Elder God Glurge (or Little Timmy Cthulhu's Christmas Miracle)

>>>Did you know that there are Elder Things born without
>>>tentacles? It’s TRUE. LITTLE LAME TIMMY CTHULHU was only born
>>>LET Me tell you about how LITTLE TIMMY CTHULHU’s childlike
>>>FAITH in Christmas and SHUB-NIGGURATH made a CHRISTMAS
>>>MIracle! It ALL started when LITTLE TIMMY CTHULHU’s crutches broke! “THING-THAT-SPAWNED ME?” it asked “I know
>>>we don’t have enough money to buy me a new crutch AND get me a
>>>puppy. But I really, really want a new puppy! I can limp to
>>>Elder God’s school!”
>>>someone could help us!” It cried, knowing that as a responsible
>>>THING-THAT-SPAWNED, it had no choice but to buy the crutches knowing that it would break at least two of LITTLE TIMMY CTHULHU’S hearts.
>>>That night, before oozing into it’s sleeping nodule, LITTLE TIMMY CTHULHU
>>>said his prayers “SHUB-NIGGURATH and SANTA, please bring me a new puppy for Christmas!”
>>>Meanwhile, out in the big city of Lost R’yleh, a puppy just happened
>>>to escape from the Pound! Many ELDER THINGS were chasing it, and it was
>>>scared and alome! It ran and ran, and where do you suppose
>>>it ran? That’s right! Right through LITTLE TIMMY CTHULHU’s open window!
>>>THING-THAT-SPAWNED ME!” It cried! “Look! Santa and SHUB-NIGGURATH
>>>heard my prayers and brought me a puppy!” And with that,
>>>CTHULHU popped the puppy into it’s gaping maw and crunched it up
>>>it three bites! Yummy! It was the BEST Christmas EVER!
>>>That puppy COULDN’T have escaped from the pound on it’s own,
>>>and even if it had, only the guiding pseudopod of SHUB-NIGGURATH could
>>>have guided the puppy straight into LITTLE TIMMY CHTULHU’s gaping maw!
>>>So remember, if you’re down and out this Christmas, remember to have faith
>>>in SHUB-NIGIRATH and remember LITTLE TIMMY CTHULHU’s Christmas


There is something so wrong about that…


Fenris found some Lovecraft at the used book store, I see.

Me likes.

Fenris, that story touched my heart. No, wait, further down, not that far, I think it touched my spleen. Maybe my duodenum. Whatever; I was touched.
[sub]I just KNEW that puppy was gonna get et.[/sub] :slight_smile:

Here’s wishing all the Dopers a Scary Christmas and a Happy Chthannukah!

Lux Fiat is gonna be jealous he didn’t come up with this first.

Aw, geez. I don’t usually tear up at these Christmas stories…
That was beautiful, man!

It’s because of doing things like that that people don’t send me glurge anymore.

I kinda miss it, I guess.


Hey, cool! And anybody can play–go to Snopes’ Glurge Gallery and pick one.


A Brother’s Song

Like any good mother, when Karen found out that another baby was on the way, she did what she could do to help her 3-year-old son, Michael, prepare for a new sibling. They found out that the new baby was going to be a girl, and day after day, night after night, Michael would sing to his sister in Mommy’s tummy. Sometimes he told Mommy, “Sister’s singing back to me, Mommy”, but Mommy just smiled indulgently and told him, “Sweetie, sister’s just a fetus, she can’t sing yet.” But Michael knew better. He knew he’d heard his sister singing to him, strange songs of an earlier time before the great city of R’lyeh sank forever beneath the oceans, and Cthulhu sent strange dreams to bedevil the minds of puny men.

The pregnancy progressed normally for Karen. Then the labor pains came.

Every five minutes . . . every minute. But complications arose during delivery. Hours of labor. A C-Section was required. Finally, Michael’s little sister was born, but she was in serious condition. “Oh my God!” screamed the obstetrician in horror, as he pulled the wet, dripping infant from her helpless mother’s belly. Hurriedly the baby was bundled up in hospital linens by the appalled, sickened nurses and rushed to an ambulance.

With sirens howling in the night, the ambulance rushed the infant to the neonatal intensive care unit at St. Mary’s Hospital in Knoxville, Tennessee.

The days inched by. The little girl got worse. Specialists from all over the country were called to St. Mary’s, and went away again, baffled, frightened, and revolted by the child’s appearance. The head of the pediatric team told the parents, “We’ve never seen anything like this, anywhere on Earth. There is little hope. Be prepared for the worst. You may need to send for–a priest.”

Karen and her husband contacted a local cemetery about a burial plot. The had fixed up a special room in their home for the new baby. Now they began planning a funeral–and an exorcism. Michael kept begging his parents to let him see his sister, “I want to sing to her,” he insisted.

Week two in intensive care. It looked as if a funeral would come before the week was over. Michael kept nagging about singing to his sister, but siblings are never allowed in Neonatal Intensive Care.

Karen made up her mind. She would take Michael whether they liked it or not. If he didn’t see his sister now, he would never see her alive.

She dressed him in an oversized scrub suit and marched him into the ICU. He looked like a walking laundry basket, but the head nurse recognized him as a child and bellowed in shock, “Get that kid out of here now! We don’t know whether it might be contagious!” The National Guardsmen stationed in the ICU tried to stop her, too, weapons at the ready.

But “mother love” rose up strong in Karen, and the usually mild-mannered lady glared steel-eyed into the head nurse’s face, her lips a firm line. “He is not leaving until he sings to his sister, no matter what she looks like, or whether it’s contagious.”

Karen towed Michael to his sister’s bedside, right past the SWAT teams holding flamethrowers. He gazed at the tiny misshapen infant losing the battle to live. And he began to sing. In the pure-hearted voice of a 3-year-old, Michael sang:

“Eeon giiuslkkly ghtllthl Cthulhu lckklecp grwwwz—”

Instantly the baby girl responded. Her pulse rate became calm and steady, and the queer violet glow that was coming from her body began to strengthen.

“Gorrxkklcpoe dkkjc wwrddth cclcke cmmwldl—”

The ragged strained breathing became as smooth as a kitten’s purr.

“Mnen ycm Yuggoth poijid djckls—”

Michael’s little sister relaxed as rest, healing rest, seemed to sweep over her. Tears conquered the face of the bossy head nurse. The baby glowed. And glowed. And glowed.

“Wryglige nyetyo rwegr kdlsdkk Cthulhu—”

Suddenly, with a flash of blinding purple light, Michael was consumed in eerily glowing flames which seem to reach out greedily towards him from his sister’s tiny body. A few moments later, the flames had died down, and the gasping onlookers could see that the infant had grown at least a foot–and also a number of tentacles. As a matter of fact, both children now had long, slimy tentacles sprouting from their small chests. But brother and sister looked lovingly deep into each other’s eyes, and there were matching sparks of violet light in all six of them.

Funeral plans were scrapped. The next day, the very next day, the little girl was well enough to go home! Woman’s Day magazine called it “the miracle of a brother’s song.” The medical staff just called it a miracle.

Michael and his sister just called home.

And the next day, home answered.

Little Timmy Cthulhu’s Christmas Miracle A Hallmark Hall of Fame presentation. Tonight at eight, seven central. Starring Pam Dawber and Malcolm Jamal-Warner.

With a special appearance by Lee Majors as Yog-Sothoth.

I’m definitely sending this to all my friends.

Snicker. It’s the “THING-THAT-SPAWNED” bit that really makes it art.

Actually, I’m at a public terminal in the library, and I’ve been trying so hard to squelch the guffaws, I think I ruptured the area of my brain responsible for jealousy, so I can’t feel jealous at all, or the entire left side of my body for that matter.

Oh, god.

This is exactly the sort of depravity that makes me wish I still had to to spend on these boards.

Good Job.

“Little Yuggie wasn’t Evil, just horribly, horribly misunderstood.”
Pepper Mill came across that someplace. She doesn’t remember where.

It just seems to fit.

Special Creature Effects by Jim Henson’s Creature Shop.

Directed by Tobe Hooper.

Rated TV-MA.

(Hey, how do you pronounce “Cthulu”, anyway?)

“C’thOO lOO”, or, less formally: “AAuughaaAAAIIIiiiiinonnonoohgodsavemehelphelphelpnoooooo…”.


Rated TV-BHC: Beyond Human Comprehension. Not suitable for creatures exsisting in less then eight dimensions.

Printed out and posted by the schedule. They already think I’m strange.