Dear Cthulhu: Issue #18



Dear Cthulhu,

My wife is a huge racing fan. She was that way when I married her but lately things have changed for the worse. She’s given herself the nickname “Speedy” and insists the kids and I call her that. She pretends like she can’t hear us if we don’t. Whenever we go somewhere, Speedy insists on driving. It’s not that I mind being chauffeured, it’s that she drives like she’s on a track. She’ll do upward of 80 MPH in a 30 zone. Speedy’s been pulled over a dozen times, but gets out of a ticket every time because her dad is the chief of police and her mom is a local judge.

I’ve tried to get her to go for counseling, but that only made it worse because the therapist made her get in touch with her inner driver. Now she will only turn left, which makes getting off a highway dangerous. Forget about local driving—we live in a part of New Jersey where they make you go right to go left. The bottom line is that we have three kids and I worry about their safety, especially when I go to work and leave them with their mother.

Worse still, she’s out in our garage souping up our minivan with nitrous oxide boosters. She bought a racing jumpsuit and a helmet, which she wears when she drives. Speedy painted a number on the sides of our minivan. That would be the least of it if I didn’t have to put up with the snickers and rude comments from the neighborhood guys, which wouldn’t even have been an issue if she had chosen any other number but 69.

The very worst part of it is she splits up all her errands. Instead of going to the grocery store, hair salon and auto parts store in one trip, she stops at the house in between each and expects me and the kids to act as her pit crew. The cost in tires in the past week was more than my last paycheck. When I talked to her about it, Speedy told me not to worry, that we’ll only have to pay for the tires until she lands a sponsor like Greatday or Hotrock Tires. Then she hit me with a tire iron when I suggested that since she wasn’t a real racer that might not happen and that it wasn’t safe to have the kids work on the car. Our three-year-old cut his hand and needed stitches after using the power impact wrench to take off the lug nuts and the eight-year-old went up like a Roman candle after the racing gas can backed up and dosed him and a spark set him on fire. Luckily I instantly doused him with the racing fire extinguisher Speedy keeps near the car, but he still lost all the hair on his arms and both eyebrows.

I’m at my wit’s end. If I leave her, her dad will make my life miserable and if I try to get custody of the kids, her mom will make sure whatever judge I get gives them to her. I’ve thought about cutting her brake lines, but I’m too worried I’ll get caught and I couldn’t be sure she wouldn’t have the kids in the car with her when the brakes fail. What can I do?

–Married To A Racest


Dear Married,

Once again, Cthulhu must state that humans should not kill humans. That pleasure is reserved for Cthulhu alone. I suggest first trying medication. If you can’t get a local physician to prescribe for your wife, maybe for you. Many humans seem to care less while on narcotics. There are several internet sites that will help you out, whether you decide to medicate yourself or your spouse. Of course, you will have to research which medication you feel will work the best and not have bad side effects. Without any medical background this will be a challenge, dangerous, and also fun.

I also recommend feeding into her psychosis. Find a local stock car race league and have her join. It is possible that racing for real may decrease her desire to pretend to race. And work hard to convince her that driving on the side decreases her potency on race day. Make up quotes to that effect from racers she admires and post them on the web under another name as if they are news, then show them to her as if you found them.

As for protecting your offspring, mention to her that most sponsors follow child labor laws, at least in their factories in the Untied States, so using child labor will hurt her chances of landing a sponsorship deal. Of course, that will leave you a one-man pit crew. If she stays in the car, use the power tool to make noises and move around like you are really changing the tires after spraying something foamy on her rear view mirrors so she can’t see. Wipe it off only after you are done. This should save your back and your tire bill.

Have A Dark Day.


Dear Cthulhu welcomes letters and questions at 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. Anyone foolish enough to follow the advice does so at their own peril.


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