I Was a Teenage Werewolf

I bled out today.  It was not only my nineteenth birthday, but the one year anniversary of my new life.  I have regressed into my human form, this pathetic bald creature.  My sweetheart, my best friend and my biology professor lured me to this cave.  Sheila distracted me, Ben hit me in the head with a log and when I turned to thrash his punk ass, Professor Bennington plugged me three times in the heart with silver bullets.  Some friends.

Sunglasses After Dark

I wear my shades after the sun goes down and the curtains are drawn.  I have bloody shins and bruises on my skull.  I prefer to hang out in Pachinko parlors, and there ain’t many of them in East Lansing, Michigan.  People call me the vampire punk.  It’s better than Craig, the worst name in modern times.  Craig isn’t a name, it’s the sound of projectile vomiting.  I’d rather be called something really insulting, like Bill O’Reilly Jr.  Sometimes I’m afraid people won’t recognize me without the shades.  Sometimes I worry that real light will kill me, like a vampire.  It’s a good thing that most of the time I’m too doped up on Prozac to care.

The Mad Daddy

Vince wasn’t like the mad scientists in the movies.  Instead of working out of some palatial estate or a lighthouse or something cool, Vince worked on his experiments in the attic of a Victorian three-story house in Tennessee.  He was trying to prove that evolution was scientific fact, but it was hard.  First, his wife cooked the worst, most fattening food.  Everything was covered in lard.  His kids were told in school to fear and hate evolution and scientists.  All nine of them threw rocks at the tiny vents that lined the attic walls.  Then, of course, there was the lack of results, which was directly linked to Vince’s inexperience.  He learned all the science he knew from watching Mr. Wizard reruns on Nickelodeon.

Mystery Plane

Somewhere, in another dimension, exists all of the airlines that have gone out of business.  In that dimension, TWA flight attendants still wear brown and crème colored outfits and pour coffee from glass carafes.  America United stewardesses haven’t heard of the women’s movement and can be talked into anything.  Soon the Ted airline, the hip offshoot of United, will travel through the Bermuda Triangle into this world and take its smarmy attitude with it.

Zombie Dance

Can you tell the difference between the intro dance class at Fred Astaire Ballroom Dance and a bunch of mental patients with lobotomies swaying from foot to foot?  If people knew how ridiculous they looked they wouldn’t be paying four grand per year in lessons.  You’d have to be brain dead to buy into that.  That’s why I spend all of my money on booze and porn, cocaine and hookers, and beef jerky.

What’s Behind the Mask

Your face is only an appendage, like an arm or leg.  If you lost it, it wouldn’t be the same as losing another appendage.  Your face is you, but it is also just a mask you wear to show the world.  Your nose and eyes and mouth perform a complicated dance for strangers to silently communicate with them.  Thanks, Kobo Abe.

Strychnine

I clearly cannot choose the strychnine in front of you.  But since you are a Cramps fiend and cannot be trusted, I clearly cannot choose the strychnine in front of me.

I’m Cramped

My friend said that I could sit in the glove compartment, but otherwise there would be no room for me in the car, as he was already transporting himself and his massive ego.  I went for it and found it surprisingly spacious.  First, his car is a Ford Mondo SUV, the first to be the size of a semi.  The compartment was plush in there, lighted and air conditioned.  I stretched out on his map of Delaware.  I used a treadmill in there too, but I had to stop after I got a cramp in my bullshit muscle.