Dear Cthulhu: Issue #15



Dear Cthulhu,

My partner and I recently went pro at women’s beach volley ball. We made it to the finals, but the competition was fierce. I was worried they’d beat us. I knew whoever won that tournament would also get a bikini endorsement and I wanted that money, so when the opportunity came to drug our opponents drinks right before the match, I took it.

We won, two games to one.

The only problem is, now I feel guilty. Suggestions?

–Setter in Seattle


Dear Setter,

I can understand why you would feel guilty. The other team was drugged and it still took you three games to beat them. Not only should you feel guilty, you should be ashamed.

I suggest that next time you consider using stronger drugs or train harder. Probably both.



Dear Cthulhu,

I’m normally a very quiet guy. I don’t go out much and my dating history with women was bleak, unless you count when I went to my senior prom with my twelve-year-old cousin. Of course, after less than an hour she left me for one of the guys in the band.

That all changed a week ago when I met “Jane.” She was a freshman at the local college. She was blond and built like a centerfold. Jane was even a cheerleader in high school.

I was out in a local bar and when she picked me up, I could barely believe it. I was in heaven. A gorgeous girl was interested in me. We had a whirlwind romance. I took her out to all the best fast food restaurants, sent her a dozen carnations every day—you know swept her off her feet.

Then at the end of the week it happened—we did the deed. I rocked her world for a good four minutes! I know, because every minute I stopped to look at the clock. I’ve got to tell you, I finally felt like a man, which at 44 was probably long overdue.

The next day is when the problems started. I called her at least twenty times that morning and another thirty that afternoon and she didn’t return a single one. Things went on like that for another three days until she showed up at my apartment, a scarf wrapped around her head and sunglasses on.

She wanted to talk to me. Jane was pledging a sorority and her hazing included having to sleep with me. She said that everything that happened meant nothing. In fact, she was embarrassed about what happened and she never wanted to be seen with me again. I didn’t even rate the “let’s be friends” speech. No, she told me I was creeping her out and to stop calling or she’d call the cops.

Looking back, I should have insulted her or spit in her face, then yelled at her to get out. Maybe tell her how much money I was going to make selling the video of her naked on the internet. (She hadn’t noticed the camera.) But I tend to follow my emotions first and my head second, so I kind of ended up strangling her.

My emotions still running the show, I decided the best way to get rid of the body was to cut her up into little pieces and flush them down the toilet. I tried my gonzo knives. They may cut through a tin can, but human bones are another thing. I ended up buying a hacksaw and an industrial size food processor.

The disposal worked pretty good, up until the end. I admit I got lazy and started putting larger pieces down the crapper than I should have, but I had been slicing and flushing for fourteen hours straight and I was tired.

I ended up plugging the toilet. I tried plunging, even poured a gallon of Liquid Plunger down, but nothing happened. I’m worried that if I call a plumber, he’ll figure out what happened. At the very least he’ll ask why the water in the bowl is purple. (Its normal blue mixed with all the blood and it turned that color.)

What can I do to clean out my pipes?

–Backed Up In Baltimore


Dear Backed Up,

Cthulhu would again like to state his policy that humans should not kill people, Cthulhu should. But as it is too late in this case, I order you to never do it again and I will overlook it this once.

I suggest going to your local hardware store and purchasing a tool called a snake. You will be able to work it through the pipe and it should clear the blockage.

I also suggest canceling your plans to sell the video on the web. It would eventually lead law enforcement to your door asking questions you would not want to answer.



Dear Cthulhu,

I am eight years old and have lost my best friend Wags. We’ve looked everywhere, but haven’t been able to find him.

Mr. Cthulhu, I’m desperate. Do you know where my dog is?

–Lonely in LA


Dear Lonely,

As a matter of fact, I do. A pity you did not actually ask me to tell you where your dog was. Write in again if you really want to know, but I recommend you hurry. Poor Wags does not have much time left.

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.


Dear Cthulhu: Issue #13



Dear Cthulhu,

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


Dear “Brother”,

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.


Dear Cthulhu,

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


Dear 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 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.