Lonely

That's the best way to describe my state of mind these days.

I guess "confused" fits too, but then again, I can't really think back to any day since all this shit started when that word wasn't applicable.

Basically, almost all of the past month was bullshit.

The gladiator fight, Lars and Mickey, Bruce, The purebloods, all of it was part of an artificial construct designed to, well- neuter me.

Not literally of course, but to make me harmless to society, trapped in a dream world where I am the king, and so complacent that I no longer felt the need to change. The worst part is, Alyssa was in on it. You see, before I killed Williamson, Alyssa was helping him to hunt werewolves. He'd been doing it for years, and the way it worked was, if you can't kill a werewolf straight out, you put them in cages and enter them into this program, run by- well, I thought his name was Bruce, but really, it was something else. Or maybe it was Bruce, I dunno. All I can tell you is his dogs aren't actually movie stars and sex kittens, but I don't really want to talk about that. That whole thing still gives me the willies.

When I woke up the next day after Alyssa got me out of the snow, she told me everything.

I think.

I mean, God knows how I could ever trust her, or anybody, really again, but she laid it out, and I guess it's true. Or, at least, more true than the world I had been living in since Christmas.

Incidentally, if you read back in the blog, I had a New Year's resolution not to kill anybody this year. Looks like I made it all the way until late January. Which honestly, is better than I did with the quitting smoking last year.

Basically, Bruce was this guy who knew how to control people's minds, or more specifically, werewolves' minds. He worked with Williamson for a while, and Williamson cut him off when he started to suspect that it was more merciful to simply kill werewolves than it was to fuck with their heads the way this guy did. So they broke off their relationship. Unfortunately, when I killed Williamson, and got entangled with Alyssa, she said she didn't have the heart to kill me, so she called this guy, and hooked him up with Jeff. She said she wanted to try it with Jeff first, and if that worked out OK, she'd hand me over to him, seeing as having the both of us living in cages didn't seem to be a great long term solution.

The problem was, Jeff took to it too well, and over the course of his mind control, he began to be obsessed with me. If he was to be the king of the werewolves, where was I? What was I doing? He began to revolt from the control, and began seeking me out, which is why I smelled him all over town, and why he came by the video store. The only way that Bruce could keep Jeff in the fold was to include me in the storyline somehow, create the gladiator fight concept, which would draw in Jeff. Bruce must have picked up on the fact that the only thing that would draw my interest was Alyssa.

So he conspired with her to "disappear" and have me show up in Mcarren park on the eve of the transformation, when my mind would be at it's most vulnerable for control.

The whole scene in Mcarren Park was kind of a 50-50 blend of reality and mind control, and there were signs, like him controlling the policemen with the Jedi mind trick, and getting me into the van to Jersey. Those weren't cops by the way. They weren't even real.

Apparently, I was just standing in kind of a trance, only taking in the bits and pieces of reality that he allowed me- Alyssa, the van, my clothes, Jeff.

I know, it's weird.

Anyway, he had Alyssa move certain familiar elements of my life into the basement to link to me, and that I could use as anchors to reality. Some of that was my computer, which had been vitally important to me in terms of sorting out what's been going on in my life, and he let me watch the Patriots and television and movies to keep me somewhat sedated, and the rest of it was easy for him. The blog helped me break it too, a little- he knew that I was typing, but he didn't know what it was, and didn't care. He was more concerned that I was staying put and not hurting anyone, and he couldn't have been happier to have me sitting there typing away. And the visions he created were so easy for me to believe. I mean, you believe what you want to believe and who wouldn't want to accept that they are a champion, they are having sex with porn stars, that they are being bred for something bigger, and that they are truly learning control?

I still kinda believe that there are werewolves in Corporate America, though. That would explain a lot.

The problems started when he killed Jeff.

The fantasy had begun to grow too large for Bruce to control both of us, so when he staged our werewolf fight, he had both Jeff and Lars, who were impediments to my relaxing and accepting the control wipe each other out. And that's when Alyssa decided she'd had enough.

According to her, she tried to free me, and shake me out of this, and Bruce reacted badly. He drugged her, tied her up, and proceeded to let my fantasy world spin out of control, even to the point of adding sex-nymphs (yes, they were dogs) into the mix.

What saved me was the iPod.

She convinced him to let me listen to music, as it would soothe me further, and gave me the iPod. He had no idea that Dan was in it. As it turns out, there was no place in the fantasy he had created for me for a ghost in an iPod, I mean, the whole thing is pretty goddamn unbelieveable, so Dan simply manifested himself in one of the characters that were already there.

So basically, he became Mickey.

Which is why Mickey disappeared for a while. Dan didn't know where he was, and he couldn't talk to me traditionally, so his spirt inhabited Mickey, at least in my mind, and it took him a while to learn how to reach me.

When I became agitated about Mickey, it disturbed my fantasies, and Bruce sensed he was losing control, so he set it up that I would smell him around my things, and kill him myself. Apparently, it's easier to eliminate fantasy characters from someone's mind when they eliminate them themselves, and so Mickey became "the victim."

All thoughout this, the supposed goal was to get me to control myself, to get to a point where I wouldn't have to change, and when that was mastered, to I guess, cure me. And the fucked up thing is, it worked early. Towards the end of the fantasy, I had learned to control my changes, and knew that my mind was stronger than anything else. Unfortunately, it was that very control that allowed me to spare Mickey, put the concept of Dan back in my head, and return me to thoughts of Alyssa. As soon as I had control over my changes, I also had control over my mind, or at least partial control, and when the vision broke down, there was so much rage, that the change took over again, and I killed Bruce.

I don't feel bad about that by the way. I mean- sure, maybe I was a bad doggy, but that dude was dealing out some seriously evil clockwork orange shit, and he deserved what he got. I mean, shit, he kidnapped Alyssa, and deep down, I feel that if I had allowed myself to kill Mickey, eliminating Dan from my subconcious, she would have been next, in one way or another.

I was going down a bad path with that guy, and I can't imagine that it would have ended well.

You know, as if the way it did turn out was so goddamn peachy.

Fuck.

Anyway, when we got back to Brooklyn, Alyssa hooked me up with the cage so I could safely transform, I called the video store so I could at least support myself, and she left. She said she was going to Europe to do research on how to help me, but she might just be gone. And it might be for the best. I mean, I've had trust issues with women before but never to the point where I tell a woman that I love her and in exchange she throws me in a mental prison where despite what I think is going on, I'm actually living in a basement in New Jersey commiting unnatural acts with trio of Rottweilers.

And I know, it got out of her control, but damn- that's a step above, oh I don't know- fucking one of my friends and lying about it, you know?

So she's gone, and I guess it was the only thing to do.

The other thing that pisses me off is that the only time I was actually able to control my transformations it was in a fantasy world. The next night, back in the cage in Brooklyn, I changed again, and there wasn't a damn thing I could do about it. I tried to think about the swimming pool, how I didn't need change in my life, and all the rest of it, but when everything you've known for a month of your life is a complete and total lie, it's tough to get that confidence back up.

So now- I'm just lonely.

And it's cold as balls outside.

I hate January.

Boy-

Sorry about that last post.

I was a little drunk.

I mean, whatever, it doesn't take a genius to figure out that Napolean Dynamite is not the enemy here.

I guess I should get this story down though- it's horribly embarrasing, but really- the truth is the truth, and I guess embarrasment is part of that.

After Bruce told me that I had "passed with flying colors" I entered the house and began walking up the stairs towards his chambers. As I was walking, the stairs kind of flashed. It was weird- like the carpeting on the stairs, normally a rich burgundy, kind of flashed into black and white for a moment, resembling the stairs of a cellar. I heard Alyssa's voice from behind me.

"Kirk! Don't!"

I turned around, and the house was as it had always been.

I resumed my climb, and saw Bruce standing at the top of the stairs.

"Kirk!"

Alyssa again- from behind me.

I turned, and was in a basement. Like grungy walls, dirty floors and she was there. Tied to a wall.

"Alyssa?" I started to say, and my head started spinning again.

"Fight it." She said- and I closed my eyes, waiting for the spinning to stop.

I heard Bruce's voice again- "Kirk- come up to me." I looked up at him, and it- well- wasn't him. There was a short, balding middle aged man wearing a wife beater T-shirt at the top of the cellar stairs with several dogs at his feet. "You have done well, and you deserve your reward." That wasn't Bruce's voice.

Who the fuck was that guy?

"Enjoy the fruits of your labors, my boy-" came the unfamiliar voice which as he talked, turned into Bruce's voice at the same time as the carpet suddenly reappeared in full lush red. "these purebloods are here to service you."

OK, now that was Bruce.

I looked up the stairs, back in the mansion, and Bruce, as I knew him, regally dressed in a cape and holding the cane that he had with him when I first saw him in Mccarren Park, with two naked women draped around him- that I recognized as Kate Frost and Katie Holmes.

"Come to us Kirk" said Kate Frost.

"We've missed you" said Katie Homes, blowing me a kiss.

I faltered on the stairs for a moment and took a step upwards.

As I gazed into the eyes of the women, and then to Bruce I saw a flash of terror in his eyes as Alyssa's voice cut through the illusion.

"Kirk! Goddamnit! Snap out of this!"

I had another crippling headrush, and Bruce's eyes's, widened in terror, were the only things that didn't change, as his body, the mansion, the women and the stairs reverted back to the cellar scene. Bruce wasn't Bruce. He was short and fat, and women were not women, they were dogs, and I was in a dirty basement.

And as the illusions fell away, the memories returned.

Memories.

I wasn't living in a mansion. I wasn't any kind of chosen werewolf, I was living in a basement and I had been....

Oh fuck.

Had I been having sex with dogs?

My knees buckled under me and I fell down the cellar stairs. Shaking my head, I turned around and saw several things I recognized from Alyssa's old loft. My computer, a bed, two cages.

What the fuck was happening to me?

I rolled over and saw Alyssa.

"Kirk! Kirk! Can you see me?"

"Yes" I said. "I can."

"Well untie me, dipshit, we have to get out of here."

She was never much for tact.

I turned to her and untied her hands, when the unfamiliar voice cried out from the top of the stairs. "Kirk. You're sick. Let me take care of you- you are going through something awful, and I can help. Remember the Patriots- have I ever been wrong about anything?"

It wasn't Bruce's voice. I had another violent headrush, and when my eyesight returned, I was back in the mansion, and I saw and heard Bruce, walking down the stairs towards me. "That's it my boy. You have learned control. And with control, comes power. You do want power, don't you?"

I looked over my shoulder, and Alyssa was gone.

I was in the foyer of the mansion, and Bruce was standing over me, with the two women by his side.

"Get up my boy."

I struggled to get to my feet and as I was trying to rise, I was knocked to the floor as, of all things, a mailbox, disconnected from it's post and travelling with a great deal of speed, shattered though the glass doors, sending flying glass into my face, and knocking me to the ground. It was the voice that truly shattered things though. A familar voice- Mickey's.

"No! Stay down!"

As I heard his voice, the mansion disappeared and I was back in the cellar, with the short man standing over me, his dogs licking my face.

"It's me, Kirk- It's Dan."

This time the voice was in my head. Dan's voice, from the iPod. I touched my ears and I wasn't wearing headphones but it WAS Dan, and he WAS speaking to me, in my head.

"He's tricking you Kirk. It's mind control."

"Dan?" I put my head in my hands, and squeezed.

I opened my eyes and I was on red carpet again, with the two women stroking my hair.

"There, there" said Katie Holmes. "It'll all be better soon. It'll all be better."
"Take it slow lover," said Kate Frost. I've seen this happen, and everything will be fine."
Bruce's voice, as I remembered it, boomed into my ears.

"Rest is what you need Kirk. Give me your arm."

I felt his fist clench around my arm as the women stroked my head and I saw a syringe coming towards me. As it got closer and closer to my arm, Bruce was knocked off his feet by something invisible. When he landed, I was back in the basement and the short man was rolling on the ground with Alyssa. She had tackled him, and there was a struggle. The two dogs, which were right up in my face, barked sharply, startling me, and causing me to sit up straight.

"Kirk. It's Dan- you there, buddy?"

The voice in my head was back, and it was Dan.

"Get that motherfucker off Alyssa, and let's get out of here."

And then. Only then, did I truly know. Did I truly remember.

A rage consumed my entire body, and a deep snarl started in the back of my throat.

I was changing, and this time, I didn't want to fight it.

"ALYSSA!" My voice was more of a roar than a human voice, but I made no effort to calm myself.

"RUN!"

There was power in my body and there was rage. I was awake, and fucking pissed.

The short man, who I had known as Bruce, rolled off Alyssa, and she took off up the stairs, followed by the dogs, tails between their legs. I felt my spine snapping and expanding and my jaw stretching and jutting out of my head. My ears were filled by the sounds of bristiling hair.

The man got to his feet.

"Kirk. Listen to me."

It wasn't Bruce's voice.

"You need control."

It wasn't Bruce.

But it didn't really matter either way, becuase at that point, I wasn't Kirk.

"You have to understand- this was the only way- it HAD to be thi-"

I didn't get the rest of what he was saying, mostly becuase it's hard to really comprehend what someone is trying to say when you're busy tearing his throat out. Most of what happened was a frenzy. I heard gurgling and snapping, I felt a the warm spray of blood across my muzzle, and I gotta be honest with you guys, I just killed the fuck out of that son of a bitch.

Afterwards there was silence, sporadically broken up by the involuntary snarling that came from my blood-filled throat. I paced around the cellar, examining the chunks of bone and flesh that remained. They were pretty much littered all around the basement and the wall where Alyssa had been tied was dripping with blood.

I raised my head in the air, filled up my lungs with not only the stuffy air of the basement but also the adrenalene of the kill, and howled. Like, really, really, howled. In a flash, I was bounding up the steps of the cellar, smashed through the front door of what appeared to be a country home of some kind and just ran towards the woods.

I ran, and ran, and ran- and that's where everything got fuzzy again.

The next thing I remember I was waking up naked in the snow by a frozen creekbed.

Which totally sucked, cause it was fucking cold as a motherfucker.

I felt myself dying, and just didn't care. The cold was so intense that it felt warm, nice, kind of narcotic. My mind phased out and I settled into the swirling darkness. I saw a light and was moving towards it when I heard yet another voice.

"Kirk. My God- come back to me!"

It was Alyssa- I tried to blink, but my eyelids were frozen shut. My whole body shook, in an involuntary spasm. I realized there was a blanket around me, and I felt a snap in my legs as she rolled me over. I passed out again, and woke up in Brooklyn.

I can't fucking believe that I fucked those dogs.

I mean, shit.

I hope you zooskool fucks are enjoying the irony here, but that's just nasty.

Holy fucking shit.

Alyssa left.

I don't know where to start.

I mean, fuck.

I don't even know if this blog is a good idea.

I gotta tell you people, I feel weird even posting this, but I'm telling myself that posting every day is the right thing to do, seeing as I slacked off so much when I was in that goddamn phony-ass werewolf syndicate.

The thing is, I know that there are a lot of people who read this thing now, and I'm feeling a lot of pressure to, oh I don't know- keep the story moving, but that's just the thing.

Life isn't a fucking story.

I had a long, shitty day at work, and for all the assholes who said that they called the store earlier, when I actually work there the only goddamn phone calls I get are from shitheads who want to know if Napolean Dynamite is in.

And it isn't.

By the way, that movie sucks, people.

For fuck's sake, there are so many movies out there that actually ARE cool, and you fucking sheep just want the latest fucking flash in the pan ripoff of something that Wes Anderson did WAY better?

I mean shit- rent Schizopolis, rent Wings of Desire, rent a fucking Hal Hartley movie, you assholes! There are great, cool quirky movies out there, and you shitheads need Napolean Dynamite? Crack a fucking book, read a website, do something!

Now don't get me wrong, I have no problem with somebody walking into a video store and just getting something to pass the time. Fuck- rent Secret Window, rent Collateral, rent that fucking totally average thing with the dude from scrubs and Natalie Portman, I don't give a fuck, that's fine, but you gotta call ahead for an epic piece of phony garbage like Napolean Dynamite?

And no, I don't care if I spelled it wrong.

Incidently, "Vote for Pedro" should really only be interpreted as a way to get behind the motherfucking World Champion Boston Red Sox.

I guess I just object to the idea that you are renting the "cool" movie because you have pretentions that you actually know what is cool, and I hate to tell you people, that ain't it.

The best part of my day happened around 11:30 AM, when there was no one in the video store and I watched the Buffy musical.

Buffy, by the way, on it's shittiest day, is way cooler than that colostomy bag of a movie.
And I haven't even seen it.

I've had it up to fucking here with all this "Geek Chic" shit. That ended in 1999, Get the fuck over it.

Nerds aren't cool, goddamnit, that's why they're nerds.

Fuck it.

I'm sorry, I know you probably want to hear the whole goddamn story of how I got out of there, but guess what dickheads?

I don't feel like doing it tonight.

Go fuck yourselves.

Back at the video store.

You heard me.

11:00 AM tomorrow, I open the gates. I'm on till 5:30, call then if you want, douchebags, you'll find out if Kirk Thomson really works there.

Still, it's a little frustrating. I go through a measure of hell that I thought unimaginable, commit horrible acts of violence, come face to face with something I abhor, realize that it is in me to a certain extent, and come out the other side unscathed, well physically at least.

I never want to look at another dog again.

So I get back, call John at the video store, and what do I hear?

"Hey! How was Prague? Can you open tomorrow?"

"Sure, fuck it."

I guess you guys wanna hear the story.

When the guys knocked at my door, I was so confused that I literally was led from the room in a daze. I was glad to see that the post turned up alright, cause as they dragged me away, Blogger was still doing that wonky "Your blog is being published" screen, which means it is:
a) really being published
b) isn't publishing at all and you lose your whole post
or
c) posts it about 17 times.

But my head was swimming. I mean, Mickey had just told me that he was actually Dan Reilly, the ghost who was trapped in my iPod (Well, actually, HIS iPod, but why nitpick) that Alyssa had sent him into Mickey's body, the Bruce was evil and I was walking into a trap.

He was kinda right.

First, I thought, well -duh- he read my blog.

I mean, I had smelled him in my room and next to my computer, and he had been real shifty around me ever since I was sort of responsible for feeding his buddy Lars to another werewolf, but let's be honest, fuck that guy. He was a dick. I mean, if you get work as a werewolf wrangler, you gotta expect to get scratched up a little. I mean, fuck- don't sign up to be a rodeo clown if you're gonna bitch when a bull steps on your nuts, is all I'm saying.

You know, let's just to take a moment here, sit back and reflect on how fucking intimidating my skill with metaphor is. I truly paint a picture with the written word.

OK, sorry about that. Back to our gripping tale-

I mean, the whole thing just seems off. Why would he avoid me? I wasn't pissed at him until he had been in my room. And I hadn't seen him in my room, just smelled him. And now here he was all tied up waiting to be slaughtered? And why was Bruce so cool all of a sudden with me eating one of his employees? Granted, I don't exactly know how he hires these guys and keeps their morale up, but I'd wager that when you allow a bad employee to be tied up and eaten it might make for a few awkward moments at the company Christmas party is all.

But what the hell do I know.

I did telemarketing for a couple years, and being ripped to peices by a bloodthirsty beast would have at least broken up the monotony.

So anyway, the handlers got me down to this holding area, and tied me to the wall. I could see through the open glass doors as the sun was setting, and could see the tracks in the snow where Mickey had run after his release. More importantly, his scent, still fresh in my nostrils, blazed a clear path of where I had to go. The power panic hit me like a thunderbolt, and with an involuntary spasm of my arms, broke the ropes that held me. I smelled the scent on the wind, lept up on all fours, and was enjoying the sound of a low, rumbling snarl that I startled to realize was coming from my own throat.

Then- I don't know...I just sort of...stopped.

It's funny what you think of when you get in these situations, and what is important to you. I felt the air around me, the thoughts inside me, and all confusion started falling away. My mind returned to the swimming pool, and what it felt like to walk into it slowly, with CONTROL.

Then, all of a sudden, like a thunderbolt, I saw Alyssa.

In my mind.

She was there.

"You see Kirk, no one can become a werewolf unless they desire a radical change in their lives. It's impossible."

Slowly, yet surely, I made a decision.

I made a choice.

I was not going to change.

Sure, I was feeling the urge to change, but why should I embrace it? Am I not my own man, standing on the earth with every right to be there as anyone else? And really, what kind of change was I looking for? Did I want more money? I dunno, I guess so, but not really. Did I want sex? I'd had all kinds of crazy sex with the purebloods, and that didn't cheer me up THAT much. Did I want love? I already had it, with Alyssa.

So what the fuck was I complaining about?

I stood up and walked into the light of the full moon as a man, for the first time in, well- honestly, in my whole life.

And it felt pretty good.

Just then, I heard a voice.

"Congratulations Mr. Thompson. You have passed with flying colors."

It was Bruce. From the second floor, he was calling to me from his chambers.

"Come up and see me. We have much to discuss."

And so I did.

I'll tell you all about it tomorrow, and believe me, it's worth it. But right now, I'm tired as hell and have to work in the morning.

To be continued.....

There's a Full Moon Tonight.

So I'd like to get this post in quickly, because it might be my last.

I feel awful, and almost totally confused.

But it's worth bringing up this interesting fact.

I didn't change last night. In the past, the night before the full moon had caused me to change, but as I look back though the blog, it hasn't always.

I asked Bruce about it, and he said that I am gaining control. Also, I wonder about what Alyssa said. She said that when one is content with his life, it is impossible to change into the wolf. And aren't I content? I mean, I live in a mansion with my own private quarters, enjoy the services of my own personal harem, and am given the appropriate respect due a rogue champion.

Still, in order for this existence to really be ideal, I'd have to still be a werewolf, right? I mean, if I get too complacent, when the time comes to face Bruce in the ring, if I can't change, well- that would be a problem.

I've begun to wonder if I should be trusting this guy.

I went down to his chambers this afternoon to ask him about it, and to discuss what would happen tonight on the change, and when I got there he welcomed me warmly.

"Kirk!" He said, sweeping the door open wide upon my arrival. "It is wonderful to see you. And I have something for you. Your victim."

He pulled a curtain, revealing a sprawling view of the grounds. About sixty feet away, shackled to a large elm tree and standing in the snow was Mickey.

"He will be released on the grounds at 6:00 PM." You will be released when you change. I suggest you go out to visit him, and get his scent."

I kept quiet, for the most part, and decided to go out there. Bruce was kind of freaking me out, and I was still wondering if I could even change. I felt the panic rise, and thought it was happening, and then it just turned out to be plain old panic. Which is also scary.

I walked out the front door, and crunched through the snow towards where Mickey was shackled. He had been gagged with a thick piece of burlap, and looked as though he had been beaten badly. I looked behind me, and saw Bruce standing a safe distance away. He could see me, but I wasn't sure if he could hear.

As I got closer, Mickey surged at his shackles. His guttural attempts at speech seemed so persistant, that as I approached him, I was consumed with a burning curiosity to remove his gag. I looked back at Bruce. He was watching, but definately keeping his distance.

I really wanted to find out what he had been doing in my room and on my computer.

Fuck it.

I reached out and untied his gag.

"Kirk! Kirk! You've got to list-"

I stopped his diatribe with a backhanded slap across his face. Hard. He shut up.

"I don't want to hear it. You'll get a chance to talk soon. What were you doing in my room Mickey? And where the hell have you been the past week?"

"My name isn't Mickey. Anymore...I'm...this is gonna sound weird..."

I looked down at the back of my hand and saw his blood on the back of my hand. I stared at it, brought my hand to my face and smelled it. I could see the fear in his face paralyzing him. I liked it. His scent was as clear to me as the beam of a flashlight in a pitch black room. "Whatever, asshole- I don't care who you are."

I turned and started walking away.

"This is a set up! You know me Kirk! I've been to see Alyssa!"

I stopped in my tracks.

He went on: "You know me Kirk, I used to be Mickey but he is gone now, and I'm in his body."

I turned around

"So who are you then? And make it fast."

"You know me. You know me.." He kind of started to cry a little. "My name is Dan. Dan Reilly."

Holy fucking shit.

"KIRK!"

The voice was Bruce's, and I heard his purposeful steps striding towards me though the snow.

Mickey's face looked up at me and I stared into his eyes.

"Kirk!" He whispered. "You know it's true. Don't do this. It was Alyssa...she got me out...We taked about the series, you hate the Cure, you thought voting for Kerry was more important than this werewolf shit...you...you..." he started blubbering a little more. He looked up at me. "Your cat's name was...he was named.... Grapes."

Now it was my turn to be paralyzed.

"Don't....don't trust him....."

A hand came down on my shoulder.

It was Bruce.

"You'll be changing soon. You have his scent. It is time to prepare."

He steered me around with his hand and with a light but persistent pressure, directed me back towards the house. It was already getting darker even though it wasn't yet 5:00. I couldn't resist him. I don't know if I was just stunned by what Mickey...or was it Dan had said. I mean, how the hell could Mickey have possibly known about Grapes? I mean-

I rush of blood went to my head and I stumbled.

"Everything will be fine. You are making tremendous progress."

Bruce's voice was soothing, and I just kept walking away.

He led me back to my room, and got me inside.

"Now is the time to prepare. You will be hunting and killing the victim tonight, and it is an important step. I'm sure you don't want to give this up."

"I...I'm just a little bit.."

"Confused?"

Fuck! He was right. Bruce is always right. He grabbed my hand, which still had the blood on it and thrust it to my face. The scent was still there, still strong, and it focused me.

"That is all you need to know. Now, rest. Attendants will come for you before the change. They will knock, and you must answer. Now- prepare."

As he left, I heard the lock click behind him. I wasn't going anywhere.

I rushed to my computer and started writing this thing out- maybe it will clear my head, maybe It'll give me some answers- maybe- maybe...

Oh God.

Someone is knocking.

It's a few minutes past six.

Wish me luck.

I'm in the New York Times!

So check it out.

Scroll down.

It's worth it my friends.

So it was written, and so it was done.

As a good friend of mine recently commented to me- Renee Price should have a lot of reassessing to do after seeing her weak plan next to mine.

By the way-

HOW 'BOUT THOSE PATS?!

Yeah, Rothlesburger knows how to win.

Cause, you know- causeTom Brady has never won in the postseason.

Oh, wait- HE'S NEVER LOST.

By the way- I've been wondering about this- what the hell was the name of that sleazy nighttime soap opera from the 80's? You know- it's right on the tip of my tongue- the one with Joan Collins, where she played this super, mega bitch? What the hell was that called?

Oh- I remember- DYNASTY!

That was it, Dynasty. I know that people haven't been saying that word very much recently, but maybe they oughta.

It was a good show, is all.

Still, the weird thing about the Times article is, I don't remember saying that to a reporter. I definately said it- but to who?

It's funny I remember saying it, but the person I was saying it to- my memory is still a little fuzzy.

Maybe I should ask Bruce about it. He knows everything. I mean, he even covered the spread with the Pats.

He's a smart guy.

The purebloods-

OK- I know I said I would explain this, but my head has just been a little muddled of late.

So while I'm trying to sort that out, I guess I'll let you know what the deal is on the community and the purebloods.

From what I've learned so far, there are several packs of werewolves throughout the globe, and very few rogues.

I'm a rogue, or I guess, I was until I started working with Bruce. Whatever. Now I guess I'm the rogue champion.

Anyway, the way it works is the community of werewolves that were born werewolves, that is to say, with two werewolf parents, stay normal kids until puberty, at which time they are trained to get through their first transformations by their mothers and the pack. Seeing as they started at such a young age, many purebloods are able to go farther with their transformations than others, which explains why the females that were courting me were able to transform into whatever fantasy I desired.

Which by the way, is still awesome.

Seriously.

Can I stress that any more?

Sorry about that.

The downside is, for all the power that purebloods possess in mental control and transformative ability, they cannot maintain it beyond one generation. Many werewolves have tried to create mutigenerational families, but the relative smallness of the available gene pool inevitably leads to offspring who begin the transformation process too young, before the onset of puberty. This can permanantly warp and damage their bone and nerve structures, causing them to become horribly deformed, lumpy and twisted, often with irregular hair growth all over their bodies. I've seen some pictures, and it's not pretty. They live in agony, not knowing what is happening to them, until one transformation inevitably wounds them mortally, with perhaps one side of their ribcage growing too fast and piercing their heart or lungs. Sometimes, their skulls and brains will transform at unequal rates, which can causing irrevocable brain damage. Most often, though, their young spinal cords simply can't handle the strain of monthly expansion and reduction and just snap, leaving them totally paralyzed.

It's pretty awful, and leads to a pretty shitty young life for pureblood male werewolves, who are monitored quite closely from a young age. The particulary aggressive ones are neutered right off the bat, and the others get vasectomies fairly quickly after thier first transformation. I've felt the hatred and jealousy from several young male purebloods, who resent the kingly treatment accorded the rogue champion.

But they do OK. They compensate for their impotence by using their superior powers of shapeshifting to accrue vast amounts of wealth in the business world. You'd be amazed how easy it is to get a promotion when you can get a rival fired by assuming his form and hitting on the boss's wife at the holiday party. And it's not like they never have sex. Everyone knows that purebloods love human prostitutes, yet it's just never openly discussed, kind of like the porn industry in America. The community doesn't even really care if the purebloods kill the prostitutes.
The only unforgiveable sin is to create a new rogue, without the OK of the Alpha Male.

When you have a rogue running around, bad shit happens, the rogue flips out, and often kills people. Needless to say, the one thing werewolves do not need is bad press, or really, any press at all. At this stage, Bruce has pureblood males at key positions within all the local police departments and crime syndicates, and the attitude is pretty much live and let live, but still. Werewolves are fucking scary, and I don't give a crap if this is 2005, if the villagers get spooked, they'll still be coming with pitchforks and torches, and these days, those pitchforks are just as likely to be automatic weapons and grenade launchers. And yes, a werewolf can survive getting shot a few times, but conventional wisdom says don't push it.

I got shot in the head once and it fucking hurt like a motherfucker.

At any rate, when their are enough female purebloods of breeding age (15-21) the Alpha, who sired them, goes out to seek a rogue challenger. This means that he will bite two or more human males, and closely monitor them, until they have changed at least three times. He waits for three transformations because the new rogues often cannot handle their newfound gift, and either kill themselves ( I tried a couple times) or are killed by humans (one tried- it didn't work out so well for him).

The rogue challenger is picked on a select criteria- Age, Sexual Potency, Life Experience, and Outsider Status.

Seeing as they are bringing in an outsider who would potentially lead them, they want someone as old as possible, with enough accrued wisdom to help them deal with the human world, and not completely lose touch. Sure, an 18 year old can fuck like a beast, but you give a kid that much power that early, and 9 times out of 10 you get a psycho on your hands who lets his id run wild. Bruce was chosen young, but his Alpha was so impressed with his intelligence and fighting ability, that he took a chance. This worries me a little, but I'm no slouch. Plus, he has helped me, is interested in training me, and I do feel stronger. So- well- yeah.

Hmm.

Back to the story.

Anyway, they need an Outsider, becuase in order to take on this responsiblity, one must be willing to drop out of human society completely, and entanglements like a wife or children make that difficult.

Either way, as a 31 year old video store clerk in Williamsburg who graduated from a good university with a degree in English Literature, I was kind of a sitting duck. I was older, had life experience, was sexually active, knew a thing or two about the world, had no idea what my future would hold and a job that wouldn't miss me. Add to that the fact that I thought it would be a good idea to walk across the Williamsburg bridge in the middle of the night of a full moon, while drunk and high, and you pretty much have some choice-ass werewolf bait there.

So there you have it.

The Alpha runs the pack, services the female purebloods and when the time is right, selects and faces a challenger from the pool of rogues he creates. The entire community is funded by the economic efforts of the male purebloods, who rise though Corporate America, and make the whole thing possible. So yeah, if you ever mouth off about corporations being evil, you don't know the half of it. Some of those guys are fucking MONSTERS.

Necessary monsters, but still- yeesh- it gives me the willies to think about it.

Also, I haven't seen Mickey in days. It's got me a little worried.

Fuck it, I'm taking a swim.

I saw Bruce today

It wasn't the best visit.

I stopped by his quarters cause I wanted to tell him about Mickey sniffing around my stuff.

When I walked in, he seemed to be nowhere around. No scent, no sign no nothing. Then, out of nowhere, came a hand on my shoulder.

"Kirk. You've come."

I whirled around to face him, visibly startled- "Oh- uh, hey Bruce, look- I"

"I startled you. No matter. I was hiding my presence from you. In time, you will learn to do the same. It will benefit you when you face me."

"I am facing you."

"No no, I mean FACE ME face me. Like, in the ring."

"Oh. Yeah. Look, anyway, I have this probl-"

"Mickey."

"Yeah. Um- how'd you?"

"There is little that goes on here that I am not completely aware of. Who is Kate Frost by the way? I'd never heard of her."

"Oh, man- she's dynamite- this cute little blonde with.. wait- I had something I wanted to say- it's..umm, it's Mickey. He was- "

"In your room. I know."

"Yeah- you see I-"

"You smelled him."

"Yes!"

That must have made you feel powerful."

"Yeah, totally!"

"Well good, you're making progress."

"Yeah- I guess. I mean, sure but why-"

"Why would he enter your space?"

"Yeah."

"Does it matter?"

"Well, yeah- I mean, that's my room, and"

"He's a human. You are not. Do not distract yourself with insignificant gnats. Do you want to kill him? You can, you'll need a victim on this full moon."

"Wait- a victim?" My head was swimming.

"Yes. Now don't think just now. You're probably hungry."

"Yeah, I am- I could really go for-"

"One of these?"

He walked to the corner of his chamber, and pulled a tablecloth off a rolling room service cart. On it was a plate containing a grilled Ham and Cheese, fries and can of coke.

"Wow! Yeah! Solid, thanks!"

I headed over for the food.

"Jeez- you know everything." I took a bite, and it was delicious. "By the way, do you have any idea how the Pats are going to do against the Steelers next week? Wait- don't tell me I kinda wanna..."

"Ahem. I believe the Patriots, with Corey Dillon elevating their ground game, Troy Brown playing well on both sides of the ball, Tom Brady's skill and experience leading his team down the field in big games and the frankly lethal accuracy that Adam Vinatieri brings to the field in any weather, I think you don't want to count the Pats out. The Steelers are formidable, but Rothlesburger is a rookie, and frankly, they had a really hard time with the Jets. Pats by 13."

"Oh. Well- hmm. OK then. Yeah, that's what I thought."

"Did you have any other questions?"

"No. I guess- I mean...no. Thanks."

"Enjoy your sandwich."

When I looked up, he was gone.

Did he say victim?

How 'bout those Pats!

Damn!

What a game.

From beginning to end, top to bottom, the New England Patriots treated Peyton Manning like the candy-ass, crybaby, really-good-when-he's-winning-by-20 motherfucker he is.

Of course, the victory celebration was only enhanced by the senusal full body massage I recieved after the game by three purebloods resembling a modern day Kate Frost, a late 70's Marilyn Chambers and early 80's Jacklyn Smith. I'd give you some links, but I'm still a little logy.

I'll tell ya, it's hard to make a decision on which one of these women I'm going to impregnate when they keep shifting forms on me. Of course, the problems I'm having now are not the worst problems I've ever had.

I haven't seen Mickey around. I've been distracted a bit I guess, but still- I usually see him everyday, and today, he's been nowhere.

Whatever- there are some new Family Guy's on tonight, and even though the Simpson's are sucking, I'm glad to have a break to do this update and figure out what I want the purebloods to look like when I go to bed tonight.

The next full moon is January 25th, which means I can watch the Pittsburgh game, and if they pull it off, I could watch the Pats in the Super Bowl. I'm not sure if you know what that means to me, but let's remember- I MISSED THE FUCKING RED SOX WINNING THE WORLD SERIES.

Yeah, it's awesome that they won it- but you know where I was when Foulke fielded that one hopper to the mound?

I was covered in hair, raging around a Brooklyn apartment, with a dead cat in my mouth.

It's just not a traditional "where were you when" story, ya know?

And now, I'm going to have the chance to see a Boston sports team going for a championship, and even though I have this- affliction- I know I can live with it, and actually look forward to a life and a future beyond the next full moon.

That is a confidence I haven't felt in almost half a year.

I feel great.

Mickey was in my room today.

I didn't see him, but I smelled the son-of a-bitch.

I'd just gone out for a dip in the pool and diving exercises, and when I got back to my room I smelled that something was up. I've been swimming every day, as Bruce recommends spending as much time as possible in or under the water when human. He figures that learning to maximize the use of the muscles in a different medium helps a new werewolf to acclimate to another form. He says that if you concentrate when you are a wolf, it feels somewhat like being underwater, like you can see things, and react to them, but you aren't always in control, and everything feels foreign. Supposedly, when I change, if I do my best to imagine that I am not shifting form, just shifting mediums, it will help me maintain an element of control, and be able to deal with the rage that overtakes me in a more constructive manner.

According to him, if I actively attempt to rethink my transformation as not a loss of control, but a transition into a different plane of existence, I could be the better for it. It's the difference between being pushed into a raging river, or easing into a warm pool. When I begin to change, I must look at it like entering the water on my own terms. Once I am in the water, everything will look slightly different, my motion and breathing patterns will be altered, and I need to behave, react and think differently in order to survive. I need to understand that the pool is a metaphor for what I have become, and everytime I enter it, I am in fact entering a part of myself.

With that in mind, I should probably feel more guilty than I do about about pissing in it so much.

Ah, well.

When a man's gotta go, a man's gotta go.

Plus, the purebloods all have to clear out when I want to swim, and the pool is there for the protegee. I'm sure some of them bitch about it, but fuck 'em, I'm marking my territory. I didn't see any of them fighting in the arena for crying out loud.

Still, I couldn't figure out what Mickey wanted in my room. According to the scent trail, he sat at my computer for a while, stood in front of my clothes dresser, opened and closed all the drawers, and messed around with my bed, possibly lifting up my mattress. I didn't have anything under there, but it seems he was looking for something.

I think we're gonna have to have a little chat.

I've been learning a lot.

I've been reading, and I've been talking with Bruce about what I'm going through.

What I have found is that there is a lot about monsters that people don't understand. Monsters are everywhere. Monsters are among us. And there is nothing wrong with that. OK- I'm not saying that it's OK for monsters to run around killing people willy-nilly, in fact I'm not even condoning the use of the term "willy-nilly" but still.

There is evil in this world.

And it's not easy to quantify.

Sure, it's quick and easy to turn on the History Channel and see tape of Hitler and see evil, but it's the everyday evil that is more pervasive. And, I might say, necessary. You see, what I've been learning is that evil doesn't take over the world. Evil doesn't care about the entire world, Evil only cares about itself. And really, who can blame anybody that puts themself first?

And in a way, it relates to this blog.

I've read Shelly's Frankenstein, and Stoker's Dracula, and both of them, like this blog, are epistolary. I know it might be odd for me to refer to this blog as an epistolary novel, but honestly, what else is it? Sure, I have shrugged off the pretense of writing letters to others and including the narrative with them, but really, if you are reading this, then is this not a letter to you?

And are you not, by reading it, a willing accomplice in whatever it is I do?

Sorry, but you are.

I met three women recently, all pureblood werewolves, who all seem very interested in me. I think one of them was named Julie. Who knows? Apparently, I am destined to impregnate a female, as I have come out of the combat as the champion, and there are quite a few purebloods who have come courting.

It seems that the only male who can impregnate the female purebloods are those who have experienced not only combat with another wolf, but life before the bite. And that male is to have his pick of any of the pureblood females (that is to say women who were born werewolves) in order to advance the species with a combination of experience and purity. But there are a lot of them. And any kind of foreplay is pretty much an....audition.

Also, purebloods have the unique ability to not only shapeshift into wolves, which they do every full moon, but to shift into any human form at will.

So, not to brag, but in the past three days, I've gotten a series of vigorous blowjobs and handjobs from the likes of Natalie Portman, Katie Holmes and Anna Kournikova.

Sorta explains why I haven't posted in a while.

It's funny.

Four months ago, I was nothing.

Now, I am something of a king.

I'm getting used to this lifestyle.

My motherfucking morals-

-are fine.

Thank you very much.

I mean, Christ!

Why is it that whenever I try to do the right thing some son-of-a bitch calls my morals into question? I mean, really- what are morals, after all? Rules? Internal safety zones to protect you from straying...well- where? Into evil?

Wake the fuck up people.

I have morals. I have done my best to live morally, given my "unusual circumstances" which I include in quotations because the problem I have is not your traditional "Bill finds a wallet with 40 dollars in it. Does he return the wallet with the money in it or does he steal it?" kind of morals, here.

I'm a motherfucking werewolf, and before that happened, I worked in a fucking video store for Christ's sake. I didn't really have anything going on! Yeah, I wrote, and yes- I've done some music, but fuck! Let's look at the real deal here. I wasn't doing that well!

And now- this thing happens to me, and all of a sudden there's a guy here who is going to teach me to become what I have the potential to become- somebody. And it doesn't matter if that somebody is a writer, or a musician, or any specific detailed thing, I just need to become....something.

And if that something is a werewolf, and there is a guy who knows how to make me the best werewolf I can be, then shouldn't I be allowed to explore that?!

I mean, fuck!

On page 99 of Mary Shelley's "Frankenstein" the monster speaks for the first time. I know, maybe to those of you who only saw the movies, you think that the monster couldn't speak. But in the original, it can, and it does. It comes face to face with it's Creator, who hated it, like my parents hated me, and the Creator says:

"Devil! Do you dare to approach me?And do you not fear the fierce vengeance of my arm wreaked on your miserable head? Begone vile insect! Or rather stay, that I may trample you to dust! And oh! that I could, with the extinction of your miserable existence, restore those victims that you so diabolically murdered!?"

At this point, it is worth bringing up that in the novel, the monster had in fact, murdered several people close to the Creator. But he was pretty scared. It is also worth mentioning that I have only killed one guy myself, who was trying to kill me at the time, and was only indirectly responsible for the death of another, who- really, just fell into the wrong enclosed cell at the wrong time. And, yes, I caused a bus accident, but I was suicidal at the time, and anyway- I ended up saving a kid's life. So whatever, call Peter Singer, figure it out, fuck, I don't care, but I feel like however the moral calculus works out, I did the best I fucking could.

Just saying.

But now- even though Frankenstein's monster had killed, listen to his eloquence in response to the hatred he had just endured from his Creator:

"I expected this reception. All men hate the wretched; how, then must I be hated, who am miserable beyond all living things! Yet you, my Creator, detest and spurn me, thy creature, to whom thou art bound by ties only dissoluble by the annihilation of one of us. You purport to kill me. How dare you sport thus with life? Do your duty toward me, and I will do mine towards you and the rest of mankind. If you will comply with my conditions, I will leave them and you at peace; but if you refuse, I will glut the maw of death, until it be satiated with the blood of your remaining friends."

OK- kinda fucked up, but eloquent, and he has a point.

First off, let's deal with the Monster's intelligence. In the movies, how fucked up is it that Frankenstein is some chock-a-block manchild without a thought in his head, yet the original text gives him such eloquence? I mean, if you watch a werewolf movie, the werewolves are all, well- animals. So does it not follow that werewolves in real life could be thoughtful members of society? Why must a werewolf be vicious? Does the possibility not exist that there could be a werewolf with a brain? I mean, when I was on Ativan, I was a real chill werewolf- why couldn't I learn to control that without the benefit of drugs?

Secondly, in terms of dealing with his bitterness, the monster has a point.

He is saying to his creator, or in my case, society, I will treat you the way you have treated me. Treat me as a monster, and a monster you will breed.

I am a member of a fraternity that is extremely rare. I can transform into something with incredible power. That power is to be respected and honored. I f you honor it, there is no reason for you to come to harm. If you attack me, I will strike back with terrible ferocity, and believe me, I have the capability to do so.

And those who are weak should die anyway.

Hmm.

It's funny.

I'm in the same apartment, but the video store seems pretty far away.

Werewolf training

Isn't that bad.

I called Alyssa, and told her that I was OK, and for now, she's cool with it.

I can't see anybody when I'm going through this, and I called the video store and told them I was going to Prague. That's the beautiful thing about Williamsburg is you can tell anybody that you are "Going to Prague" and everybody buys it. It's like a month long reprieve from your life.

Actually, now that I'm human for a month, It's pretty boring. There's a lot of reading. I got in a fight with Bruce becuase I was trying to explain that film is just as much literature as books are, but he wasn't hearing me. He just wants me to read the classics.

But when I'm a werewolf, training is exciting- the day after the arena fight, I changed into a werewolf and Bruce put me in this maze. I wasn't sure sure what the point was until I came upon this old man. He was weak, and dressed in rags, and seeing as I was a wolf, I was definately into eating him. So I walked up to him, kinda slowly, sort of digging the fear he was sending off, and just as I was about to strike, he pulled out a handgun and shot me right in the fucking head.

Like, drilled a bullet into my brain.

Now, I'm not sure how many of you have ever been shot in the head, but I'll tell you, as a supernatural being who can wake up and survive that shit, it sucks.

Like, it really fucking hurts.

That bullet hit me in the head and I went DOWN, man.

Like I fell hard, and it fucking hurt.

Have you ever heard anybody say that they have a "skull-splitting" headache?
Well, I've had one, and it's because a fucking bullet spilt my skull. Granted, given my situation, I'm no Jim Brady , I mean, the bullet eventually oozed out of my head and my brain reconfigured itself, but shit- it's no fun to have a bullet in your brain.

Trust me on this one.

I guess what Bruce was going for was to warn me that every opponent, no matter how weak, could have a hidden strength, and to prepare for that.

Which is cool, I guess.

He's also got me reading the original "Frankenstein" by Mary Shelly.

It's interesting.

Alright guys-

- now look.

I wouldn't normally post at this time, but I'll be honest with you. It's late at night, I'm a little drunk, and I'm more than a little upset at one of the commenters of late.

A couple entries ago, the one that described the werewolf arena fight, someone mentioned that Jeff's stripes would make him a were-skunk.

Cool, OK- I'm down with that, whatever-

THEN, some other dude chimes in with:
"But then, of course, the African were-skunk is non-migratory."

Look people.

I know that I am doing a blog about being a werewolf, and that is going to appeal to a certain nerdy element within the internet community. I'm fine with that, I'm a bit of a geek myself, and I can handle it.

However, I'd like to take this space to say that if there is going to be some nerd shit out there- can we hold off on the Holy Grail references?

That's some weak-ass nerd shit right there. I mean, like that's some shit that like, 9 year old nerds can bring.

If you're going to bring the nerd shit from now on, BRING THE REAL NERD SHIT.

None of this "Tis a flesh wound!" garbage.

Fuck that.

If you're going to bring that tired shit , the only thing you'll be trying to chop down with "a herring" is my fat dick. Seriously, if you're coming to my door with a Holy Grail reference, you should go back to nerd school, cause you failed. In fact you're such a shitty nerd, maybe you should pick up a Lacrosse stick, cause I bet you're pretty good at it, you just never tried before. Whatever, you're not a nerd. And if you are, FUCK, do you suck at it.

Been there, done the Holy Grail thing, way back in Mrs Windhol's third grade classroom.

Wanna reference Star Wars? Go nuts. Buffy? What the hell. Throw a Slap Shot reference in there- I'm as good to go as Hanrahan's wife . Lord of the Rings? Sketchy, but I'll allow it. Fuck, make a Zooskool reference! According to my sitemeter, 15 people a day come to this site on google searches for Zooskool alone!

Zooskool, for fuck's sake!

In case you don't know, that's a site featuring graphic pictures of people having sex with animals. And sorry, you're not getting a link. If you want to see it, you'll have to go ahead and google it yourself, dog-fucker. And when you do, THIS site will come up in your search.

Yeesh.

Still, I understand why, I mean, I turn into an animal sometimes, and I have sexual relations with other humans. The guy who put the link in wasn't doing something totally unrelated to the topic at hand. Still, it's worth clearing up. I do have sex with women, but ONLY when I'm human as well. Never when I'm an animal. I suppose if I WAS horny when I was a werewolf, I'd be capable of it, I mean, damn- I don't have a hell of a lot of control over what I do when I change, but the fact is, plain and simple, when I turn into a werewolf, sex is the farthest thing from my mind.

If you want me to break down the emotions I do feel, I can. Here goes:

-Hunger
-Rage

That's about it. Occasionally, pain enters into the equation, but never really fear- just rage, discomfort with the pain, and dealing with that discomfort with rage. You know, unless I get hungry again.

Come to think of it, I'm hungry now.

I think I'm gonna go make a grilled cheese.

I'll tell you about werewolf training tomorrow.

And lay off the Holy Grail shit, OK?

I mean, fuck- The Holy Grail?

For crying out loud.
 

As it turns out-

He wasn't pissed at me.

He was pretty impressed.

He told me that he had Jeff executed, and thanks to my intelligent avoidence of the situation, I had displayed the kind of skills a master werewolf needs. Then he asked me if there was anything on earth that I desired right now.

I went for a grilled cheese sandwich with bacon, and he came through.

It was pretty goddamn good, and I know what you are thinking, when you get asked if there is anything on earth that you desire, perhaps you wouldn't waste that on a grilled cheese, I offer up the following two arguments:

1) He didn't say it in that "Genie in a bottle" way, and it didn't seem like it would be the last time he would ask.

2) I really desired a grilled cheese with bacon at that time. I hadn't eaten, and I was hellahungry.

Anyway, so I'm gonna start "werewolf training."

Rad, huh?

Maybe I oughta call Alyssa.

Lars and Mickey

Were two BIG dudes.

One white, one black, but both united in the purpose of getting my ass out of the van. As the door opened I saw them standing before me and said "Hey Lars." The white guy looked up. "Hey Mickey!" I said, and as the other guy's eyes met mine, I clapped my hands: "clap-clap clap-clap."
"Hey Mickey! *clap-clap* *clap-clap* Hey Mickey!"

I guess I saw Lars' fist coming, but there was really nothing I could do about it.

I awoke in a sandy cage with a wooden portcullis type door, and could already feel myself changing. I was pretty pissed at Lars for sucker punching me. I would have gone along, I mean, what the fuck- it was a dumb joke, you have to slug me? Unfortunately, my crazy getup had been stripped off me, so I can't tell you if it would have worked. As the power-surge began, I started to see some physical changes, and the wooden door began rising upward, revealing what looked to be a large bullfighting ring, about as big as a the defensive zone of a hockey rink, with the same sandy floor as the pen I was in. I looked up and saw Lars, standing about 20 feet above the ceilingless pen, holding the rope of the door and hauling it up. I growled at him, and kind of phased out a little, as the wolf took full control of my body. Transformation complete, I prowled cautiously out into the ring, and kept staring up at Lars, until I smelled Jeff. I turned and saw an identical door to the one I had emerged from opening. I glanced up and saw Mickey, hauling a rope.

Jeff, by the way, is a big fucking werewolf. I'm not quite sure why he's so much bigger than I am, seeing as we are of similar body types, but there you go. He also has this weird white streak though the back of his fur that makes him look even meaner. I'm sure I would have been paralyzed with a pant-shitting fear if I was not somewhat formidible myself at the time.

In almost a blur, Jeff bounded out of the pen towards me, and I remember thinking that he was not my enemy.

Lars was.

He was the one who had recently hurt me, and was on top of my pen. Yes, I was concerned about the large werewolf charging me, but maybe as my rage was not focused on him, I was able to deftly roll to the side to avoid his full on attack and added a nice roundhouse swipe of my paw across across his back, drawing blood and using his momentum to send him somersaulting into my pen where he hit the wall with a satisfying cracking sound. My eyes flashed up at Lars and I roared- right at him. I could see the fear in his eyes, a fear I didn't recognize from our last meeting, and it gave me strength.
I was going to get that son-of-a bitch.

With a remarkable fluidity, I jumped from the sand, to the bars of the pen, to the top of the gate and launched myself towards the platform on top of the arena. I heard Lars shout as he stepped back, holding tight to the rope. I didn't quite have the distance to get all the way to the top of the ring, but at the highest arc of my jump, I must have tried to grab the rope and it parted, sending me, the rope, the door of the pen, and Lars all crashing to the ground.

Unfortunatley for Lars, he fell INSIDE the pen.
The door fell closed with him.
Jeff was in the pen.
Our Jeff.

Quint: [singing] Farewell and adieu to you fair Spanish ladies / Farewell and adieu you ladies of Spain. / For we received orders for to sail back to Boston / And soon never more will we see you again.


I felt a sharp dart strike me in the back. Everything faded to black and I awoke in a strange bed in a single room I did not recognize. I heard the door unlock from the outside and saw Bruce stride into the room.


He did not look happy.