By Damien Hirst. The sculpture is located inside the Lever House in Manhattan.

motherly armor [Flickr] : uploaded by Eliane : Morbid Anatomy

I’m not big on children, with the exception of their use as a source of nourishment. However, if I did take a break from my daily regiment of jolting my testicles with a cattle prod and imbibing gallons of Mountain Dew long enough to allow me to spawn, I would most certainly begin educating my future cultist with Baby’s First Mythos, written by C.J. Henderson and featuring illustrations by Erica Henderson. The inscription for the two plates above should lay to rest any doubts that this should be added to your clandestine curriculum:

D is for DAGON,
Because he’s one of the gods,
And not for the Deep Ones,
Who’re a step up from frogs.

4 is for the NIGHTGAUNTS,
Who abandon victims in the Vale of Pnath.

I for one would not trust America’s educational system -or any other’s for that matter with, perhaps, the exception of Leng’s- to teach my vaginally excreted, uterine parasite child traditional Cthulian values. Would you?

Baby’s First Mythos [Z-Man] : Lux Mentis, Lux Orbis

That’s right. I said it. I don’t care. Look at the above picture. Just look at it. You still doubt me? Think back to your bagged lunch in school, then look back at that picture. See? Bet your Fluffer-nutter sandwich doesn’t seem so special anymore, does it? Better off that you had never been born at all, than suffer the embarrassment you feel now.

Everyone, call your mothers and tell them how scarred you are now, having seen this. Let them feel the sting of shame! Feel free to also email them images from this collection of lunches prepared by a better, more artistic, Japanese mom. That should show them just how little they did for you.

E-obento [Bibi’s box] : Make : Nonlinear Girl

As a followup to Brownlee’s earlier clip of a haunting exchange between monotone mother and slaphappy son, I present that educational movie in its entirety: The ABC’s of Sex Education for Trainables.

Based on commentary from the Peanut Gallery in the original post, it appears that this video was intended as fodder for functionally retarded children (I assume the word “trainable” refers to such).

But once again, Fate bares her slavering fangs to Ectomo, and grants us this boon: the opening scene depicts the exact method of successfully selling a moustache ride. Watch and learn, my sweetlings, and be sure to paw and fumble at as much retard hair as humanly possible while making your pitch.

Thanks to Peanuteer Brian Schlosser for giving us this link.

A clip from a 1970’s educational film strip on how to talk to your children when you catch them masturbating. The preload image alone in the embedded YouTube clip is a good idea of the horror to come.

Ricky — a dead-eyed youth with a face pocked by melanoma — stares without blinking at the ceiling while woodenly masturbating. As he does so, his door knob begins to turn slowly, ominously, like the door knob in a zombie movie. The door opens and his mother — a flabby, emotionless polyp of a woman — enters his room without knocking. Despite Ricky earlier appearance of soullessness and the fact that he is covered with a sheet and could easily have passed himself off as taking a nap, the boy wildly overreacts, flailing his limbs wildly around him, gasping and fumbling with himself. Smooth, Ricky. Now she’ll know you were jerking it.

And she does. But his mother is understanding. “Oh, I’m sorry, Ricky. I did see what you were doing. It’s all right.” she says calmly, her voice atonal and utterly drained of feeling. “It felt good, didn’t it?”

Ricky simply stares at her, a dollop of drool forming at the bottom of his lower lip. This is the first sign that debilitating psychological trauma is kicking in.

“I’m glad you’ve decided to do this in the privacy of your own room,” the mother continues, clearly referring to Ricky’s uncle Randall and the men’s restroom adventures of the same, “When you’re a little older, we’ll talk more about these feelings and what causes them and how we can control these feelings. I’m sorry I intruded on your privacy. I’ll be sure to knock next time.”

And then, as if in reverse motion, his mother calmly leaves the room, leaving Ricky shaking in the fetal position. Unfortunately, the clip ends there, leaving many pressing questions unanswered, not least of which is whether or not Ricky managed to finish up.

Caught in the Act [YouTube] : POETV

It was only just a few weeks ago that my aged mother didn’t even know who Cthulhu was. Certainly, she’d never come across his phonemically impossible name in any of the romance novels that I’m never, ever, ever supposed to tell anyone that she reads. The first time the wonderful old pigeon asked me about Cthulhu, she innocently inquired, “How many moustaches does Cthulhu have?” and looked hurt when I shook my belly full of laughter in her direction.

Fast forward three weeks? My mother has turned into an Eldritch thing, fully embracing the Cthulhoid Cult. She’s purchased over 20 Cthulhu toys in the last few days. And the darling, darling woman has given them all to Ectomo to distribute to our readers as we’d like.

So Ectomo is pleased to announce the start of our Cthulhu Cthursday giveaways. Every week, we’re going to give away at least one Cthulhu toy. Unfortunately, we’re impoverished of contest ideas.

So how’s this for meta? Best Cthulhu Cthursday contest idea gets a large Superhero Cthulhu doll. Second best idea wins a smaller Secret Agent Cthulhu. And we’ll throw in a Cthulu action figure to both winners.

To enter, just drop your entry into the comments. Make sure to give your love to my Mom while you’re at it: she deserves it. We’ll announce winners next week.

(Pictured above: Margaret Ruth sluts it up with Elvis Cthulhu, Superhero Cthulhu, Dracula Cthulhu and Secret Agent Cthulhu on my Mother’s couch.)

Like many of you, I have been exposed to countless stuffed Cthulhus over the last couple of years. It makes sense: not only is Cthulhu the most snuggable elder god (with his many mouth-tentacles providing tempting protrusions for suckling, like the ears of a teddy bar mouthed sleepily in the pink gummy mouth of an infant) but he’s practically the only plushy a furry would think twice about fitting with an artificial vagina. ALL HAIL STUFFED CTHULHU.

But the link below has possibly the most comprehensive shopping gallery of stuffed Cthulhus I’ve ever seen. Some of these I’ve definitely come across before, but some are delightfully new to me: Dracula Cthulhu! Elvis Cthulhu! Secret Agent Cthulhu! Super Cthulhu! And Miskatonic U. Cthulhu!

I come across it thanks to my tiny, aged mother, who passed along the link and offered to buy me one as a housewarming present for Berlin. Her budget is $100. Tell me, oh my Ectodroogs, which one should I get? We’ll put it up for vote.

Also, I am giving you a homework assignment: my mother — who has never read Lovecraft, dislikes monsters and as recently as two weeks ago innocently asked me how many “moustaches” Cthulhu had — has decided that a Cthulhu Lawn Ornament would be the perfect addition to her garden, which already houses a hippo and a frog. Make it so and I will buy her one as a gift from all of us. Such mothers should be doted upon.

Cthulhu Plush Toys and Statues [Troll and Toad]