Thousands of baby tarantula’s explode out of the cactus! I especially like the part about the police cars having special nets in their trunks just for this common emergency.
I fell for the one where if you get a traffic ticket and pay slightly over the amount, and don’t cash the refund check, then you won’t get any points against your license because the transaction is not “complete.”
I like the one about the honeymooning / vacationing couple who get their photos developed when they get home. They find photos of guys who broke into their hotel room, stuck the couples’ toothbrushes up their butts, and then took pictures. And the couple had obviously used the toothbrushes since … eeeuuuwww!!!
I’ve heard that one SO many times!!! Again, always a friend of a friend …
The one about Cthulhu…
[Collected from here]
[by fenris/Duck Duck Goose]
>>>Did you know that there are Elder Things born without
>>>tentacles? It’s TRUE. LITTLE LAME TIMMY CTHULHU was only born
>>>with three PSEUDOPODS! BUT a CHRISTMAS MIRACLE HAPPENED!
>>>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!”
>>>
>>>LITTLE TIMMY CTHULHU’s THING-THAT-SPAWNED-HIM wept. “OH! IF only
>>>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!
>>>LITTLE TIMMY CTHULHU was overjoyed! “THING-THAT-SPAWNED ME!
>>>THING-THAT-SPAWNED ME!” It cried! “Look! Santa and SHUB-NIGGURATH
>>>heard my prayers and brought me a puppy!” And with that,
>>>LITTLE TIMMY
>>>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
>>>Miracle!
Fenris
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.
Next time you hear it you can Reply All with this link. 
One of my favourites is the Hippy Babysitter 'cuz, like, that could totally happen. Babies ARE Butterballs™.
That whole ‘blowing into the vagina thing’ has now totally freaked me out.
Maybe there is a reason why certain religions frown on oral sex.
I wonder if anything bad happens if she blows while… ummmm… blowing you?
brrrrrr
BTW, if you like urban legends and are interested in the slightly more academic side of their creation, distribution, and meaning, the first book referenced in the link is a good one: Brunvand, Jan Harold’s The Vanishing Hitchhiker.
And I like this one, which I hadn’t seen before today: The Backwards Biker.
Mine is that Mikey died from drinking Coke & eating Pop Rocks
Gravity.
When I was a sophomore in high school, my social-studies teacher told this tale. As he related it, however, his friend had bought a Volkswagen (definitely not a “luxury vehicle”). When said friend discovered the bolts hidden in one of the wheels, the message read: “How do you like your car, you American imperialist pig?” Apparently the worker “knew” the car was being shipped to the USA because of the non-metric speedometer, the “fact” that the particular Beetle was a special limited edition for the American market, or some similar reason.
I also like the rumors that “lost shipments” of eighty-year-old but otherwise factory-condition Model T Fords are occasionally discovered in abandoned railroad yards. And, speaking of trains, I can’t resist mentioning the “Send the Bedbug Letter!” tale.
another good collection of Urban Legends are the books by Roger Roper (of Ebert and Roper fame). and my favoites are the baby on the car roof, and the midnight scream murder
The one when the students write a list of what they like about their classmates. We come to find out, they all kept, and treasure, their lists.
The one when the students write a list of what they like about their classmates. We come to find out, they all kept, and treasure, their lists.
Orson Welles almost produced a Batman movie in 1946. OK, maybe it’s more a hoax than an urban legend, but still… Jimmy Cagney as the Riddler? Basil Rathbone as the Joker? The mind reels.
Small nitpick, dctaz, it’s Richard Roeper.
Jeanster said (re: the Teddy Stoddart story), “It’s my favorite because it’s so touching it brought tears to my eyes.”
I’ll tell you what’ll bring tears to your eyes…that 25 year old bottle of perfume the teacher wore to the wedding. Holy shit, that’s gotta be liquid evil by now!
The urban legend part being, of course, that there are any chihuahuas that are not sewer rats. 
I like the kidney thieves one, and of course, this one is always an interesting urban legend.