Wolves & Werewolves

Me, Mark & the Wolf-Coyote

There we were in the middle of nowhere waiting and watching the snow fall of the harvested fields. The Moon and the Stars were visible overhead and we sat quietly in the front seat taking in the awe of the world around us. I wanted to hear some of that upbeat, swinging jazz that had been so much a part of my Sunday evening for the last decade. Out this far the airwaves were quiet, and there was nothing to pick up. In the distance, a wolf howled and was answered by his brother at least I think it was his brother. I’ve never been able to tell with wolves.

“It’s a coyote,” Mark said as if ready my thoughts.

“Wolf,” I answered.

“Wrong.”

“No Mark, it’s a wolf. Listen to his vowels. It’s wolf – Nebraskan dialect.”

“Why would a Nebraskan wolf be in the middle of Ohio?”

“NAFTA.”

“Wouldn’t that have taken him more toward Mexico?”

“No. It brought him here to Ohio. Don’t you pay attention to anything?”

“To what? You’ve got an insane idea that the obviously Texan coyote is a wolf from Nebraska. It’s insane.”

“Let’s make a deal. If we’re taken up by a UFO, let me do the talking,” I told him. “Otherwise they’ll think they’ve picked up a couple of complete wankers.”

And this afternoon….

This Morning’s Theme

Tattooed Tuesday

I have an unwritten rule about showing full-on cock on this blog, but for this guy’s tatts, I’m making an obvious exception.

A Writer’s Fears

On a cold windy January night, I sat down to work on one of my tales. It began easily enough until one of the characters began arguing with me.

“If he writes ‘It was s a dark and stormy night’ I’m calling Bryan,” Chris said looking up at me.

“I might change and eat him,” Stephen added sardonically.

“But guys, you can’t do anything unless I write you doing it,” I countered to them.

“Are you certain,” Chris quipped.

“Yes,” I answered. “I’m certain. Why your last sentence was change five times before I was happy. In fact I’ve even changed Stephen’s name.”

“And I don’t quip,” Chris snarled. “I don’t snarl. You’ve confused me with Stephen!”

“I only snarl when I’m in Wolf form.”

“But you’re such a pretty wolf,” I told him. “Now be good characters and let me write you properly, or I’ll call Bryan.”

“What are you calling me,” Bryan asked as he entered the room.

“I’m not calling you anything. I was threatening to call for you though. I need to get the story started,” I told him. “It’s running around in my head – in

my dreams even. I want to get it written, but Stephen and Chris aren’t behaving.”

“He wants to write ‘It was s a dark and stormy night.’ We can’t abide that.”

“Oh, let him write it to get started, he’ll edit it out.”

“I might not. I might just leave it for spite.”

“Then we won’t behave. We’ll go…don’t you dare write that!”

And so the story begins.

Sunday’s Celebration

For the Master

Tattooed Tuesday

Cici My Enemy

Cici my enemy
come out and fight with me
climb up my poison tree
I’ll bring my bulldogs 3
slide down my razorblade
into my dungeon door
and we’ll be enemies
forever more, more, shut the door

Don’t ask me why, but I LOVE is version.