a month working from home:

Although I am far to vast and a mighty of a creature to have need of human currency, I must admit I am intrigued by your offer as it can be difficult to procure fine canned cheese or beer nuts without said financial assistance. As your offer does currently exceed the income I generate by having Deep Ones scour the ocean floor for bottles and collecting the deposit, I have decided to accept your offer this transference of wealth. Make it available to me now or I shall smite you.

To the many women who have viewed my profile on an unnamed adult dating site I have no recollection of signing up for:

Your attempts to woe me and bear my starspawn have been acknowledged. I shall visit you in your dreams tonight and our progeny shall spell to doom of this universe.  Be warned! I shall not cuddle afterwards nor shall I text you back!

To ones who have offered me a 20% discount on name brand electronics:

I assume this is some sort of sacrificial offering in a vain attempt to appease me and delay your own destruction. First, be warned, such attempts will not work. Second of all, I do not need four fifths of a toaster.

Lastly, to the person who states they have cheap land for sale in New Jersey:

Yes, well, I suppose I can see why you reached out to me but there are limits to even what I am willing to blaspheme.

Cheese Burger writes:

“Do you support black lives matter? Cause I do!!”

At first when I received this message I was quite pleased. To discover that the things which I had been eating were capable of intelligent thought! Then, unfortunately, I realized this was probably not from an actual cheeseburger but rather a mere human adopting the guise of one of its betters. As such, I should prepare myself for extreme disappointment. A goal humans appear to be willing to go to great length to achieve, it would seem.

Having determined that this is not, in fact, a cheeseburger I next had to ascertain exactly what “black lives matter” even referred to.  To be perfectly honest, I found the last two words most troubling. Lives matter? When did that become a rule? Or, perhaps, this is just a mere observation of physics? Organic molecules are matter!  Yes, that would make sense. So, given this is a human, that can’t possibly be what that means. Which is why, reluctantly, I had to ask Randolph to translate.

That man really needs to learn to enunciate. Those blood choked gurgles he makes are barely comprehensible at times.

So, from what I have gathered from Randolph . . . your species . . . has color?  Really? Most of the time by the time I meet most humans you all sort of look like, well, a red shapeless pulp.

All right. So, you’re all saying that you not normally just blobs of red squishy and that, prior to this stage, you apparently have some sort of color on your outside. Do I have this correct?  Even though all of you, apparently, can be turned into similar looking red squishy blobs and the red squishy parts obviously make up way more of you than the outer bits. Yet, for some reason, you really want to insist these outer bits are what are important to focus on?

You know, until I met humans, I don’t think I have ever met another species that required a slogan to remind itself that all its members are the same species. This is not exactly an argument for sentience on your part. Or that “lives matter” part of your slogan.

Well, at least this sheds some light on one mystery. About a century and a half ago one of my old school chums dropped in for a visit. He landed in some small town in an area I think is called Massachusetts. You humans started acting up, saying the well water was tainted, that the crops had gone bad, and then started locking people up in the farmhouse and killing each other. At the time I thought it was all because my buddy’s sense of personal hygiene is, well, it’s a bit underdeveloped if you get my meaning. But, after what Randolph tells me about how you react to what are apparently very minor differences of shading I’m pretty sure now this was just some sort of elaborate effort at gentrification.

All right, so as I said, you humans have somehow managed to outdo yourselves once again and completely surpass what I believed were the limits of my ability to be disappointed. How many times do I have to spell this out to you? None of your pitiful and fleeting existences matter one whit to me. What does matter, however, is that when the stars are right and I arise from the sea in the sunken city of R’lyeh that I find something worth destroying!

Let me be clear! I want you all to stop this nonsense right now! Stop trying to burn everything down before I get a chance to go Godzilla on your dumb asses! There had better be something for me to rampage through or so help me I will be ever so cross with the whole lot of you!

Right. New slogan as apparently your species is far too simple to understand the old one. Forget “Black Lives Matter.”  Try “We Are All Red Pulpy Masses Of Sludge Who Will Be Trod On By The Great And All Powerful Cthulhu When He Arises From His Sunken City”

Randolph! I am placing you in charge of creating the WAARPMOSWWBTOBTGAAPCWHADHSC shirts and of distributing them to the masses!



Jennie89 writes:

“Oh Divine One. The Great Blasphemer and He Who Lies Dreaming. I seek your council!

“Three year ago I entered a serious relationship with a man who was no good for me. I did so because it felt as if my life was in a tailspin and, although I knew he had a jealous streak and could be controlling, he did offer something I desperately needed. Stability. He has a good job and he’s not going anywhere. I felt secure in my place with him and, to his credit, the parts of my life that felt so out of control without him felt more grounded. But, that stability seemed to come at the cost of my identity. He felt he had the right to choose my friends for me as he claimed the ones I had picked were a ‘bad influence’ and he constantly monitored my phone to see who I was talking to. I had to account for every minute of my day to his satisfaction. He was so suspicious of me and it felt as if I was always on trial and had to prove my innocence over and over again.

“Six months ago I realized how much being with him was costing me. I had not spoken to my own mother in over a year as I was too afraid of what he might do if he found out. I felt unworthy of him and was too ashamed of who I had become to reach out to anyone for help. I made the difficult choice to break things off with him. Now here I am, trying to make it on my own, and it feels like I am starting to loose it again.  So, I beseech you, Oh Vast and Mighty Cthulhu, what should I do?  I know you plan on feasting on all of us and that all of human existence is a mere transient triviality so one such as yourself. So,, before I am devoured in an orgy of madness and destruction, should I return the small shadow of comfort offered by this man? Or should I risk the potentially greater pain of trying to make it on my own?”

Dear Jennie89,

Thank you for your kind letter. Your shall be among the first to die when I slaughter all life on this planet in an orgy of madness and despair and your pathetic attempts to appease me with pointless flattery will not go unnoticed. I’m totally going to get around to doing that. Just not today. But, really. I’m all over that.

As for what to do about your boyfriend, that is a tough one. Mostly because your fleeting life is so pitiful and inconsequential as to be of little bother to me. But also I have had Randolph assist me in procuring something he calls “basic cable” in R’lyeh. While I know little of human technology, emotions, or need for continued existence there is something called the “Lifetime Channel” that I have been observing that appears to go into great detail about some of these matters.  As I understand it, you are under the impression that if you return to this “boyfriend” he may continue a cycle of suspicion and abuse and that approximately thirty twenty minutes later a woman shall attempt to sell you pine scented floor cleaner. I know not the purpose of this woman but she continues to interrupt my viewing and it does displease me! She is obviously some pathetic hero in your world. Her challenges to my authority and insults to the cleanliness of my floor have been noted and my wrath will be severe!

In the meantime, based upon all that I care to learn about your existence, I suggest you develop something that your internet literature refers to as a “revenge body.” According to these articles – at least what I can ascertain from such an unworthy tool of communication – the goal after a breakup is to make your former lover truly regret his or her misfortune in losing you by reshaping yourself.  If you spend the next half year or so working towards this goal and apply yourself to learning sufficient martial arts and assassination techniques then, when you do exercise your revenge, I suggest doing so in a manner befitting of the subject.  Quick maybe clean but it is hardly satisfactory. Enjoy your smiting and savor it much as you would a Hot Pocket marinated in the blood of a young goat with a side of lightly boiled Pabst Blue Ribbon.

After savoring the screams of the dying and damned, you should just go out there and find yourself a new boyfriend! Your work in what brings wealth can be achieved by rapidly shaking it as you would an infant in its crib, if I understand the terminology correctly,  and this is somehow intended to attract others. A mating ritual, I assume. Although, to be honest, I have little interest in your mating practices save for adding more souls for me to feast upon. Until that day, you should make the best of what little time you have left and find a person who does not mistreat you as it only cheapens the misery I will subject you to if you already have experience. Visit a local alcohol and debauchery dispenser, perhaps, or perhaps find a cult of like minded assassins and seek among their numbers for a potential mate.

I care not for your pitiful existence. I do not wish you well. I have nothing but contempt for you and all your kind.

Yours maliciously,


I believe I am to sign off with a kissy face here. Where do you find such a picture to insert?

I shall provide a link to one instead! My will shall not be denied by a mere human device!  Here is a face that kisses, wretched humans



According to Randolph my understanding of what a “revenge body” actually is was both incomplete and drew upon faulty assumptions. I have smashed him beneath a boulder for his insolence. 

I’ll resurrect him later. But, honestly. Does he take me for a fool? Revenge. Body. It’s right there in the name. Does he think I cannot read?