Cthulhu returned home from another day of drudgery at the R'lyeh Sooper Thrift. As he did every day, he cursed that insipid tyrannical troll of a manager, but his curses weren't all that effective recently. He had seen better days, that was sure. He was particularly irked by the discipline he had received after that nasty twit buying a lottery ticket had taunted him.
He sat down wearily at his desk. He had decided to write another letter to Them, trying to persuade Them he had the Right Stuff to join the Committee. He was just going through the motions, however, because he knew he hadn't a chance anymore. Part of his brooding eternal mind resented the part of him that caused him to humiliate himself in this way.
And the kicker was the way they kept disdainfully calling him Kapoopoo. That really pissed him off. Names are things you don't mess around with in these parts. He could feel himself getting weaker, fading from existence, every time they screwed up his name. He wondered if they knew what they were doing to him when they did that.
But in the dark places where the horrors come from, the place fondly remembered as his earliest home, something was stirring, growing gleefully larger and more powerful. It was shaping itself, forging its own nature, because it had nothing else to go on. Kapoopoo was the name that was calling it forth, but all else was its own making. It wasn't ready yet. It wouldn't be ready for a long time, but what is time in eternity? It's a tiny bunny, that's all. Kapoopoo ain't afraid of no tiny bunnies.