The Gentleman Werewolf

I wouldn’t call myself a Saint, that’s for other people to say, people with time. I have no time, except all the time in the world to save lives. I’m a werewolf and it’s time people knew.

It started out harmlessly enough, a little too much hair here and there, nothing I couldn’t handle. The 8th grade was a cakewalk, just me a loads of friends. I remember the time they locked me in the gym over the weekend, those guys. The best was the camping trip, I looked all night for them but my map was wrong. They told me they had a great time and wished I was there by putting mud in my pudding. Besties like none of the resties is what I always say.

Nowadays I’m on the wrong side of 40 but the right side of my Weight Watchers Calorie Counter and I am sweating’ to the oldies and focusing on my pug dog macramé. It’s not sad, who sad that? I sell these little gems down at the Church bizarre on Tuesdays and every other Thursday. They gave me my own pine table. I had to pay $5 for the table cloth but it has little dogs chewin’ on other dogs tails and looks great all day as long as you don’t set a drink down on it or lean on it when you’re sweaty, or when it rains or is too humid out or when you know, when mothers bring their babies and they are too stupid or lazy to walk yet, they’re like three, four months old and fat. Then the mother’s set the soiled child on the table. There’s no coming back from that one, it’s ruined after that, they should put that on the label like as a warning. You’ll have to walk that thing to Mordor and offer it up to the lava erasing it from our existence because it’ll never be the same after that. The table is pretty sweet on its own and let me tell you an honor that only me and Squirrely Shirley are afforded.

Now, everything you’ve heard is true. Full moon, memory loose, ruining not one not two but 18 perfectly good pairs of Birkenstocks, silver bullets though I never had the coconuts to actually take a bullet I cut my finger on a silver letter opener once and it burned like crazy.

On full moons I chain myself to the wall in my basement so I don’t accidentally on purpose eat the cat next door, Ms. Dot Meowington, for leaving her hot chocolate slipper bombs all over my lawn. Ms. Dot Meowington give me a break, stupid name. I save lives everyday I don’t rip someone or something a apart and eat it alive while their families or other people could be looking and crying bad probably their kids are there and they see me eating and starting with the eyes and then tongues and they don’t understand that there’s a process and it’s best to keep the body alive as long as possible. But now they’re scared and confused and then there’s guilt and hurt feelings.

My point is people are probably saying because I don’t do these things I’m a Saint or should have a special day where people celebrate me with cake and Judy from the office party makes that great potato salad and there should probably be balloons is what I image people are most likely saying I’ve heard, you know.

In closing, what fulfills me is being a considerate and respected member of my community by not maiming anyone or scarring their loved ones in the process. I am a Werewolf and an American and people should support my passion because that's freedom and American Werewolves and Chinese Werewolves and Puerto Rican American Rican Werewolves we’re all just trying to do our best, am I right? I’m not hurting anyone hence all these rumours you’ve probably heard by now about the Pope wanting to bless me and making me a Saint and whatnot and probably we’ll make best friend bracelets when I go to Rome, and ride shotgun in the Popemobile as long as my jetlag isn’t too bad.

*this message was brought the you

by Gentle Werewolf Man,

remember at the election poles this November

a vote for G.W.M. is

a vote for stricter silver bullet legislation,

He has no time for none-sense and all the time in the world to not eat our children, keeping our community safe

sponsored in part by car manufacturers brakes, you can’t stop your car without them