I was in the van.

And my clothes started itching.

I had that ridiculous getup on, and I was starting to feel a little upset.

I mean, I may have just said goodbye to Alyssa for the last time, I could be heading to my death, and here I was dressed like a clown posing for his "after" pictures from some goddamn weight loss infomercial, holding my tremendously oversized pants up so they wouldn't fall down?

It sucked.

"Comfortable?"

My host, I guess his fucking name was "Bruce," but he "went by many names" (douche) was leering over me, as Jeff, the most royal douchebag of them all was grinning away from behind the wheel of the van.

"Um...I guess."

I have a hard time dealing with difficult situations. I mean, I can DO it, but the fact is, I'm just one of the world's best "you know what I shoulda said" guys.

Like, for example, take when somebody comes into the store, and is renting a clear cut piece of shit. I mean, like, a mammoth turd of a movie, the kind of movie that in my heart, I know, that if this person spends 90 minutes of their lives watching this dog's abortion of a motion picture, that those are 90 minutes they are never getting back. I can see them, these people, as they step up to the counter with, oh- I don't know- anything directed by Joel Schumacher, say- with the exception of Falling Down, or maybe DC Cab, and I can see them, dying. I mean, like, I can see them- on their deathbeds, with their children rushing to their sides. The children know that this is the big one, and they know that Grampy has had troubles before and each time he goes down with something and heads to the hospital that this could be IT.

Grampy could really be gone this time.

No matter how great he was in his life, no matter how beloved he was, the great darkness comes for us all, sooner or later, and let's be honest, he lived a full life, and this might be his time. If only there wasn't this damn traffic. I had told Granny that I would be there by 3:45, and now would you look at this gridlock, it's pushing five already, and we're still 20 minutes away. I think of that old person, in his hospital bed, his children stuck in traffic, and all he can say is- "I don't fucking believe I used 90 precious minutes of my life....LIFE DAMNIT- LIFE! And why? So I could watch "Batman and Robin." WHY GOD......WHY?!!!!!"

I make a snide remark to the guy, and all of a sudden, I'm the asshole.

And so I don't say anything.

I just rent this guy this multi-million dollar budgeted diaper blast and let him go on with his day. But you know what I should have said? And this is where it gets good. I mean, I'm really good at what I should have said, but instead, I just said "Hey- take it easy" and then bust his balls when he leaves.

Oh, yeah. We DO do that by the way. Even if you're in a video store where the clerks are nothing but helpful and reserved, even in a video store where you have to wear some douchebag vest, and say things like "Can I help you find anything?" Even in those stores, those corporate idiot shack video stores, even there- if you walk up and rent Anaconda 2, the minute you walk out, that guy's calling you a douchebag.

It happens.

Don't fool yourself.

But I don't say anything. Then, five minutes later, I realize what I should have said. You know just to give them a warning- not to be a dick, or to belittle their intelligence, just something quick like- you look at the video as they are renting it and say "Wow. Did you ever see the original 1966 Batman movie? Cause, you know- this is really just going for camp, and that movie kinda does it SO much better." And, you know, give them an out. Not dictate what they MUST see, but just give them an out. And if you have to, throw in a "Yeah- I mean, do you need nipples on a batsuit? I mean- fuck."

And so it was in the van, speeding towards New Jersey, where I could have said something like, "You know what? I'd be a hell of a lot more comfortable if you could teach me that Jedi mind trick and I could get the fuck out of here and into a cage."

OK, that wasn't that great, but it's still better than "I guess."

I guess.

After we got out of the Lincoln Tunnel we kept driving, and I was nervous about the sun going down. Bruce wasn't. He checked his watch once and sensing my anxiety, I suppose, said "You have 54 minutes. Relax."

"So- where are we going?"

"To my town house. You will meet Jeff in the arena."

"Excuse me?"

"It will be combat. To the death. A full transformation and battle in a pit of sand. To the winner will go the title of protege"

"What?"

"Protege. To me. You will serve me completely. You're personal expenses will be taken care of entirely, you're training will fall to me, and you will master Lycanthropy as I have. When you're training is complete, and you are a superior master of the Lycanthropic arts, you will impregate a female and face me."

"You've got to be fucking kidding me."

I kinda nailed that one.

"We have arrived. Lars and Mickey will see you to your changing room. There you will prepare. When the hour is right, you will be brought out upon the field of battle, transform, and prove your worth. To the death. It is the only way."

"Fuck me."

He fixed me with a steady glare. "Fuck you, indeed."

Then he and Jeff started laughing.

As we pulled to a hault in the gravel driveway, the van doors opened, and two HUGE men grabbed me, and led me away.

I guess I was going to be in a werewolf fight.

Well-

- I went to the meeting in the park.

I was nervous, partially due to the whole evite flap, but it was never mentioned, so I guess we're cool.

I suppose if you're a supreme werewolf looking to train a race of superbeings, you're not too concerned with obsessively checking your evite status. Say what you want about the supernatural community, but it seems that they aren't so internet savvy.

Lucky for me.

Anyway, on Christmas, I called my parents, told them I loved them, and had a restless night. When I got up, I didn't know what to do with myself before the meeting, which was to take place at 4:00 PM on the 26th, so I decided to shop for some kind of stretch pants or something. It was cold as balls, and I figured that bottom line, when I changed back, I'd really rather not be wandering around in the snow naked, so I headed down to Beacon's Closet to see if I could find something stretchy.

I don't know if you've ever been down there, but it's kind of a huge warehouse in Williamsburg filled with thrift store clothes and hipster accessories. Just as a side note, it's been hard for me to enter a warehouse these days without thinking of my own werewolf status. I mean, one wonders if a warehouse is just a man, who, once bitten by a house, becomes cursed to transform into a house himself when the moon is full. Incidently, the only way to truly destroy a warehouse is with a silver wrecking ball.

Jesus, that's stupid.

I apologize.

I've had a lot on my mind recently.

Anyway, I figured I needed some clothes that would either be so large that they would stay on my body, or have enough give that they could stretch.

Long story short, I arrived at what could have been the most fateful encounter in my life wearing a pair of size 52 waist polyester clown pants.

You heard me. They were red and yellow, and had paisleys all over them.

I found an XXL sweatshirt with a stretchy neckline, and threw an oversized pink housecoat over it all. Cut to 3:30 PM, and I'm shuffling down Driggs Avenue towards McCarren Park in an outfit that was one part Vincent "The Chin" Gigante and two parts 1975 Elton John.

I looked ridiculous.

As I approched the baseball diamond, I saw Alyssa by the backstop.

"Alyssa!"

I started running towards her, tripped over my housecoat, and took a spectacular header over second base. By the time I untangled myself, she was standing over me, laughing.

"What the fuck are you wearing?"

"It's um- laundry day." It was all I could think of.

Just then, a booming voice was heard behind me.

"Kirk Thomson!"

I turned and saw a lean, Italian looking man in his mid 40's striding purposely towards me from behind the trees in a sharp tailored suit. He was carrying what looked to be an ivory cane, and his overpowering confidence in himself was enough to shut me up. I spun to face him, still sitting on the ground, and had to kind of scoot my housecoat around so the buttons were in front again. I tried my best to look tough. As I attempted to stand up, he flipped the cane around in an impressive 180 degree airbourne spin, caught it deftly by the bottom and pressed the handle, (which was in the shape of a wolf's head) against my chest, pushing me back to the playground dirt.

"You can call me Bruce. I have gone by many names. I have brought you here for a reason. You will find that what I have to offer you is- um...is....what the fuck are you wearing?"

"It's- um, laundry day."

Jesus, I needed a better line.

"Either way, you must come with me, now. The moon is rising and we don't have much time."

I got to my feet. "What about Alyssa?"

He turned to her- "Go."

"Not without Kirk." She said- in a show of backbone that I would have liked to have shared with her, and might have been able to pull off, were I not dressed Iike a homosexual Macy's Thanksgiving Day Balloon.

"Kirk is the one I must deal with."

Just then, a police car pulled up, and two uniformed cops got out. As they hurried towards us, the man said- "These officers will deal with your problems with the law. Kirk- you will come with me. She will not be harmed. I give you my word."

"How do I know that?" I said.

"If I wanted her dead, she already would be. Her only purpose was to insure you arrived. Now, she is meaningless." He glanced at the sun, which was rapidly setting. "Clock's ticking Kirk- what do you want to do?"

I looked at Alyssa. She looked back with a "what else can we do?" look.

"OK- I said- "Where are we going?"

He pulled a small leather pouch out of his suit pocket, and removed a small silver whistle and two delicate earplugs, and put them in his ears.

"With Jeff. Right now. Cover your ears."

When he blew into it- the most agonizing high pitched squeal I have ever heard in my life forced me down to my knees and my fingers into my ears. When I opened by eyes, there was a van driving onto the baseball field and Jeff jumped out of the driver's seat.

The cops walked up and addressed Bruce: "So these are our missing persons?"

"Yes" he said- everything is taken care of. Make sure she gets home safely. No questions are necessary."

"No questions are necessary" said the first cop.

"Take her straight home" said Bruce.

"We'll take her straight home" the second cop said.

Holy Shit. I moved closer to Bruce and whispered to him- "Did you just do the Jedi Mind Trick on those dudes?"

He whispered back, " I can do LOTS of things. So can you."

Alyssa piped up- "You know what? I can walk- it's not too far."

"Bruce" I said- "let her walk- I'll feel better about it."

He turned to the cops. "She'll be walking home. Make sure you fix up those reports."

The first cop turned to Alyssa. "Why don't you walk home?"
The other cop said" Yeah- go ahead and walk. We have reports to fix up."

It was pretty bitchin', I'm not going to lie to you.

As the cops left, Alyssa wrapped her arms around me and gave me a big kiss. "See you soon?" She said.

I glanced at Bruce.

"It's up to you." He said.

I turned back to Alyssa. "I'll see you soon. I love you."

Her eyes widened- "Really?"

"Eh- you know, fuck it, sure."

She smiled.

Bruce grabbed my shoulder.

"Get in the van."

I winked at Alyssa and climbed in. Jeff took the wheel and we sped away.

Either way, I know this is sort of suspenseful and all, but this post is already WAY too long. I'll do the rest tomorrow. It's pretty fucked up what happened, but rest assured, I'm OK.

You know- for now.

Merry Christmas!

Well, thanks for the nice Christmas wishes in the comments, folks-

It's kind of an anxious Christmas for me- obviously, it wasn't safe for me to go home with the 26th being what it is and all.

So, I worked a day shift at the video store, and watched Die Hard.

Now I'm back at home getting drunk on Egg Nog.

I called home today though. My Mom is still concerned that I'm going to do heroin. If only I had those problems. Anyway, I brough home "It's a Wonderful Life" and will be watching that soon. Tonight, every time a bell rings, a werewolf is going to do a shot.

I also wonder which character in that movie is most likely to be a werewolf?
I say Mr. Gower- that dude looks like shit.

I miss my cat.
I'd get another one if I thought there was a cat on earth that wouldn't hiss at me. Maybe I should get a kitten. I know that if you raise cats and dogs together at an early age they can me cool with each other. I'm not sure what the rules are for cats and werewolves.

Also, I'm kind of concerned about eating it.

Damn.

Hey- I just had a thought- what about Dan?

I bet he's having a crappy Christmas eve too. I'm gonna get him on the horn. It's been awhile, and he might have some insight on this whole "Alpha male werewolf" thing. Now where the hell did I leave that iPod?

HEY!

HOW ABOUT NOT FUCKING AROUND WITH THE EVITE!

Jesus, Christ, I send you people my link to Evite I got from some master werewolf, (last post) and one of you dickheads RSVP's for me?

Additionally, one of you wrote- "Yeah, he'll be there cause that's the story I want to read."

While I'm sure this is TREMENDOUSLY entertaining for you guys, let's remember- this is MY fucking life over here, That asshole has Alyssa, and everything you post on that fucking evite, he reads too.

How about not putting her life in danger?!

I mean, fuck!

I went to the link, and kept it at yes, with the proviso that if I don't see Alyssa, I walk. Or rather, run, as it will be a full moon that night and I won't have much time to get back to the cage.

Seriously people, don't fuck with the response- if he finds out about the blog, we all could be fucked. I'm pretty sure you don't want this guy tracking you down. Also, if he mentions it to Alyssa, she'll find out I didn't take the blog down, and even if I get her out of there alive, she'd be pissed as shit that I lied to her and kept this blog going. I hope he doesn't bring it up to me that my response changed.

Now seriously, don't fuck with it, or I'll have to take it down. If this guy finds out about the blog, I'll have to stop that too, this time for real.

Fucking people!

I got another note today.

Well, two actually.

But they were the same. One was dropped off at the video store, and the other one under the door of my apartment.

Here's what it said:

Kirk-

I can help you. I was the one who bit both you and Jeff. I have been living with this for years, and chose you specifically. Do you think it was a coincidence that you survived the attack? I know about Los Angeles, Maine, the bus trip, and your silly little cage. Because I owe you a debt of gratitude for insuring that our hunter will not return, I have decided to help you. But you must help me as well. If you are concerned about your girlfriend, she is with me, and is in perfect health. I can teach you to control this, and even make a nice living while doing so. I am aware that you have contacted the police, and can take care of that. Meet me at 4:00 PM on December 26th behind home plate of the softball field at McCarren Park. Come alone. If you choose to ignore this message, you can continue to ask yourself what has become of your friend Alyssa, and it will be a shame that you don't know as the police will most certainly be asking you as well.
4:00 PM
December 26th
This is not a joke.



Jesus, how about them apples?

And as if that wasn't enough, I got this emailed to me too.

I guess I better RSVP.

This has been a shitty week.

Well, I took your advice-

Whoever suggested calling the cops in the comments made sense.

So I did it.

I knew that it could cause trouble if they found out about Williamson, so I just called in three missing person's reports. I mean, there is no physical evidence of Williamson's body, Alyssa cleaned up the blood, and Jeff pretty much finished off the rest, and nobody has been at Jeff's for several days. Those late fees on the pornos I put on his account are gonna stack up, brother. Anyway, the cops visited me at work, and I took them over to Williamson's and showed them around.
They were a little weird about the cages, but I just said that Williamson was an artist. In some Williamsburg lofts, there is shit FAR weirder than that.

By the way, it's winter here in Williamsburg, and that means that the chicks are out in force with their ridiculous winter hats. Hats that look like dogs, hats that are three feet tall and made of pink fur, full on Han Solo on Hoth fuzzy blue winter coats, you name it, there's a hipster chick strapping it on her head for the walk down Bedford.You have to get up pretty early in the morning to have the weirdest winter hat in Williamsburg.

And by early, I mean, like 10:30.

It is Williamsburg after all.

Anyway, they asked me a bunch of questions, and I answered them as best as I could, while leaving out the werewolf stuff. I said Williamson had gone away two weeks ago, and hadn't returned. Me and Jeff had stayed with them in the cages for an art project, and Jeff got pissed when Williamson didn't come back and stormed out. I told them about how I bumped into him at the video store and there had been bad feelings. I mentioned we went to his house and couldn't find him, and then the next day Alyssa dissapeared, which made me worried.

They seemed shifty, but cops are kinda like that. The only way you can tell if New York cops don't suspect you for anything is if they start belittling you. When I lived in Manhattan, for example, I lived on West End Ave and 66th, right behind Lincoln Center. The president was in town, and Lincoln Center was totally blocked off, which meant I would have had to go ten blocks out of my way just to walk to my apartment. I walked up to the cops on the barrier and said "Hey can I just cross through?" The cop said no, and informed me the president was in town, as if I wasn't aware of the fucking helicopters circling around. " But I live right there!" I said, pointing 60 feet past the baracade. The cop looked back at me, and with no hint of a smile, said " Congratulations" and didn't let me through.

The cops at Williamson's, on the other hand, were very respectful during the entire questioning, and that worried me.

Still, what else can I do?

I guess I just have to get back in the cage in a couple days without her.

This really blows.

Alyssa's gone.

I think Jeff's got her.

I mean, what the hell else should I think?

We went to his apartment Saturday night and Jesus, what a mess. Totally trashed, piss and rotten food everywhere and he was nowhere to be found. I was going to pee on a few things myself just to freshen up the joint a bit, but Alyssa wouldn't have it.

It was annoying, but I suppose it's sort of her show, so- you know.

We dug around and tried to find some clues, but I'm not much for detective work. She was looking through what appeared to be his file cabinet, and while she was busy with that, I put on Sportscenter.

This hockey strike is really starting to piss me off. It's great that the Sox won it all, and that the Pats still look good, but I'm telling you, after the Super Bowl, it's gonna be tough to be a sports fan. I hate basketball. To top it all off, with all this drama in my life, I might not live that much longer, which means I might never see the Bruins win it all.

Fuck, I might never see another Bruins game.

Typical- as soon as they get a decent goalie, I get bitten by a wolf and the owners lock out the players.

Christ.

Anyway, Alyssa came back in, and said she found a bunch of letters from his parents which she thought might be good leads. Apparently, he grew up in Long Island, so that's a start anyway.

So I go to work on Sunday, get back to her place and she's gone. So were the letters. No note, no message no nothing. I went back to Jeff's place, nothing. So I went out to Long Island today, and knocked on Jeff's parent's door, claiming that I was selling magazine subscriptions. The bad news is that Jeff and Alyssa's scents were non-existent. The good news is I sold 4 subscriptions to Jeff's Mom, and she paid me in cash.

Looks like she's a dumbass too.

Now I'm worried though- if he has her, and turns into a wolf, she's fucked. And what do I do? Look for them when I'm a wolf? It's gonna happen this week again, and I really oughta be in the cage, But what the hell good can I do her in the cage?

Fuck.

This sucks.

I saw Jeff today.

You know where he was?

Renting a fucking video.
Phone Booth. The one with Colin Farrell. What a dumbass.

I was in the back reshelving when he came in. He picked up his movie, saw me, dropped it and ran.

I chased him out of the store, and yelled at him to wait, but I lost him. I'm pretty out of shape, and was hung over today.

He's better off though- Colin Farrell blows.

The good news is, I looked him up in the store computer and got his address. Me and Alyssa are going tonight.

Just for fun I put a couple of pornos with sick names on his account, and ran up the late fees. It's gonna be pretty awesome when he comes back and gets told that he owes 200 bucks for "What Got Grandpa Hard" and "One in the Pink and One in the Stink 13."

I'll let you know what happens tomorrow.

Sorry everyone.

Hey- it's Kirk again.

While I was at work yesterday, Alyssa got on my computer and posted that last message. My blogger account is set up to remember me, so anyone can access it by going through my internet bookmarks.

We've had a long talk.

Anyway, everything Alyssa said is true. I am not a werewolf- I guess I was just a little bit bored with my life, and wanted to try to spice things up a little. The internet is weird that way. Then, next thing I knew, fanatical apathy, memepool, and monkeyfilter picked it up, and a whole lot of people got affected. I'd also like to thank all the bloggers and live journal kids who gave me a link. It was fun.

Anyway, I've been having a great time with Alyssa lately, and she has big problems with this. So, regretfully, I should tell you that this will be the last post on whatishappeningtome as you know it. The blog will be taken down, and replaced with another blog, also called what is happening to me, but instead of silly, fictional werewolf content it will be all about a drunken college frat guy who has run-ins with police and enjoys writing about boobs. That oughta throw people off.

Either way, it's been a lot of fun, and again, I'm sorry if I gave anyone the wrong idea.

Werewolves are not real.

Best wishes to everyone who read and enjoyed this thing, and perhaps I'll see you again.

Yours,

Kirk (the non-werewolf)







































































OK- is anybody still here?

Cool.

So, here's the deal.
A couple nights ago, in bed, I told Alyssa about the blog and she fucking FLIPPED, man. She started saying all this junk about how someone would find us, the cops would be hip, she'd be arrested and I'd be killed, and how stupid it is to have a record of this stuff if it ever came down to a day in court. I wrote the above message for her benefit (she's not much of a scroller). Ostensibly, she's right, and I think I might be in love with her, but really- she was working for a fulltime werewolf hunter and even he wasn't hip to this.

I really don't think that people take this medium seriously- everyone in the mainstream thinks of the internet and blog culture as this twisted, awful sea of unsubstantiated lies, teen pornography, and reckless timewasting created by irresponsible journalists, propagandists and the incurably bored- all unbound by any journalistic code of ethics.

Sometimes I think that myself.

Either way, that can work for me. And honestly, I need this journal.

It helps.

Whatever ends up happening to me, and to be honest, bad things could, I want to have some record of this that I can't destroy. I want something out there that lets people know that this is who I was and this is what I went through. If I write it on paper, well- who knows. I'm a fucking monster after all- I mean, what if a band of villagers surround my house with pitchforks and torches and burn it, and me, to the ground?

I know, it's Williamsburg Brooklyn, so it's unlikely that anyone actually owns a pitchfork, but you know what I'm saying. There are a lot of things in my life that have gone on in the past three months that I would have previously thought impossible. So bear with me here, OK?

As far as Alyssa is concerned, when she hits the "What is happening to me" bookmark on this computer, she'll be sent to this What is happening to me? That's the blog I referenced above, and is good for a laugh, if you're into making fun of fratboys. Just to give you a taste, it includes this pretty amazing passage:

Monday, August 30, 2004
I know I haven't posted in a while, but with work and the bars, I really haven't had time. however, Hayden said something that could not go without repeating...
SailinIrie: the girl all the way to the right
SailinIrie: annie
SailinIrie: fuuuuuuuuuuuuck
SailinIrie: her breasts are worth fighting a war over


Wow. Did I tell you?

Ah Hayden. Your wit is that of legend.

"Could not go without repeating" indeed.

I'll keep posting here, and I thank you for your support.

But seriously, don't rat me out.

Not only could it get me in serious trouble, but Alyssa might never sleep with me again.

This is Alyssa writing this.

Kirk told me about this little blog, and I'm more than a little pissed off about it.

First off, he is NOT and has NEVER BEEN a werewolf.

I don't believe I even have to write this, but werewolves are not real.

Yes, he works at a video store, which is where he is now, and yes, I'm an art handler who lives in Williamsburg, but this joke has gone far enough.

If any of you enjoy reading it, and thought it was real, I apologize on Kirk's behalf.

-Alyssa

Wow-

What a day.

I opened up at the store today, and when I left around 1:00, was feeling a little restless. I took a couple laps around the Northside to see if I could smell Jeff again, but there was no trace of him. I've found that I don't really care for walking around in the daytime as much as I used to, perhaps because of my somewhat obsessive need to pee on things.

Street corners, newspaper boxes, pretty much wherever another dog has been, I just feel like I need to give it a quick squirt and move on. I have an advantage over the other dogs in the neighborhood seeing as my bladder is considerably larger, but it does make for awkward interactions with the neighbors when I get caught.

At night, it's easier is all.

So after my walk, I headed back to Williamson's pad to see what Alyssa was up to, and bring her some coffee. I haven't really told any of my other friends about the werewolf thing- and it's funny how much closer you get to a person when you both have dirt on the other one.

Of course, the mutual dirt I'm used to are things like: "you know I drink every night even though I manage to hold it together," and "I know that you cheated on your boyfriend even though you still love him." In this case it's a little more intense. It's like: "You know that I am the victim of an ancient curse" and "I know that you fed the corpse of your boss to an escaped werewolf and continue to spend his money after his death." But you know, it's pretty much the same deal, relationship-wise.

So I got the coffees and headed over there, and she was buried in a book, which is kind of hot to begin with. It was one of the old Romanian texts with the cool shapeshifting pictures in it, and she had an English/Romanian dictionary, and was trying to hash out what it said.

I asked her how it was going and she showed me about 10 pages she had managed to partially translate. It was hit-or-miss work, to be sure, but she was plodding through it, and there was some stuff that seemed to make sense. She asked me how work was, and I told her- I mean, opening the video store is pretty much catatonic work, you drink coffee, do returns, and pretty much veg out. I watched a movie called Wolfhound which I thought was a werewolf movie, but was more a soft-core porno about a guy who spends a lot of time neglecting his family so he can nail this chick who knows how to turn into a sheep dog. If that sounds odd, well- it better.

Actually- what the fuck do I know, you're the one sitting around reading a blog about a werewolf, for God's sake, maybe I shouldn't pass judgement on what you find odd.

But I found it a little odd.

I think the appeal was that the chick who played the sheep dog was in Penthouse at one point, and naked through out the whole movie pretty much.

I started to explain it to Alyssa, but it's kind of hard to tell a woman that you watched a movie like that to learn something about your condition, especially when she has spent the morning doing the same thing by ardously translating ancient Romanian werewolf texts. I mean that's hard work, and might actually bear fruit, and here comes Johnny Jackass running his mouth at her with a whole lot of talk about Penthouse Pets and sheep dogs.

I decided to shut up.

She was working on this one passage, and all of a sudden called me over-

"Hey- lemme ask you a question."

"What?"

"Are you happy with your life right now?"

"Um- Jesus- I, uh- well, I gotta be honest- I have a few problems."

We both laughed.

"No, look Kirk- if I'm translating this right, it says that no human ever turned into a werewolf who didn't already want serious change in their lives."

"Alyssa- I was bitten by a werewolf- I don't have any fucking choice in the matter..."

"No- Look- there was this woman in Romania whose husband was killed and was struggling to support three kids when she got the bite. There's another guy who was a local prince who was not allowed to marry for love when he got the bite- what I'm getting at here is, yes- the bite is a part of it, but there must also be a serious, deep seeded desire for SOMETHING to change in your life. You're subconcious mind must, on some level, deeply desire a change, any change- for the metamorphisis to become possible. I think an element of it is psychological."

"Wow."

"You're goddamn right, wow! So, are you happy?"

It was then when I kissed her.

Maybe I shouldn't have.

Fuck.

I didn't win the lottery on Saturday.

I bought a ticket though.

I rarely buy lottery tickets because the disappointment I feel when I don't win far outweighs the enjoyment of anticipating a potential windfall. Still, every now and then- I'll buy one, usually when a total random impulse hits, and I feel like on some level that I had that impulse for a REASON, and if I ignore it, I could be throwing away millions.

And then I don't win.

Also, I know enough about myself that even if I were to buy a ticket on a regular basis, I would become so accustomed to losing that not only would it not bother me, but I would probably zone out on even checking the number every week. Then, I'd wake up one day and realize I have about 7 weeks worth of unchecked lottery tickets in my wallet and fly into a neurotic tizzy, convinced that if there were one person in the world who might actually have a winning lottery ticket and not know it, it would be me. I mean, really- I've been bitten by a goddamn werewolf for crying out loud, I beat the long odds on that one.

But I didn't win the lottery.

Fuck.

They say, by the odds, that you are more likely to be struck by lightning AND attacked by a shark than you are to win the lottery. When I heard that, I always fantasized about that one poor son of a bitch who bought a lottery ticket, went swimming, and just as a giant shark was rising from the depths, jaws agape, the guy gets fried by a bolt of lightning. As the shark attacks, biting off both of the man's legs, the electricity surges through them both, killing the shark instantly, and setting it on fire, drawing the attention of a nearby rescue boat. After waking up in his hospital bed, the man rolls over, attempts to scratch the killer itch in his phantom limbs, and all of a sudden remembers his lottery ticket.

Frantically calling for the doctor to get his wallet, he retrieves the ticket, along with the day's paper listing the winning number and the poor asshole gets 3 out of 6 numbers, missing the bonus ball number by one.

Too bad, shithead- looks like the odds weren't with you.

I'm getting depressed again.

Worked at the video store today-

Yep- Alyssa's been pretty cool about the whole thing.

She's been letting me go into work, and I went back to my apartment, paid rent (late- she helped me, with Williamson's cash) and I've been kind of losing myself in it. Plus, I'd like to have some extra money for Christmas presents. I checked the almanac and the next full moon is the fucking 26th. Can you fucking believe that? The last one was Thanksgiving. The holidays are stressful enough to deal with, and now this? I got a christmas present for you, here it is: "Hi, I'll be in a cage, raging against the world in the form of wolf! My present to you this year is not, well- eating you. Merry Christmas!" By the way, I have an interesting New Year's resolution.

Here goes:

"Don't murder anybody else."

What do you think?

I need a drink.

It's been mostly OK over at the store. Today I had a kind of weird interaction. I didn't feel like watching any movies. I put in Van Helsing for about 20 minutes, and only made it as far as the shitty CGI werewolf. It was pretty stupid. Werewolves are WAY smaller than that in real life.

And they're also, you know, not cartoons.

So Stevie, the guy I was working with, had a Wu Tang CD, and we just threw that on to listen to instead of a movie. It's pretty fun to do that, just throw on some tunes, and then put maybe a kung fu movie or something on with the sound off. Normally, it's fine to do that, but today, I found myself creating a new account for this really nice, demure Asian lady, who was maybe 50 years old, very meek and reserved. She seemed like the kind of woman who was uncomfortable talking to a man at all, much less a scruffy, unshowered video clerk wearing a Lemonheads shirt that says "Hate Your Friends." I immediatley became cautious talking to her, as I could tell she was VERY conservative. Anyway, when you do a new account for somebody, it takes about five minutes. You have to get all their credit card and driver's licence info, enter it into the computer, make a rental card and laminate it.

Just as she says she wants a new account, the intro to that Method Man track "Torture" comes on- You know the one? It's the one where they describe the most fucked up tortures they can think of, and there really isn't any music, they're just pretty much talking in a very clear, audible manner.

This is kind of how it went down:

ME: Yeah, so I'll need a credit card and a photo ID

CD PLAYER: Yeahhh, torture motherfucker what?/Torture nigga what?/ What?

HER: Here you are.

CD PLAYER: I'll fuckin/ I'll fuckin tie you to a fuckin bedpost/ with your ass cheeks spread out and shit/ Right?

ME: Thanks. ( I start entering her info)

CD PLAYER: Put a hanger on a fuckin stove and let that shit sit there/ for like a half hour/
Take it off and stick it in your ass slow like/ Tssssssss............

She stared at her shoes.

ME: OK, and what's your local address?

HER: Uh...uh.... 478 Grand street

CD PLAYER: Yeah, I'll fuckin/ Yeah I'll fuckin lay your nuts on a fuckin dresser/

ME: Apartment number?

CD PLAYER: Just your nuts layin on a fuckin dresser/

HER: 6-B

CD PLAYER: And bang them shits with a spiked fuckin bat/ Ooooohhhh/ Whassup? /BLAOWWW!!

ME: Zip?

CD PLAYER: I'll fuckin/ I'll fuckin pull your fuckin tongue out your fuckin mouth

HER: One one two...uh...one one two....

CD PLAYER: and stab the shit with a rusty screwdriver, BLAOWW!!

ME: one one two.?

CD PLAYER: I'll fuckin/ I'll fuckin/ I'll fuckin hang you by your fuckin dick/

HER: one seven...six! one-one-two-one-six.

CD PLAYER: Off a fuckin twelve story building out this motherfucker!

ME: One....six. Great- did you want any guests on the account?

HER: Um... I- uh...no thank you.

ME: Well, there you go- All DVD's and new releases are 3 dollars and tapes that aren't new are two dollars. Everything is a one night rental and is due back by 11:00 PM the next day.

CD PLAYER: I'll fuckin/ I'll fuckin/ sew your asshole closed/

HER: Uh, OK.

ME: The late fees are just what you paid for the movie, so if you return this movie a day late, the fee would be three dollars- cool?

CD PLAYER: and keep feedin you/ and feedin you, and feedin you, and feedin you

HER: What? Sorry. Yes.

CD PLAYER: Yo, roll the dice, yo roll the dice/

ME: Have a nice day.

CD PLAYER: Yo, so it's going down like that, huh? Yeah?

HER: Goodbye.

CD PLAYER: Niggaz is whylin, check it out kid...



I wonder if she'll ever come back.

Screw it.

I have bigger problems.

I smelled Jeff today.

Yep.

Smelled the son of a bitch.

I was walking down Bedford past the Bagel Store, and I smelled him. It was a couple of days old and I followed it out to Berry street and lost it by the elementary school. Oh, Alyssa let me out of the cage. I convinced her to let me out, and said that I'd be back, and honestly, I will. I mean, I don't have a cage, and I don't want to eat people, I may as well use that one when I change.

You know, unless I have to get into a werewolf fight with Jeff.

That would suck, as I'm really more of a lover than a fighter. Actually, come to think of it, I'm really neither a lover or a fighter. I'm a video store clerk.

That's a rare third category.

Who knows how I'll feel when I'm all wolfed out though.

Someone mentioned that he may have remembered that he ate Williamson's body, and that's what made him bolt, but according to Alyssa, he had already killed and eaten like, four people before they caught up to him, so who knows if he even cares. Maybe he's got a taste for it.
I wonder if I do.

That'd be fucked up.

By the way, if people want to send me email, they can send it to whatishappeningtome@hotmail.com. Someday, I'll figure out how to put that up in a banner. I'll be honest with you- I've murdered a guy, endangered my family, and have a disease that causes me to change into a bloodthirsty beast.

Learning HTML really isn't on the top of my priorites list right now.

Oh, and to the wiseacres that like to leave comments shitting all over how if this is fiction than it sucks, but if it's not, than I'm lame- lemme clear this up:

I AM A MOTHERFUCKING WEREWOLF OVER HERE.

IF I AM NOT PLEASING YOU, ENTERTAINING YOU, OR MAKING YOU CHUCKLE, TOO FUCKING BAD!

You assholes never heard of Fark.com?

Go elsewhere if you want to be entertained.

I'm working at the video store tomorrow.

Stop by if you're around.

Yeesh-

There's been a little hostility on the comment boards of late.

Still, I believe it was Benjamin Franklin that wrote "The primary ingredient of greatness is a loud opposition."

OK, I made that up.

Still, I have bigger problems.

The thing is, after I killed Williamson and woke up in the cage, Alyssa's pretty much been on her own. Like, he had all kinds of books and stuff but a lot of them are in different languages, and he a has a LOT of stuff laying around, some of which might be total bullshit.

For example, he has an book in what I think is Romainian, that looks really old and has pictures of men turning into beasts, but on the other hand, he also has an original shooting script from "Teen Wolf Too." I'm pretty sure that isn't the world's most definitive text on how werewolves actually function. I mean, I'm one, and I can't box worth a lick. Speaking of that, Jason Bateman seems to have come a long way.

Really.

But seriously, according to her, she had only worked with the guy for two months, primarily doing clerical stuff, picking up his laundry at the cleaners, stuff like that. He was loaded though and the pay was good, at least it beat being an art handler, so she was into it. She's also an actress, but I haven't seen her go out on any auditions. She showed me her headshot, and I gotta be honest, it doesn't really look much like her. It's a nice shot, but it kinda glammed her up too much. Either way, she doesn't know that much at all about werewolf hunting, and to be honest, thought it was a crock of shit until she saw Jeff change for the first time.

He's still gone by the way.

I don't know how he got out of the cage, but when I woke up the other day his door was open and he was gone. It'd be awful if he hurt somebody. I pitched it to Alyssa that we ought to call the cops, but she answered back with the fact that if she did that, she'd have to tell them that we were werewolves, which is gonna get us all locked up in Bellvue, and additionaly she'd have to explain how she got rid of Williamson's body. I know it's gross, but it made sense.

She had Jeff eat him.

I was knocked out by the dart, and stayed under for a two days, but she just dragged him into Jeff's cage, and apparently, there was barely enough left the next day to change the bag on the dustbuster.

She told me not to tell him, and I obliged.

Either way, we're in a bit of a fix.

Some of the commenters were right.

I am bored.

Jeff's gone.

He escaped.

So there you go, Brooklyn, you got a werewolf out there!


Enjoy!

Today-

I watched Point Blank.

Now there's a goddamn Lee Marvin movie. I appreciate the suggestions in the comments, but c'mon, Paint your Wagon?

I want to see Lee Marvin singing about as much as I want to see Liberace throw a guy a savage beating.

Come to think of it, I wouldn't mind seeing that at all. Just really tearing off and beating the crap out of a guy. He could be sitting behind the piano, all bedecked in like a spangled purple jumpsuit, and this dude would come in. Liberace would be all like- "Ah. Murphy. You've come. Do you have the money?" Murphy would be like "Uh- I have part of it Mr. Liberace, sir- you see I- "
"Wait-" Liberace would say, scooting back his piano bench, flipping his cape in the air and standing. "That will not be necessary." Murphy looks back at him, confused. "I told you yesterday that if you did not have ALL the money on you, I would take it out of your ass. Which leaves me only one thing left to do."
(Cut back to Murphy, who is trembling, and looks like he might be thinking of pulling out a gun.)

"What's that, boss?"

"I need to take off my rings."

Liberace begins removing one gaudy ring after another, and slaps them down on the piano bench, each producing an impressive *clack* sound. As he removes the third ring, Murphy goes for his gun. Liberace, one step ahead of him, lifts the entire piano bench off the ground, and smashes it uppercut-style through Murphy's jaw, sending the gun flying. Murphy is sprawled on the floor and Liberace grabs him by the hair and pulls his head up. "Well, well, well, Mr Murphy- too bad for you, I didn't have time to take off the REST of my them. He draws back a fist, which we go tight on to see a large, gaudy diamond and ruby middle finger ring in the shape of an L. "Goodnight, Mr. Murphy."

The scene fades to black as the repeated impacts of Liberace's fist to his face become louder, and eventually sloppier sounding, as he beats Murphy to a bloody pulp.

Yeah, I'd give that a look.

Jeff is a dick. He wanted to rent The Butterfly Effect.

What a douchebag.

I'm watching-

-The Man who Shot Liberty Vallance.

I've been on a bit of a Lee Marvin kick after seeing The Big Red One last week, and I'm into it.

That dude was a badass.

Also, I haven't had a lot to do in the cage this week but email and watch movies. I've asked Alyssa if she'll let me get out and go to work, and she's softening up a bit I think.

I mean, I'm pretty mellow when it's not a full moon, and she's still a little freaked out.

Lemme explain.

I killed Ross Williamson Saturday night.

She saw the whole thing. It was pretty awful, when you think about it, but that prick had it coming. I mean, really- he's talking all this trash about how I'm an "unholy monster" and a "demon in the disguise of a man." It's like, "Hey Asshole! I work in a video store! I'm not like, a dick over here!"

Sure, I've turned into a wolf a couple of times, and I can be dangerous, but let's look at the total body count shall we?

Up until the point I killed him, I had killed:

-One (1) cat, which I'm still a little broken up over.
-One (1)Moose which have NO regrets about and was fucking delicious.
-Zero (0) People.

That's right NO people.

Sure, I was the cause of the bus accident, but when it happened, I was honestly just trying to kill myself. There was a drunk in the bathroom, and what happened was really just a horrible accident.
Also, not only did I not kill anybody, BUT I saved a nine year old boy from the burning wreckage!

I mean, Jesus!

What the hell kind of werewolf did this asshole think I was?

Yes, I have some problems.
Yes, I transform into a wolf when the moon is full and I acknowledge that.
Yes, I realize that my condition could make some people uneasy, but regardless of the leadership in Washington, I am not in favor of preemptive strikes.

I have a disease, and it ought to be treated as one.

You know, if I had health insurance.

The night he caught up to me, I had planned to handcuff myself to the bed again, but when I got home, I realized I lost the cuffs on the bus. At wits end, with the sun setting, I went into my bathroom and took a bunch of pills. I still had a bunch of Ativan from when I used to get panic attacks, and I just went to the bathroom and ate the whole bottle. I tried to do it with scotch at first, but it was really hard to swallow them fast, so I switched to water. After I finished the pills, I tried to go back to the scotch, but found that I couldn't drink any because I couldn't find my lips. As I was finishing the pills, I remember thinking that it was weird that I agreed to work a part shift at the store that day. I mean shit, I was committing suicide, and I spent my last day on earth reshelving Harry Potter DVD's?

That blows.

I dropped the bottle of scotch, which hit the bathroom floor and broke without making a sound. Then everything went into a haze, I could feel myself blacking out, and- I started to change into the wolf. It was weird though, there was no pain this time, no rush of power, it was just kind of ...mellow. Like I was growing paws and shit, and hair, and a tail! I saw my own tail just sprouting out of my ass, and I was digging it!

I totally turned into a werewolf and was just totally chill, man! I was actually hanging out in my bathroom just fucking waggin' my tail!

I mean, you have no fucking idea how good it feels to have a tail, and you can just WAG that son of a bitch! Then, you kind of get excited by it, which makes you happy, and then, it just WAGS ON IT'S OWN!

You're just hanging out, pysched, and that thing's busy wagging.

Awesome.

It was then that Williamson broke down my door.

You know what's funny is, you know what I did when I first heard them approaching the door?

I barked.

How funny is that?

Anyway, when they broke in, I started up, immediately more alert than I had been, and roared. The animal was back, momentarily at least. I went to get up, misjudged where the doorframe was and smashed straight into the wall. I was pretty stoned. That's when Williamson started in with his "demon" bullshit.

Alyssa was right behind him, she was dragging this heavy net and had like a speargun thing with her, but Williamson was standing in front of her, and he was a big dude. Real barrelchested and pompous looking, with this black stick in his hand. He was built like an NFL lineman- must have been about 6' 5" with arms like fucking cannons, and a neck bigger than his face, which was one of those chubby, once-handsome kind of asshole gym teacher faces. I would have wanted to tear it off his fat head even if I wasn't an animal at the time.

"Stand Down Demon!" he bellowed, "For you have faced your final match. It is I, Ross Williamson, Werewolf Hunter!"

Can you believe that shit?

"You are a child of Satan, and a nightwalker who poisons all of those who live in the light of the Almighty God! I will vanquish thee if you do not relinqish! Do you relinqish, beast?"

Then he took his stick and tasered the shit out of my shoulder, sending me skidding away.

Now look.

I wasn't hurting anybody in there. I was just a mellowed out werewolf, digging on my pills, sitting in my bathroom watching my tail wag. And this Jesus freak dildo with a four foot taser just WALTZES into MY house and calls me a SINNER?

Fuck him.

I was groggy from the jolt and had rolled back into the corner of the bathroom where I was licking my wounds.

Literally.

I was actually licking my wounds!
Isn't that awesome?

Anyway, he took the taser in both hands and stepped forward again. I rolled my paws under my ass, and with a low rumbling growl building in my throat, poised myself to spring.

"Thou art a demon in the disguise of man, and I call down upon Almighty God in all of his benevolence to guide my hand as I strike down this beast in the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit! God if you are there- give me strength for what must come next!"

I leapt straight up in the air, and with one powerful swing of my right paw, swatted his head clean off. No shit. It bounced on the floor, higher than you'd think, and rolled past Aylssa, who screamed. As Williamson's body hit the floor, now gushing blood, I turned to Alyssa, and she poked me with something.

I woke up in the cage.

Anybody know a doctor who can get a brother some more Ativan?

Oh, and some suggestions on a few other good Lee Marvin movies. That motherfucker knocked off a few heads in his day too, I bet.

The third chapter

After I woke up by the river, I was beat.

I'm always a little wrecked after I change, but this was different. Normally most of my wounds heal up pretty good the day after, even bullets haven't been a problem in the past. Still, even if you're a werewolf, flipping over in a crowded bus, smashing through a windshield and being on fire for a good 3 minutes can take it out of you.

My first thought was wondering where the hell I was.

Once I remembered what went on, my second thought was about the kid.

Did I eat him?

I quickly looked around the riverbank for telltale body parts, and then remembered that I'd been on fire and ran. Hmm. Hope he's OK.

My third thought was just wondering where the hell I was, and how I was going to get home.

It's funny, there's a lot about being a werewolf that's a drag, but the "waking up naked not knowing where you are" part is still the most annoying. I mean, Jesus, I'm dealing with issues like murder, suicide, whether I should trust anyone with my secret, finding a cure if possible, and trying to pay my rent on top of it all, but it's pretty hard to start to tackle those issues when you realize that nobody's gonna pick up a hitchhiker with his dick out.

They're not really focusing on your thumb is all.

It's not that I'm really ashamed to be walking around naked, it just makes the first impression a little trickier. I wonder if women werewolves have that problem. I mean, I'm not saying that anybody is going to look GOOD after spending a night as a beast and waking up naked, unwashed and confused, I'm just saying that if I see a naked dude on the side of the road, I'm less curious about ways I might assist that guy.

I remembered that the street sign before the accident had said we were 45 miles out of New York, so I figured I was either a little ways upstate or in Northern New Jersey. There was nothing else to do, so I started walking south. I've gotten pretty good at directions these days- I guess all the looking up at the moon all the goddamn time has gotten me pretty well calibrated.

I found a local road and followed it into a town, ducking off in the brush when I heard cars coming. As I walked along, I came to a little strip mall thing that had a laundramat in it. I had an idea.

Striding proudly into the laundramat, still totally naked, I grabbed a box of Tide off a machine, covered my privates with it, turned my attention to the several patrons and workers who were busy with laundry and burst into song.

"Ohhhhhhhh- Sigma Pi, Sigma Pi, you are the ones for me! /I've come down here without my clothes as they're the best Fraternity! /Oh Sigma Pi, Sigma Pi I pledge my love for thee! /As awkward as this is for you/ imagine how it is for meeeeeee- Thank You! Thank you!"

I gestured outside the laudramat, ostensibly at the hidden frat brothers that were monitoring my performance, and took a brief bow to a few laughs and scattered applause around the laundramat.

"So- any of you guys have like, a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt for me?"

As it turned out, one guy was happy to loan me some clothes and let me use his cellphone to call a car service. My pay was still down at the video store, seeing as I hadn't picked it up Friday, so we drove straight there (which cost about 60 bucks- ouch), I paid the guy and worked a short shift.

For reasons obvious, I told them I was sick and headed back to the apartment where I wrote my saturday post.

What happened that night was what got me in the cage, which by the way, I'm getting rapidly tired of living in.

It's a long story- I'll do it tomorrow.