Sunday, March 29, 2015

Introducing Baby to Solids, and Other Tales of Eldritch Horror

Once, Cthulu Azathoth roamed the deep dark. Absorbing nutrients directly from his host, he needed no nourishment while in his dreamless slumber.

But lo! At last came the time of Prophecy, when Cthulu Azathoth shot out from the womb in a mighty spray of amniotic fluid. (This actually happened.) His parasitic link to his host cut...

Cthulu Azathoth HOWLED!

His heart beating with vengeance, he nursed every ninety minutes, even at night. Larger and larger he grew, disdaining the size estimates of the clothing his worshippers attempted to place upon his godlike* frame. (*like fat Buddha)

And lo, another time of Prophecy came, the one written in the blood of the innocent: "And the tyme shall be upon us, when the drippings of the chosen shall fall like unto raindrops from the sky, into the maw of the Terrible One."

Cowering, trembling, Cthulu Azathoth's worshippers committed the dastardly deeds demanded by their dark lord. With the key word "dripping" in mind, they prepared the feasts that met the nutritional requirements of the developing Being. They ground up oatmeal and cooked it with water using a 2:1 ratio. They steamed carrots and pureed them. They instructed the daycare to begin the applesauce regimen.

But Cthulu Azathoth was unsatisfied with the meager drippings offered him! For unbeknownst to his worshippers, another, secret Prophecy existed, which spoke of feeding the baybay with pureed adult food. Once this was discovered, Cthulu Azathoth was plied with chicken and rice and beef pho, and he received solemn sacrifices of apple core, tiny slices of avocado and banana, fancy hotel bread, and granola bar chunks.

At last, Cthulu Azathoth began showing signs of satiety. Generously, he extended his nursing to every three hours (every two hours at night). His fearsome howls still rock the time of the moon, as is proper.

Soon it shall come, the Day of Ultimate Prophecy, when he decides to Wean, and then shall the wallets of his worshippers and the shelves of nearby grocery stores tremble in terror.

Until then, may we all shelter under the smile of Cthulu Azathoth. Ai! Ai! Cthulu! Ai! Ai! Cthulu!