I'm getting depressed.

Maybe it's the weather, but I'm a little bored in this cage.

Hmm.

Still, I suppose I deserve it.

I've been reluctant to talk about it much, cause I really feel awful about it, but basically, I killed about 65 people last week.

I never should have gotten on that bus.

It was a packed, post-Thanksgiving Chinatown bus, and by the time we were on the road to New York, it was about 12:30. Normally, it takes about four and-a-half hours to get to New York, and I guess I was just in denial that I couldn't make it back in time. Even if I did make it back by 5:00, it would already be getting dark, and I'd be at Port Authority, right off Times Square, which could be even worse. I entertained a brief fantasy of getting off the bus, running into The Lion King, and showing those fucking puppets what a real beast looked like, and was again was snapped back to reality when I saw a little boy- about 8 years old- sitting in the seat behind me, playing with an etch-a-sketch. Was I going to kill that kid?

Fuck.

As I sat on the bus, it got darker and darker, and I started to look at the faces of everyone. There were college students, old Chinese guys, Grandmothers, babies- it was too much to process. At one point I wondered what it would be like if I changed into the wolf and bit a Chinese baby. Like, didn't eat him or anything, just gave him a little bite.

If that happened, this city would be dealing with a tiny Chinese werewolf baby running around, which is in equal parts adorable and terrifying. I briefly wondered if the tiny Chinese werebaby would preternaturally know Kung Fu, and transform into a three foot high chubby wolf ninja, whirling, biting and snarling, as it hucked Chinese stars into people from 80 feet away before leaping onto their heads and knawing through their necks. I quietly chastised myself for being racist, and with that negative thought came even darker ones.

I had anticipated what I might have to do, and with the close call with my family the night before still fresh in my mind, I had made some preparations. In my carry-on bag, I was carrying four thin razor blades and a pair of handcuffs.

I squinted out the window at the signs on the freeway, now difficult to make out in the dusk.


"New York City: 45 miles."


I wasn't going to make it.

As the sun began to shrink in the sky, I slipped the razors and cuffs from my shoulder bag to the pocket of my sweatshirt, and excused myself to walk back to the bathroom wondering if I would ever again hear music. Weird thought, I know.

Now it's an undeniable fact that the sloshing, smelly restroom of a moving bus is not an ideal place to spend even a few minutes of your life, so you can imagine how unpleasant it is to wrap your head around the idea that it is there where you will be spending the FINAL minutes of your life.

As I moved towards the back of the bus, I was walking rather unsteadily. My eyes were full of tears as I tried the door.

Locked.

You have GOT to be fucking kidding me.

I rattled the door.

"Hey- excuse me?"

No answer.

"Uh- anybody in there?

I knocked, to silence. I wiped the tears from my eyes, turned to the old Chinese couple in the seat next to the bathroom, and said "Is anybody in there?"

They nodded in the affirmative, obviously not able to speak English, and the man made a comical gesture of a man drinking from a bottle. Great. He then took his index finger and spun it around his head to indicate that the person currently in the restroom was either drunk, or crazy. He nodded with glee.

I responded with what I had intended to be a sigh of frustration, but turned out to be a long, low rumbling growl. The couple started back in their seats- shocked.

"I'm sorry-" I said- "Aghhh!"

A jolt of pain went up my spine, and I felt the onset of the power panic. It was starting.

Soon.

I turned to the door, felt my jaw buckle, and with a voice fueled by rage beyond that which I am normally capable of said "I need you out of there- NOW!"

As I said the word "Now, " which sounded more animal than human, my fists and forearms smashed literally THROUGH the upper part of the door, shattering it inwards on itself, raining debris down upon the wino who was slumped on the toilet.

That's kinda when all hell broke loose.

It seemed like every passenger who didn't see what was going on was getting up and turning around, only to see every single passenger who DID see what was going on getting up and running directly towards them.

Screams filled the bus.

Oh, and hey- do you guys remember that entry when I wanted to see what my hands looked like when I changed? Well, I know now. I had smashed the entire top one-third of the door in on itself, and as I reached into the bathroom, I grabbed the wino by his lapels with a pair of hands that I did not recognize as my own. I could feel my fingers growing, and my nails getting longer as I pulled him off the toilet, through the hole, and literally threw him about nine rows of seats towards the front of the bus.

The bus was swerving like crazy, and as I felt another car hit us, I threw myself over the top of the shattered door and into the bathroom doing almost a full flip as I landed on my backside, with that sloppy, blue, bus toilet water splashing everywhere.

There was a horrible screeching of tires and I remember desperately getting the handcuffs out of my sweatshirt and affixing my arm (which half-resembled a paw at that point) to the steel handrail, which was securely attached to the side of the wall. As the change came, there was shrieking coming from the bus, and I remember being jolted incredibly hard against the wall and then spinning, free form. Whatever had happened, the bus was now in the air, and was spinning, for an amount of time that seemed to go on forever, yet ended instantly.

Car crashes are weird like that.

When the motion stopped, there was no doubt about it. I was a werewolf, chained to the inside of an upside down bus, railing and howling at the world. It was the fire that snapped me out of it.

Now, I'm not saying that I was per say, *rational* when I saw and felt the fire, but there was a certain animal instinct to GET OUT.

With one swift pull, I broke the handcuffs, and smashed out of the bathroom door, standing on the ceiling of the bus, which was upside down and littered with bodies. Sensing motion, I turned to my left, and saw the little boy I had seen earlier. The one with the etch-a-sketch. His face was frozen with fear, and I could see by the twisted position of his leg that it was badly broken. With a snarl I didn’t intend, I opened my jaws and walked over to him, poised to feed.

Just then, I smelled the gas, and it was time to go.

Grabbing the boy by the lapels of his jacket, I got up on two feet and ran for the windshield- smashing through it just as the fireball enveloped the bus, blasting us more than 40 feet away into a grassy patch just off the ravine that the bus ended up in.

I had grabbed the boy because I had wanted to- well... let's be honest here- eat him, but as he rolled away from me, I realized that not only was he still alive, but I was on fire.

I know I should have stopped, dropped and rolled, but in my frenzied state, I didn't make any decisions. I was already running away as soon as I even knew I was on fire.

I took off from the wreckage, leaving the boy behind, and managed to leap into a river. I don't know which one, I don't know how I found it, I don't know much, other than I was happy to not be on fire anymore.

Being on fire is weird like that.

I hope the kid made it- and I still wonder about my motivation. Did I save that kid because there still was something human in me? Or was I just reluctant to have my next meal burned up in the fireball?

Who knows.

Either way, I crawled from the river, still a wolf, but badly burned and beaten, and collapsed on the riverbank.

It was there I woke up the next morning, naked.

I really gotta get some stretch pants or something.

I think I need to moisturize.

My skin is dry.

Could be all the hair and claws sprouting out all over the place.

Also, it could be the weather.
It's hard to say. Any suggestions?

It's been getting colder.

My cage is cozy.

Pig in shit.

Hey all-

Here I am writing you again, I'm on day 2 in the cage. It really isn't that bad. Williamson's pad has a big screen TV with a playstation attached, so me and Jeff can play some vids. It's pretty sweet. It turns out that not only was this dude a werewolf hunter, but also a trust fund kid. This neighborhood's full of 'em.

Come to think of it, if I was asked four weeks ago what the best way to neutralize a werewolf was, I probably would have come up with something silly, like silver bullets or wolfsbane, whatever the hell that is.

As it turns out, you can pretty much keep a couple of werewolves happy with a roomy cage, a cushy chair, takeout from Sparky's, a fat bag of weed and a copy of the new Rumble Roses game.

Being a werewolf is scary and all, but mud-wrestling chicks are mud wrestling chicks.

Go ahead and deny it.

Alyssa claims to be offended by it, but she gets into it when she plays. Plus, she's the one who brought it home.

Anyway, I promised I'd tell you guys about the first transformation today, so here goes- I apologise if it's long.

Let me start by saying that it would be nice if someone out there would TELL ME IF I GET THE CYCLES OF THE MOON WRONG.

Cause it can be awkward is all.

I was sure that the full Moon was going to fall on Friday the 26th, and I believe I made reference to that fact several times. I figured all I would have to do is have Thanksgiving with my grandparents Thursday, get on a bus early enough Friday to be back in Brooklyn before nightfall, and then climb up to my roof.

So I have a lovely dinner with my Grandparents, parents, my brother and his wife, and my cousins Peter and Cameron. We ate around 4:30, and Jesus Christ did I pig out. I mean, whatever, it's Thanksgving- the holiday of gluttony, but damn, did I eat. I didn't think I could POSSIBLY eat any more that day.

It turned out I was wrong.

After dinner, I collapsed into bed for a turkey nap with my whole family in the next room watching football and having a fine time.

You know that weird feeling you get when you wake up from a nap on thanksgiving and you just feel out-of-sorts? Well nothing really snaps you out of that logy feeling more than STARTING TO TURN INTO A WOLF.

You heard me.

There was a full moon on Thursday.

I wasn't expecting this until Friday, so I was pretty upset.

I started to feel it coming on, that rising wave of panic and I just lost it. I ripped off my clothes, and ran naked through the living room, past Granny and Grampy, Mom, Dad and the whole crew, and dashed straight out the front door.

I was screaming at the time.

If it weren't so scary, I can imagine that it might have looked kind of funny. You know, a whole room full of old people, calmly watching TV, and then a screaming naked guy bolts through.

Anyway, I blast through the door, and head out into the woods, with two of my cousins chasing me, shouting my name. I can feel the moon blazing down on me, and I hear a sickening snap from my back.

I fell to the ground, rolled over on my back, and screamed "Get Away From Me!"

I really don't know if I had started to transform at that point or not, but let's be honest here.

There was something about the way I shouted it, kind of a half-yell, half, well- roar, that sent a pretty clear message.

Still about 30 yards behind me, they stopped in their tracks and ran back towards the house.

As they ran, the transformation began in earnest- the same sickening cracks and bristling of hair, and the power- Jesus, I can't even tell you, it's like your body is expanding not from any biological need but just because there is so much goddamn POWER surging through you that your body has to expand to simply make room for it.

I don't know how long it takes to actually transform into the wolf, but I will tell you that my cousins had a pretty good head start before I was back up and on their tails.

It's funny, I had no idea which way I was running when I headed into the woods, but the path back could not have been quicker, as the scents of my cousins blazed a trail so clear that there was no doubt in my mind about which way to run.

I was running on all fours, following the scent with a singularity of purpose that was chilling. I mean, I was semi conscious, and I knew that these guys were my cousins, but that didn't matter. I was hungry again, and I was eating those motherfuckers.

It was dusk, pretty close to dark as I broke through the underbrush surrounding my grandparents house, and saw Peter lagging behind as he ran through the yard. Cameron had gotten to the door, and was screaming "Run! Run!"

Peter looked behind him, saw me and fell down.

Triumphant, I lept up on a stump and howled at the moon, just totally let it rip.

Goddamn, does that feel awesome.

Fortunately, that was a mistake.

Thank God, Peter was smart enough to take advantage of it, and he got up and started scrambling towards the house again.

I lept off the stump, and landed running on all fours, leaping into the air with my mouth agape and my claws extended, ready to rip into his flesh.

When the door slammed shut, with Peter on the other side, it hit me right in the face, knocking several teeth from my mouth.

It's bullshit that they don't grow back by the way. I mean I grow whole new wolf teeth whenever I change, but know that I knocked a couple out, I don't ever grow them back?

It sucks, I look like a goddamn pirate now.

I was knocked backwards several feet from the impact and lay there for a moment, kind of dazed, when the shots began.

My grandfather was leaning out the window of the house with a rifle, firing off rounds into my back- which kind of hurt.

Who knows, maybe it does take a silver bullet to kill a werewolf, cause I must have gotten shot about 5 times before I started to notice anything but the noise of it. Also, when I changed back, the bullets just oozed right out of my body. I found them laying all around me when I woke up in the woods the next day. It was pretty cool.

Anyway, when he started shooting at me- I took one more blast at the door, knocking a chunk out it with my shoulder, and then took off for the woods. It wasn't really the bullets that bothered me, but the sound of that rifle was fucking loud, man- and I wasn't into it.

I ran back to the forest, which actually made me feel better- for some reason I was uncomfortable in wide open spaces, and just being in the clearing by the yard was kind of stressful for me. So I loped back to the forest, and just ran, man.

Like really cruised through the woods.

That Moose never knew what hit him.

I smelled him from about two miles away, and was at full goddamn speed when I burst out of a thicket and took his fucking head off with one smooth motion.

I was in the air, and as he turned to see what was coming, I buried my right paw into his windpipe and pulled, came down with my fangs just above it, and with my left hand, grabbed ahold of his antlers and twisted.

The entire head seemed to slide off his body like butter, and as I rolled away with it, I turned for a moment and saw a headless moose just standing there- shooting blood from where it's head should have been like a huge, four-legged gore fountain, just spraying up into the moonlight.

The spray of blood slowed and the body fell with a thud.

Then I ate the shit out of it.

I woke up in the woods naked the next morning early and managed to find a road.

I had no idea where I was.

You'd think that it might be easy going once I found the road, but lemme tell you something: People are hesitant enough to pick up a hitchhiker at all in this day and age, but when that hitchhiker is naked and covered in blood at 5:00 in the morning the day after Thanksgiving, that hesitation is somewhat intensified.

I got picked up by a cop after waliking the road for a couple hours, and got taken into the station.

I called my grandparents house and my brother came and picked me up.

I guess my cousins thought I was attacked by the wolf, cause they didn't mention anything about seeing me change. Who knows what the actual timetable was- my memory of it is a little hazy still.

My parents are concerned obviously, but I got them off the scent.

I told them I was on heroin.

They put me back on a the Fung Wah bus around noon and made me promise to go to rehab when I got back to Brooklyn.

The only problem?

There's a lot of traffic the day after thanksgiving, and the sun sets early in November.

I'll tell you about the bus ride tomorrow.

It was kinda ugly.

I'm in a cage.

Nope-

Not kidding here.

I am currently in a warehouse in East Williamsburg, in a 35 foot square cage, in the loft/living space of (and I'm not shitting you here) : "Ross Williamson: Werewolf Hunter, Master of the Undead and Part Time Sleuth."

At least that's what his business cards say.

They're scattered all over the floor.

There's another cage just to my right, and there's a guy named Jeff in there.

He was the other hipster that got bitten that night on the bridge, and apparently, he's been there for about 4 weeks. Between you and me, he's kind of a dick.

Williamson was actually onto me first, but I went to LA, and he lost me for a while. I was a werewolf again last night, as was Jeff, but Jeff was in his cage. I woke up today in mine.

Geez, I have so much to tell you guys, I'm not sure where I should start.

Lemme see- first off- you might be asking, how is it that Kirk is in a cage, yet still able to post to his blog? Well, you can thank Alyssa, Williamson's assistant, who is not only taking care of all my day-to-day needs, but was kind enough to stop by my apartment, pick up some clothes for me, grab my laptop, and a few personal items. I know that it might seem like living in a cage is prety terrible, but I've been living in New York apartments for ten years or so, and once I got my collection of banners of the retired numbers of classic Boston Bruins up, it's starting to feel like home. She's hella cute, and pretty funny, but hasn't really warmed up to me yet, probaby becuase of the encounter we had when I was- well...you know. I'll get to that soon.

Oh, and it was her that left me that note.

All things considered, it's not that bad. I mean, I had talked about getting a cage myself, but really- I have a hard enough time getting my ass to Home Depot and picking out curtains, much less researching the assembly of werewolf proof cages. Alyssa's been doing that shit for years, so all's well on that end.

I should back up a little.

OK, I guess here's what I'll do. Basically, from Thanksgiving on, I turned into a werewolf three nights in a row, which was more than last time, when I only turned twice. I'm not quite sure why that is.

In my next few posts, I'll describe each one of the episodes, and how it eventually led me here. But before I get into that, I'd like to take just a small moment to call bullshit on the following website, called the werewolf registry.

I found it cause somebody who was on that site came to mine right afterwards, and I picked it up on my sitemeter. Basically, it purports to be some kind of international registry for werewolves around the world, which I thought- might be kind of handy.

As it turns out, it's a fucking Harry Potter fan fiction site, dedicated to the character of Remus Lupin, the werewolf from the Harry Potter books.

Jesus, Christ.

Here's a sample from the introduction of Durayan, one of the "Alpha Pack" who created the site.

Get ready to puke:

(Remus Lupin shifts uncomfortably on his stool as he sits once again for a portrait for Durayan)

Remus:    Why are you painting me again?
Durayan:  I need a new portrait for the web site.
Remus:  The what?
Durayan:  We created a web site for you.
Remus:    I'm sorry?
Durayan:  A *web* site.  You know, the Internet? Sort of an electronic Muggle floo network we use to communicate and all that.  We have created one purely to celebrate the character of Remus J. Lupin. 
Remus:    I…see.
Durayan:  Stop looking like something the coyotes dragged down a hole and left to die.  This is a compliment!
Remus:  Ah.  Well…um…thank you?
Durayan:      You're welcome.
Remus:        Must I be wearing this silly hat?   Wizard hats really aren’t quite this bad. 
Durayan:  I rather like the hat.   Sit still. 
Remus:        *sigh* If I must.
Durayan:       Look, I work an emotionally draining job, come home only to be trapped in this house with my husband, the Slytherin and his Slytherin sense of  humor and I need *something* to lighten my day—this is pure escapist fun.  You deny me this?
Remus:  It just seems…rather odd.  


No shit.

Anyway, I've had a stressful couple of days, and need to get some rest.

I'll tell you about the first transformation tomorrow.

I'm back in Brooklyn.

I woke up naked today, got home and slept.

Bad shit has happened.

It's a full moon again tonight, and I'm getting the cuffs out.

It's getting dark.

More tomorrow, if I survive tonight...

Well, I'm off-

Hitting the Fung Wah bus for an express trip to Beantown.

Chinatown to Chinatown for 20 bucks.

Can't beat it.

I'll be back um... Friday.

Hopefully before dark.

If this is my last post, I'd like to say that it's been great having all of your help with this.

Trust me, you have a lot to be thankful for.

Sorry about that last post..

I was drunk.

It happens, you know?

I've been really lonely lately. It kills me, but the problems I've been having right now in terms of weird notes, and potential other werewolves are just slipping to the side because I'm just so goddamn alone.

This is hard to deal with, yes- but LIFE is hard to deal with, and I've been stressing about whether I can go to Maine for thanksgiving when I know I have this thing hanging over my head, I just- I just feel like I want to escape.

I think that's what I'm going to do.

I'm going to get on a bus tomorrow, and go back to Massachusetts, and from there, go up to Maine and have thanksgiving.

Fuck this guy and his note.

Friday is a full moon, and if the worst actually happens, well- all that means is that I need to be in a safe place when the sun goes down.

If I leave Maine on Friday morning, I can be in Brooklyn in 8 hours, and up on my roof by 5:00 PM.

That should be plenty of time.

If you live in Williamsburg, and are around on Friday night- please, be careful.

I mean it.

Fuck that last post-

I am stronger than any man in history.


I am possessed with the power to transform myself into something incredible.



I am drunk.

I had a note slipped under my door today

It was pretty crazy.

It said:

Dear Mr. Thomson, I know what you are, and what you are capable of. Meet me under the Williamsburg bridge at midnight on Thursday. You know what will happen on Friday.


It was unsigned.

Jesus, that's pretty freaky. I mean, Friday is a full moon.

I was planning on going to Maine for Thanksgiving, but now I'm not so sure.

You'd think that if they were harmless, they would have said something like "Hey! I'm harmless!"

But still, that would have made me think that they were intentionally saying that to harm me, you know?

Plus, there was no mention of werewolf stuff- I mean, they just said "you know what happens on Friday." Sure, Friday is a full moon, but Friday is also when the new Harry Potter movie comes out on DVD, not to mention Tom Hanks in the Terminal! They just said that they know what I'm capable of- it could just be someone who admires my ability to name almost any director of any film when I'm asked at the video store- look check it out:

Manchurian Candidate: John Frankenheimer

The Idiots: Lars Von Trier

The Piano Teacher: Michael Haneke.

OK, I realize that this is a blog, and I could have just looked those up, but I'm pretty sure I'm right.

Plus, I have a plan for when I change this full moon, if I even change. I figure I'll get up on my roof, and since I was afraid to fall before, I'll just rage around for a while and then chill out.

I mean, shit- aren't we all overthinking this a little?

Really- how do we know that turning into a werewolf is a permanent condition?

Sure, in the movies it is, but in most movies, the werewolf turns, goes a little nuts, then gets killed.

I'm doing fine over here.

What business is it of anybody else?
Maybe I'm over it, is all.

Plus, thursday's Thanksgiving. I'm supposed to blow off my grandparents just so I can meet somebody who won't sign a note?

What if it's a psycho?

I'm really kinda scared.

Talked to Dan on the iPod again today-

Dan? Dan? You there?

"Where the hell have you been?"

I was in LA.

"Los Angeles? What the hell for? You still looking for a cure?"

Well, no- actually, some dude wanted to talk to me about a movie deal.

"Oh, for God's sake."

It didn't come through.

"Well, maybe you can wait a couple of days and eat him. That ought to be pretty satisfying for you."

Look, I've been thinking- I don't think I want to kill myself. There's got to be another way.

"You want to wait until you kill somebody? Cause you will."

No, look- what I was wondering was about the naked guy who got shot on the bridge. Was that guy the werewolf that bit me?

"What does it matter?"

Well, I want to find out if he has any family, if he has any notes or diaries or anything- he might have been able to find out some way to cure this thing...

"Notes? Diaries? You think werewolves are real big note takers?"

Well- I've been doing this journal on a blog-

"What? A blog about a guy who got bit by a werewolf? That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard."

Actually, it's gotten quite popular- I got a link on memepool, and if metafilter picks it up I could-

"You're asinine. What happens when you commit a murder?"

Well that's just it- I'm not sure that I will.

"Really? Remember that night on the bridge? Did that beast really seem like someone you could reason with?"

Well how do I know that the werewolf that bit me wasn't kind of a dick before he turned into a wolf?

"Remember your cat, dickface?"

Well, yeah- but he you know- jumped out at me.

"OK- I get it, you'll be a docile werewolf, provided nobody startles you."

Look- I have another question. What about the other guy you were killed with? Where is he?

"Hmm. You mean, Jeff? That's a good question. Cause the cat's here with me know, but Jeff is nowhere around. Are you sure he died?"

Well, that's what the cops said, but I thought that everybody who got killed by a werewolf was somehow trapped in this iPod. And if he got bitten by a werewolf, and didn't die, that means that-

"He's one too."

Yeah.

"Hmm."

I'm out of it-

I can't handle this.
Like seriously-


It's too much/

Back in New York!

Boyoboy, is it good to be back.

I had to get a cup of coffee this morning, and you know what I did?

Waked down the street and got one.

While I must admit there is merit to driving just a little too fast down Laurel Canyon road while blaring "Ride the Lightning" by Metallica, I gotta tell you, in my heart, I'm a subway boy.

In terms of people's comments that someone may try and come to hurt me if I tell you who I am and where I work- honestly guys- how many werewolf hunters are blog-literate?

Honestly, I got the hookup from Memepool, and really- think about it- how many career werewolf hunters really understand and get into the idea that the evolution of ideas is moving faster than the evolution of species?

If you're into werewolves, you're probably more on board with bodies evolving faster.

Also, who says there are any werewolf hunters?

Sure, the naked guy who I assumed was the werewolf that bit me got shot, but I don't know that it was by a silver bullet, I don't even know if silver bullets work, and it's totally ostensible that someone on the lower east side might be packing, and if they saw a beast like that they might have shot it. Believe me, if I had a gun that night, I woulda been blazing away.

Come to think of it, it's actually worth investigating the story of that dead naked guy.

I think I still have the investigating officer's business card, I could call him...now where the hell did I leave that thing?

I called Dark Threat today

In case you're curious who that is, check the comments from the last entry.

It turns out she was a 16 year old girl from upstate New York whose goth ex-boyfriend thought he was both a werewolf AND a vampire, and had a habit of bleeding from every orifice while screaming. She said he never actually changed into a beast, he just thought he might.

Believe me, if you're a real werewolf, you'll know it.

It begs the question, how does that dude have a girlfriend, and I don't?

When I was a kid, guys like that pretty much just settled for listening to The Cure.

I told her it was a good thing that they aren't seeing each other anymore, told her not to hurt herself and hung up.

Oh, and if any other ladies out there are intrigued with me, I'll assure you that I haven't had any problems with the orifice-bleeding. I'm pretty much disease-free, except for- well, you know- the werewolf thing, which may not even be a disease.

God damn, I need some health insurance.

Either way, I figure that from now on, if anybody wants to get in touch with me, go ahead and email me at whatishappeningtome@hotmail.com. I figure that it's not the safest thing in the world to go leaving your phone number on blogs and stuff, and I can tell you right now that even if I wasn't a horribly dangerous beast for 3 nights a month, I'd still have no business calling 16 year girls on the phone.

I may be a monster, but I'm not a pedophile, for God's sake.

Still it makes me wonder- if this werewolf thing spreads much beyond me, would there ever be some kind of "Megan's Law" rule for known werewolves? You know, where you have to visit all your neighbors and just hip them to the risk?

They could call it "Dark Threat's Law", and I'd have to walk around Williamsburg knocking on doors and saying- "Hi- I'm Kirk Thomson, and State law has required me to tell you that I'm a lycanthrope. Also, if you stop by Reel Life, I'll hook you up with a free rental- thanks for being cool about all this."

Still, most of my neighbors speak Spanish.

I wonder how you say "lycanthrope" in Spanish?

My life has taken a turn, people.

I mean, Jesus- last month I was wondering how the hell I was going to pay rent on my video store salary, and now I'm in Los Angeles, going to occult bookstores, and calling people named "Dark Threat" on the phone.

What the hell is happening to me?

I head back to New York on Thursday.

Lock your doors.

I went to that occult bookstore today.

I guess I just figured that if the guy knew anything, it'd be worth checking out.

I went to down to this place called creation books, hoping that the guy who worked there would be willing to talk.

Jesus, was he.

I found that this bookstore seemed a little more focused on bizarre sex and true crime, which I guess is fine, but when I ask for a book about werewolves, I'd rather not have to hear the hard sell for a book about auto-erotic asphyxiation featuring a guy who died after chaining himself naked to the bumper of a moving Volkswagen.

And no, I'm not kidding on that one.

He was an airline pilot.

Those dudes have a lot of stress, I guess.

I ended up taking home a book by Anton Levey entitled "The Devil's Notebook."

I bought it because it had a chapter called "How to Become a Werewolf."

His idea was that all people are both hunters and victims, so if you want to become a werewolf, you need to go to a spooky place, allow yourself to be terrified, thus infusing the place with the energy of expended fear. Then you come back, and own it, I guess, transforming your fear into power.

So far, I'm on board- the bridge was a scary place, and I certainly expended some energy out there.

Anyway, here's what comes next, and I quote:

Enter the area you know to be trauma-producing with the fullest intention of being frightened. Allow yourself to be frightened. If necessary wear articles of clothing conducive to the most submissive or vulnerable image. "Accidental" victims are always thus attired. Get the feel of the place as a victim, allowing yourself to be as frightened as you can. If you can supplement your fear with a sexually stimulating feeling, so much the better. Allow yourself to virtually shake apart with fear and if possible, attain an orgasm by whatever means may be necessary, for this will make your subsequent lycanthropic changeover easier.

Oh, for God's sake.

I'm looking for some real fucking information here, and this bald jackass is telling me to go jerk off in the woods?

Fuck this.

Cop Rock is on Trio right now.

I'm gonna go watch it.

Well,

- I didn't check out the bookstore.

I looked at it online, and I guess I'm kinda scared to go there.

I mean, I came to LA for this stupid movie thing which isn't going to happen, and as much as I'd like to be a self righteous New Yorker, Los Angeles has turned out to be somewhat of an escape from my problems.

I don't want to think about werewolves anymore.

It's not fun.

It's fucking scary, and to be honest with you, I feel like I've been getting a bit of a break being out here. When I fly back to New York on Thursday, there isn't going to be a hell of a lot of time left before I change again.

I left the iPod in New York, and as much as it's nice to be away from everything, I kind of miss hearing Dan's voice. I know he'd probably just tell me to kill myself again, but at least I can TALK to him about this stuff.

My blog has gotten more popular, it seems- I've had over 3,000 people come to it over the past week.

Maybe they all think that this is some big fucking fake out, some huge goddamn joke.

You think it's funny?

See how funny it is when I show up outside your house on the 26th.

I need to get some sleep.

I found a cure!

Sadly, it wasn't for my lycanthropy, it was for the savage hangover I woke up with this morning.

Here's how it goes:

1) Lean up in bed, and flip on the TV.

2)Watch as much as you can possibly stand of "Catch Me if You Can" on HBO (for me it was about 8 minutes)

3) Plod to the bathroom while humming that John Williams riff from the movie. You know the one- "Buh-ba-ba-bum. Buh-ba-ba-bum.Buh ba ba ba baba ba ba ba Buh-ba-ba-bum."

4) Strip naked, squat on the sink and cut loose with a full throated wolf howl, or as much of one as you can muster.

5) Vomit.

6) Rinse off your face and bee-line it to IHOP for some biscuts and gravy with a side of scrambled eggs.

Yeah, that's about it today.

Oh, and I met somebody who claims to be an expert on the occult. He owns a bookstore in Hollywood. I may go and check it out tomorrow.

Jesus, Christ.

I'm in California for what- 36 hours now, and already the comments section is coming out in force for homeopathic werewolf cures?

Lemme explain something to you guys- when the moon is full, my skeleton starts snapping, growing, and expanding, I grow more hair in 35 minutes than an Italian family does in a decade, and I go from a fairly non-athletic video store clerk who enjoys marijuana to a ravenous animal that can leap up to 40 feet and is blinded by an insatiable need to kill.

I'm sure a little Ginko Biloba is gonna knock that right out.

Not to get all stand-up comic-y on you, but the biggest difference I've seen between New York and LA is that New York is about embracing the fucked up suffering, and LA is about embracing the fucked up cure.

So I had my "meeting" today, and the guy, who was in development for something called Boy in the Drain Productions, hadn't even read it.

His name was Ted, and he was wearing a weird kimono type shirt, baggy shorts and even though I was sure he was Irish, he had bangs that came down over his forehead in such a way that I suspected momentarily that he might be Asian.

It kind of went down like this-

"Kirk! Great to see you again!"

-um, I don't think we've ever met- I'm the guy with th-

"Treatment about the whore trapped in the Incan pyramid, yes! I loved that!!"

-No, I did, uh- what is happening to me?"

"You're having breakfast in LA, son, it's the big time- now calm down and tell me about the whore- I was thinking Lindsay Lohan, but if that's too high end and she has a problem with the mummy gang rape scene then we can-"

-No! I'm the- um... werewolf guy.

"Raped by werewolves? I'm not sure that's gonna go- Frankenstein can rape, the mummy can rape, vampires- well, they pretty much seduce and don't have have to rape- but I don't know about werewolves, I mean, are they suited for that kind of thing?"

-What?

"You know, downstairs?"

-I, uh....look. I do this blog, about how I was bitten by an ani-

"What the hell is a blog?"


From there it was pretty much downhill.

So it looks like there's not going to be a "What is Happening to me" movie. It's just as well, I suppose, I have enough problems.

The good news is, he invited me to Patrick Warburton's birthday party today.

It should be a good time.

I'm in Los Angeles, everybody.

I'm not quite sure how to think about it.

I know that I've turned into a beast, which is scary, but driving in this goddamn town is no picnic either, I can tell you that much.

Yes, hearing the snap of your own jawbone as it seperates and extends outwards to accomodate a rapidly growing snout is a little unsettling, but it doesn't hold a candle to driving out into a busy intersection and trying to figure out which option of the three way fork on Lankershim will correctly lead to to Vineland.

I almost had a goddamn heart attack.

I know they say that the only thing that can kill a werewolf is a silver bullet, but that might be becuase Lon Cheney Jr. never had to navigate Los Angeles traffic in a rented Miata.

Christ, I miss the subway.

Anyway, I'm staying with my friend Kristin out here (not the ex, an actress friend of mine).

I tried to tell her about what I've been going through, how I've been recording it on this blog, and how I have this meeting and she gave me a big hug, kissed me on the cheek and said "Wow! that's a GREAT idea!" I tried to explain it a little more, and all she said was "Sweetie- horror is HOT HOT HOT right now, and you are onto something!"

I tried to explain myself a little further, but I figured it wasn't worth it.

Plus, there's not a full moon until November 26th, which means she isn't really in any danger. Also, thanks to whoever that person was who came up with the urine soaked rope for me to write with. It works like a charm, and means I'm not pissing all over Kristin's carpet.

The 26th is problematic though, as I was planning on being in Maine with my Grandparents for Thanksgiving, which is the 25th. It's stressful enough making conversation with my extended family, now I have to worry about eating them?

Who knows though, if I have to turn into a ravenous beast, the day after Thanksgiving might not be the worst time for it.

I mean, think about it, there's a good chance I'll be full.

I'm going to California!

I just got an email from a guy who liked my blog so much that he said he was willing to take a look at my life story and see if it would make a good movie.

I'm not sure he really believes I'm a werewolf.

Either way, I'm "taking a meeting."

This rules.

I fly out tomorrow.

Does anybody know how Pacific Time affects the full moon cycle?

Cause I really oughta get on top of that.

Fringe benefit!

I think my hair is growing back.

OK, now I know what you're thinking- of course, you're a werewolf, you're gonna grow some hair.

But check it out.

I'm a 31 year old man, and I'm not ashamed to tell you that I have been thinning out a bit over the past several years, you know- up top.

Actually, I would have been ashamed to tell you about it, but I've really been seeing a substantive change these days. Until recently, there has been a fairly consistent downward slide, hairwise. Like, if my hair is cut really short, it wouldn't be obvious that I was going bald, but when it grew out, there was a definate half-moon cresent (ironic when you think about it) of thinning hair around the front of my head.

Basically, the way to describe my balding is kind of like if I were to shave my head, It would grow back only on the back and sides, giving me the natural hairstyle of a circus clown, with that odd ball of fluff up front. I was on a one way train to a Rob Cordry, and as entertaining as he is, I wasn't ready for that.

But now- I've been growing my hair back, which is astonishing.

Now, I don't know if this is lycanthrope related, but if it is, there may be a considerable market for my disorder in the field of revolutionary baldness cures.

I mean, shit- if you're willing to suffer the indignity of a toupee, combover, or even that goddawful spray on hair, would it be that much of a compromise to change into a beast for a couple nights a week?

Seriously, my hair has body, luster, and I've already been feeling more confident.

I haven't met any ladies yet, but that may be because I'm in my 30's, work in a video store, and am somewhat preoccupied with this "curse of the werewolf" thing I have going on.

I know that Dan wants me to kill myself, but for now, I'm gonna head over to Kiehl's and get some product!

I've been told I should "work it in from the back."

This is gonna be awesome.

Woke up late today-

It was a Sunday, and I woke up to the sounds of the Marathon cruising down Bedford.

I've been feeling differently about my situation these days.

I mean, Dan wants me to commit suicide, so he can get to heaven, but I thought wait- I'm going to die sooner or later, right?

It's not like he's damned or anything, he's just in limbo- When I die, and I will, he gets to move along- but why should I kill myself just to expidate his situation?

I mean, fuck, he was walking around Williamsburg, and he got killed by an animal. I got bit. That's it. So, why is he so much worse off than me?

I figure I can get a cage or something, and maybe buy a sheep or two, and just lock myself in the cage with the sheep when it happens, I eat the sheep, and nobody gets hurt.

I mean, Christ, you can live with AIDS and not hurt anyone, can't I live as a werewolf?

Thanks for nothing-

Jesus people, I ask for one little favor- some tips on apartment leads, and I get jack.
I blame young people in America.
I mean, Christ- my Williamsburg neighborhood is packed with the same apathetic 18-25 year olds who decided to celebrate the fact that they live in the greatest democracy in the world by raising thier collective voices, and resoundingly saying "We don't care!"

I mean, shit- I was bitten by a werewolf for fuck's sake, and even I made it out to vote.

I almost want to keep this curse alive just so I can eat some of those apathetic sons of bitches.

No sign of the homeless guy.

I'm getting kind of worried.

The Good news-

-The iPod works, and Dan's back on the line.

The bad news?

He's pissed.

I was desparately scrolling through it yesterday, and all of a sudden, there he was:

"Hey! Dumbass!"

Dan? That you?

"No, it's the other undead murder victim that talks to you though an iPod."

Nice. Sarcasm. I turn into a werewolf, and kill my own cat, and you gotta break my stones?

"Oh, you mean Grapes? He's here."

He is!? That's awesome- how's he doing?

"How do you think he's doing dickbag? You bit him in half and devoured him- if you really want to see how he's doing, I recommend you check your stool."

Is he OK now?

"Well, yeah- he looks a little messy, but we got him stitched together-he's a cool cat."

Agreed. God, I feel so bad about that-

"He's some pissed at you, too- he's stuck here as well."

Do cats go to heaven?

"What are you, a werewolf or a 13 year old girl? Christ, you're a pussy."

Jesus, excuse me- I'm just concerned about him is all-

"Well, if you really love him, maybe you oughta kill yourself."

That's all you talk about isn't it? I mean, when you're not being a total shithead-

"Well look Kirk. Here's the facts. You're a werewolf. When the Moon is full, you will change into a monster and you will kill. Next time, it won't just be a cat. It will be a person. It could be someone you love, it could be a friend, it could just be a stranger, but that still makes you a murderer. Can you really live with that?"

Well- I...fuck- I don't know.

"So, do it. Jump out the window. End this thing."

But what if there's a cure?

"A cure? A cure? Yeah, I got a cure for you, a silver bullet right through your fucking brain, asshole. What do you have to live for anyway? You work in a video store, you don't have a girlfriend and you've already seen the Sox win the World Series. Now suck a tailpipe, douchebag, you've seen it all."

Good point. Still, I don't know, man- what about that homeless guy? He seemed to know I was cursed, maybe he could find a way to stop this?

"Look man, do what you want to do, but all I know is that the longer you screw around, the longer I don't get to heaven, and it's not a hell of lot of fun wandering around here with the Frankencat."

Sorry about that. By the way, he like it when you scratch his tummy.

"His Tummy is pretty much gone over here."

Jesus.

"Look dude, the other important thing you need to know is that there will be another full moon on November 19th. Whatever you do, make sure you figure something out before then."

Right- Oh shit, I have to go vote today- hey- I just had a funny thought.

"I doubt it."

Ok, you know that P. Diddy ad campaign 'vote or die?'

"I guess"

Well, those are kind of my choices right now- I mean, I could go vote, or I could get to work on planning my suicide. Get it, vote or die?

"You should drink a fucking quart of bleach just for making that joke."

Yeah, sorry.

"No seriously, you should go drink a quart of bleach, RIGHT NOW."

Ha ha ha.

"Really, you should- actually come to think about it, who you voting for?"

Kerry, why?

"Well, you better go vote- You might be a werewolf, but when it comes to evil in the world you really oughta take care of that motherfucker Bush first. That guy is seriously evil. Go get that done."

I hear you- and I'm gonna try to track down that homeless guy too-

"Whatever."

Later!

"Go fuck yourself."