I’m a HUGE fan with a very unusual problem. I’m a young male who knows I was born in the wrong body. Despite being a mortal male, I know I was meant to be an Ancient One and due to a cruel trick of fate I was instead born into a human body.
I’ve spent the better part of my adult life trying to set right this great wrong. I’ve tried to have plastic surgeons alter my appearance to what it should be, but none of them will touch me. It’s not fair. They’d give me boobs if I wanted, but when I ask for tentacles they have me committed. I was abused by my mother and sisters as a child and have several gender issues, so becoming a woman would be an even greater torture to endure than my current predicament.
I tried to do it myself. I attached bat wings to my back and sewed an octopus to my face. Unfortunately, I couldn’t reach my shoulder blades with needle and thread, so I had to back up against a stapler.
In the end, it didn’t work. The staple wounds got infected, although I loved the green color they turned. Also, the octopus flesh rotted and I ended up passing out from the stench. EMTs brought me to the ER and the damned doctors removed my tentacles and wings. They even thought a psycho had done that to me. When I told them I had done it to myself, I was committed again. This place is nothing like Arkham and they won’t let me out.
I was hoping you would recognize the greatness of your kind within me and come to my aid. Perhaps you could raze this place to the ground killing all within, except me of course. Then you could help me realize my true potential by hastening my transformation. Failing that, perhaps you could write a letter of recommendation to the board here telling them that I’m not a danger to myself or humanity as a whole. (Wink, wink.)
–Your Brother in Chaos
Although your ambitions are laudable, they are also laughable. The idea that a lowly human could ascend to become an Ancient One is preposterous.
Your plight has however moved me to intervene on your behalf. I have contacted the facility that currently holds you and pulled a few strings, threatened to devour a few souls and they agreed to bypass normal procedures and medical ethics. You are scheduled with a plastic surgeon next week. Sadly, they lack the skill and techniques to successfully do what you want, so I instructed them to do something they were more adept at. You’ll be a D cup by Tuesday.
By your next letter, you’ll be able to sign as my Sister in Chaos.
Have a dark day.
I recently found out I was adopted when my “mother” needed a kidney transplant. I volunteered to donate one of mine, but when the doctor did a test for compatibility, I flunked and she had to come clean and tell me the whole truth.
I’m devastated. It feels like my whole life is a lie. I want to find my real parents, to find out why they gave me up. Unfortunately, the adoption agency’s records are sealed and I don’t have enough money to hire a lawyer to get them opened.
Can you help me?
–Living a Lie in Lexington
What a joy it is to hear from you after all these years. I’m happy to say that I can indeed help you by telling you who your father is—it is I, Cthulhu.
Let me confess the truth, you were conceived during a drunken weekend in Las Vegas. Not that I was drinking, you understand, but those Shriners I devoured were another story…
When you where born, you took after your showgirl mother and sadly looked nothing like me. Your mother was too career oriented to want to raise a child and in my circles your appearance would have been a liability, so we felt it was best to give you up for adoption and a chance at a better life. I’m sorry it didn’t work out the way I hoped.
Sadly, your mother is no longer with us. During another drunken Vegas weekend, I accidentally ate her. It was an honest mistake. She was working on her new act and those swinging tassels sure looked like a couple of Shriners, as least with my booze goggles on.
I would love to see you again, although I’m embarrassed to admit that, like your adopted mother, I too am in need of a kidney. And a liver, heart, and spleen. Also some cocktail sauce. I would be honored for you, my son, to be able to give them to me, your loving father.
You are welcome to come visit me and donate the organs in person. If this is inconvenient for you, I can send some of my followers by to pick them up.
Remember a father’s hunger—I mean love—knows no bounds.
Dear Cthulhu welcomes letters and questions at DearCthulhu@dearcthulhu.com. All letters become the property of Dear Cthulhu and may be used in future columns. Dear Cthulhu is a work of fiction and satire and is © and ™ Patrick Thomas. All rights reserved.