I, Shub-Niggurath, Don't Understand How Stephen Miller's Parents Did Not Eat Him As A Child

Geez, he's such a little asshole.

Grovel, humans! Grovel and quail for mercy as my hideous form materializes before you! For I am currently the least of your problems.

I, Shub-Niggurath, the Black Goat of the Woods with a Thousand Young, may be evil, I may absorb you through my womb and rebirth you as a satyr-like monstrosity, I may be of such hideous countenance with my black tentacles and mouths that drip slime that no ordinary human can look upon me without expiring from terror, I may demand you summon my dark young with a human sacrifice upon a stone altar during the blackest moon.

But at least I’m not Stephen Miller.

What is it with that worm? Was he raised in privation and constant terror by the Elder Things under the Antarctic ice shelf until his mind was as broken as surely as his body upon the wheel? Did his parents never hug him?

Listen, I, Shub-Niggurath, the Black Goat of the Woods with a Thousand Young, know from problem children. My twins Zhar the Twin Obscenity and Lliogor the Star-Treader were such assholes that the Elder Gods imprisoned them in the vast and lightless canyons beneath the lake of dread. They reside there to this day, tentacles entwined, humming their song ... humming ...

And my other child Byatis the Serpent-Bearded kept eating all the townsfolk in Berkley, until he got so big and ravenous that he ate his keeper and was trapped in the dungeon beneath Sir Gilbert Morley’s castle. Oh, I tried to warn him. I tried to sell him on portion control. I tried to send him to fat camp. But did he listen to his mother? No, he did not.

I, Shub-Niggurath, Have Chosen The Lesser Beings That Will Serve In My Presidential Cabinet

Silence! Shub-Niggurath, the Black Goat of the Woods with a Thousand Young, will not tolerate parenting criticism from creatures so beneath me. You are all offal. You are the wretched effluvium my tentacles leave behind Me as I walk amongst you while you cower and void your bowels and pray for deliverance from a God that has forsaken you.

You are not cowering. Why do you not cower?

Ah, I see. With Stephen Miller ranting on television all the time, you no longer need fear Shub-Niggurath, the Black Goat of the Woods with a Thousand Young. Once you have listened to this or this or this, the unearthly howling creatures I continually spit out between the razor-sharp teeth of my many mouths don’t seem that terrifying.

But does Stephen Miller have followers? Does he have the gof’nn hupadgh Shub-Niggurath, my once-human worshipers whom I have absorbed into my miasmatic womb and rebirthed as glorious soul-eaters? Does he have the Dark Young of Shub-Niggurath, the tree-sized half-goat creatures that drip a viscous green goo and smell like death, and are totally and completely loyal to Me?

Oh. All of ICE, you say. No, you’re right, they may not be evil demon imps spit out from the bowels of hell by Hastur the Unspeakable himself, but they are no picnic.

Make Me, Shub-Niggurath, Your House Speaker, Or Be Cast Into Death Beyond Death, Mortals.

You try so hard to raise them right. You try to teach them respect. You try to teach them that they can roam the vast arctic wastes all their millennia of existence if that’s what they want, but would it kill them to call their parents every once in awhile? Or summon us? Or at a minimum connect our minds across the vast cosmos using the ancient telepathy of the Oldfathers and let us know how they’re doing?

Perhaps Miller’s parents did not discipline him properly. My grandfather, Azathoth the Blind Idiot God, used to have a saying: You oughta hit those kids with the book instead of reading out of it. What can I say? It was the ‘70s and everyone was reading Dr. Spock.

Enough, quislings! Shub-Niggurath, the Black Goat of the Woods with a Thousand Young, cares not for your snickering! Be quiet, or I shall have my son Ithaqua the Wind-Walker swallow you into his bowels, where you will spend an eternity drowning in the nauseating stench.

You want to talk about parenting problems. None of Ithaqua’s kids even speak to him. Miller may have been renounced by almost his entire extended family, but my husband the Not-To-Be-Named-One, who knows and sees all of time-space at once, tells me his parents at least have not cut him out.

Perhaps Miller’s parents are also terrified of whatever fate awaits them if they displease him? It is one thing to be whisked into the cornfield. It is another to be driven mad by visions of the endless eons of darkness and gore and the crows your progeny will command to spend eternity pecking out your eyeballs. Just because you wouldn’t let him stay up late to watch Knight Rider as a child.

Next to that, perhaps the children of Shub-Niggurath the Black Goat of the Woods with a Thousand Young are not so terrible. Perhaps it has not been millennia of total failure on the parenting front.

Sigh. I, Shub-Niggurath the Black Goat of the Woods with a Thousand Young, am now depressed. Does anyone want to get brunch?

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