The Coming of Ol' Squidface

It happened, as many thought it would, with a sacrifice.

On 1 July 2016, police in London discovered the mutilated remains of thirty known prostitutes in a disused warehouse. The bodies were arranged in what could only be described as a ritualistic pattern, their abdomens flayed open and their organs torn out, apparently on the night of the summer solstice. In the weeks that followed more than fifty members of a religious cult calling itself Herald of the Old Ones were arrested, but it was too late.

Deep in the Pacific Ocean, the demonic overlord began to stir. He had lain undisturbed for thousands of years, sleeping while the world played out above him. But the souls taken that night gave him the additional strength he needed to awaken.

He would return.

On 30 November, the population of London was taken somewhat aback as a gigantic creature that looked somewhat like a hybrid of gorilla, dragon and octopus waded up the river Thames. With ease, the terror form ripped through the Queen Elizabeth II Bridge and immediately halted all clockwise traffic on the M25. Ignoring the beeping horns of a thousand pissed-off commuters, it continued to wade inexorably upstream, trampling the Woolwich Ferry and decapitating all the buildings at Canary Wharf with a swish of its tail. In all honesty, nobody really gave a shit about that one.
    Finally, the giant horror arrived in the Pool of London and kicked over Tower Bridge, much to the fury of anyone trying to cross the river. Pausing for a moment to stare down at the terrified populace fleeing in its wake, the towering hellspawn looked upon a scene of angry Londoners giving it the finger.
    “The fuck am I supposed to get to work now, you fuckin’ plum?” it heard a voice in the crowd bellow.
    “All shall fall before me,” it shrieked in an ethereal voice like an infinite number of monkeys clawing their nails down an infinite number of blackboards, “for I am Cthulhu, the greatest of the Old Ones, ravager of worlds, smiter of civilizations, the sorrow of all...”
    “You’re fuckin’ up my commute!” another voice yelled.
    “But, doest thou not look upon my countenance and know true horror?” Cthulhu asked, somewhat nonplussed at the reaction he was getting.
    “You look like a bad special effect,” a voice shouted, which was immediately followed by a chorus of insults aimed at the Old One’s appearance. At one point he managed to pick out the phrase “Godzilla face-fucking a giant squid”.
    “Enough!” he bellowed in exasperation. “I have awakened; I shall lay waste to your world!”
    “Just about sums up 2016, don’t it?” somebody yelled. “Bowie, Brexit, Donald fuckin’ Trump and now this! You want to ruin the world? Get in the fuckin’ queue!”

It was later acknowledged that Cthulhu simply sloped off back down the river, treading on Southend as he went in pure peevishness, grumbling that maybe he’d try again next year.

2016. It’s been shit for everyone.