Bay of Pigs

Bill kicked the posts of his McCain yard sign firmly into the clay of his front yard.

Not the best candidate… but at least he’s sure to keep the war going.

Bill was a big fan of war. Our boys were the best… and he loved to see ‘em prove it. He was a military history junkie. ALPS had kept him from the service, but it hadn’t taken the steel and gunpowder from his blood.

His father had fought in Nam. His grandfather had fought in WWII, and there was a steel German helmet in their closet proving his great-grandfather’s service in WWI.

Before that, the family could trace members that had fought in Mexico, against the Indians, against the British and before that, against the French.

Bill dusted off his hands and looked at the sign in satisfaction.

Then he noticed something profoundly disturbing.

Across the street, there was another sign.

Obama 2008.

He felt a twist inside his stomach.

Obama 2008.

He didn’t trust Obama. He was weak. One of those scum-sucking commie anti-war libs dedicated to the sissification of America.

Obama 2008.

It was staring at him.

Be a good neighbor… be a good neighbor… be a good neighbor. People have a right to their beliefs, no matter how pathetic and weak.

Then he saw something else across the street.

His sissy liberal neighbor was grinning at him. Drinking a tiny sissy cup of sissy espresso. And grinning.

I hate that guy… but… I need to control myself. Remember the bay of pigs!

The “bay of pigs” was his wife’s name for a particularly explosive transformation that had almost put them behind bars back when they were dating. How prison had been avoided was still anyone’s guess. If they’d found the bodies… well, maybe they’d just think it was an animal attack? Yeah right… like animals tied rocks to bodies.
There had to have been a “human” involved.

What about a were-human?

Ha!

-----

He and Sharon had been cruising along on a perfect late afternoon, top down, enjoying the breeze blowing in their hair. It was a perfect day. They’d picked flowers at the park, danced for hours at a free open-air jazz festival and held hands as they’d strolled along the river. Now he was taking her back to her parents’ place for dinner. To their left was a sparkling bay… to the right… the smoky green woods.

She really was a classy girl. Ever since his first whiff of her hair, he’d been captivated. His attraction was wild, powerful, and unstoppable. He had to make her his. Being a gentleman, he could hardly wait for their wedding day when she’d finally belong to him… mind… soul… and especially body.

As he gripped the wheel… he was thinking about when he could finally get up the nerve to pop the question… and how to tell her about his condition.

And he was driving a bit too fast.

WHOOP!

A siren burst on behind them. Blue lights flashed angrily.

“Oh shoot…”

Sharon looked at him with a half-grin. “Think you were going a little fast there, sweetie?”

“Yeah… shoot… I’ll pull over here, darn it.”

He pulled over to the side of the road. The cop car crunched up on the gravel behind him, raising dust in the slanted rays of the setting sun.

Two cops stepped out of their cruiser, hands on their guns.

“Well, Share, guilty ‘til proven innocent, it looks like.”

“Just be cool, Willy… you’ll be fine.”

“Evenin’ son.”

“Good evening officer. How can I help you?”

The cop spit on the ground.

“How you gonna help me? You another officer? Give me your g------ license and registration and shut the hell up.”

Bill shuffled around in his glove compartment. Wrappers, torn maps and brochures fell onto the floor at Sharon’s feet as she tried to help him.

The officer snarled at him. “Come on kid, I ain’t got all night.”

“I’m doing my best, okay?”

The cop leaned in the window. His face was red and dark.

“An attitude like that’s gonna land your ass in jail. Give me your docs.”

Behind the car, the other officer was looking at their license plate. Then he came up to Sharon’s window.

“Hey there, babe. Why are you hanging around with a loser like this?”

She started, shocked. “That’s none of your business, officer.”

Bill heard the interchange as he finally handed over his crumpled registration to Officer #1. He was seething inside. And then he realized what was about to happen.

“Officer?”

“Yeah?”

“I really, REALLY have to pee.”

“What the hell you trying to pull?”

“I just have to go! I was, uh, sort of driving fast so I could get to a bathroom. Seriously.”

The officer looked at him.

“You think I’m a damn fool?”

“No sir, absolutely not.”

The officer stared at him for minute, then relented.

“You can take a whiz by the road in those trees. But if you pull anything, so help me I’ll shoot you.”

He backed away from the window. The other officer was leering at Sharon.

Bill stepped out slowly, feeling his were-self rise within him. He had to get out of Sharon’s sight – quick! Control… control…

He walked briskly to the woods, then entered.

“That’s enough,” the officer barked at him.

Bill needed to get a little further out of view. In front of him was a brush-filled gully. Feigning a struggle with his zipper, he tripped forwards down the slope as if it were accidental.

“Ahhh!” he yelped. The officer was caught off-guard. He ran forwards to the edge of the gully – but didn’t see anything. He fired his gun wildly into the trees.

“Come out, damn you!”

No answer.

“I’m warning you, punk – OUT!”

He took a step forward, gun drawn.

Then another step.

Then he took his final step. From behind a tree, a hairy arm snatched out and took his gun.

And his arm with it.

With a howl of rage, Bill the were-tiger tore into the officer’s chest and tore his heart out.

The body slumped to the ground and Bill crouched with it, feasting on hot flesh, jaws snatching bite after bite of Smithburg’s finest.

With a start, he realized what he’d just done. His animal brain wanted to gorge on blood… but the dim human brain behind it was recoiling in horror.

Sharon!

He left the officer’s corpse behind the trees and snuck furtively back towards the car.

The passenger door was open.

Beside it, the second officer lay in a pool of blood.

And the most gorgeous leopard-woman in the world was licking her lips as she took another bite from his gaping chest.

Bill’s heart leapt inside him! This was HIS girl! His beautiful leopard girl! His wonderful, sweet jazz-dancing Sharon!

He sprang from the woods to her. Her dress hung off her spotted sides… and as he nuzzled up to her, a glimpse of her perfect row of teats drove him wild. To keep himself from ravishing her, he instead took a monstrous bite from Officer #2.

Then, slowly, he started to return to human form… and as he did, he suddenly was struck with the danger of their situation.

So far, the road had been empty – but this body needed to disappear – fast! Together, he and his gorgeous were-girl dragged the corpse quickly across the road and threw it over the cliff into the bay, having tied it to a heavy rock with their jumper cables. They did the same with the first officer… except this time they had to use the officer’s belt.

Both sank into the deep water.

Sharon was looking more human again, as was he. They were both covered in gore.

“I’m sorry, Willy… I couldn’t help myself. He was… being really gross. I just… snapped.”

“It’s okay… I’m just happy you’re fine. I can’t believe you’re one too.”

She grinned toothily. “There’s a lot about me you don’t know yet.”

After embracing, they quickly licked each other’s faces clean and jumped into the car.

And later that night, he asked.

And she said yes.

-----

His neighbor was still grinning. But now Bill was grinning too.

Remembering the “bay of pigs” always put him in a better mood. With a grin, he waved to the sissy liberal and then went into his house whistling.

He had a documentary on D-Day waiting with his name on it.

And soon, Sharon would be back from the kid’s T-ball game.

Life was good!

The Were-Wimp

“Hi. My name’s Hank and I’m a were-wimp.”

[Group: Snicker.]

“I mean a werewolf.”

[Group: “Hi, Hank.”]

“Man, old habits can be hard to break. You see, Larry always made me- ah, I’m getting ahead of myself. Let’s see, where to start?

“Okay, I’ve been a werewolf for as long as I can remember. Mom says I got Acquired Lycanthropic Polymorphism Syndrome from a blood transfusion. You know, back before they screened all the blood for ALPS? Mom says they had to do some kind of surgery when I was one and that’s when I got the bad blood. Mom says that’s the only possible explanation because we don’t have any dirty, mongrelized people in our family.”

[Group: “Hey!”]

“Um, yeah, sorry about that. Mothers. You know?

“Anyway, none of us knew about it until I was in middle school. Seventh grade. Man, it was the worst! There was this bully named Larry and he and his stupid followers made a hobby of tormenting me and beating me up. Then one day, Larry had me cornered in the restroom and was about to dunk my head in the toilet when I suddenly felt… different somehow. I can’t really explain it. Unless you experience it yourself-

“Oh, wait. I guess all of you have experienced it, haven’t you? So you know what I mean! It felt good. Hell, it felt great! I didn’t transform, just got stronger. There Larry was, trying to push me into the toilet and I just stood up. Larry tried even harder to push my face into the toilet – and it didn’t do any good! Then he tried to punch me and I just dodged. Like lightning! He swung at me and I just wasn’t there! He hit the wall instead of me and, man, did he howl.

“In pain, I mean. Not, you know, like a wolf. Because he wasn’t. A wolf, I mean.

“And then I punched Larry. And he just about flew out of stall and bounced off the wall! It was so cool! Then I came out and grabbed Larry and dragged him back into the stall. I was dunking him in the toilet and flushing it every time when a bunch of other kids came into the restroom. They were all astounded at what I was doing. Can’t blame them, because I was pretty amazed, myself. I was suddenly the seventh grade hero for beating the crap out of Larry.

“When I got home, I couldn’t wait to tell Mom and Dad what I’d done. They’d been telling me I ought to fight back when Larry started beating me up and I’d finally done it. But I should have just told them the basics and left out the whole “feeling different” bit. Mom heard that and I thought she'd have a conniption fit! ‘What do you mean, you felt different?’

“I tried to explain, but, well, you all know you can’t explain it to someone who doesn’t already know. Like I said earlier. So Mom got all religious on me and claimed I must have been possessed by demons. She dragged me down to the church and had me just about bathing in holy water while she talked to the priest. The priest wasn’t buying into Mom’s demonic possession bit and suggested she just take me to a doctor for a physical.

“That’s when we found out I had ALPS. Blood tests for the physical. Yeah, they’d started screening for it, finally. I think Mom would have preferred it if I was possessed. First, she tried blaming it on Dad’s side of the family. She never liked Uncle Ross, so she figured it was his fault somehow. I never could follow Mom’s logic anyway. Not that there was much logic in it. Anyway, the doctor told her it wasn’t genetic. It took a while, but she finally decided it had to be the blood transfusion.

“All the way home, she lectured me about how we had to be careful about my dirty secret. That’s what she called it, my dirty secret. What would the neighbors think? And what about the ladies at church? Great parental support, huh? Except I didn’t care. As far as I was concerned, being a werewolf was the coolest, best thing that had ever happened to me. I mean, I dunked Larry’s head in the toilet! I was the hero of the seventh grade! How cool was that for a kid who was usually a geek? Pretty damned cool, let me tell you!

“And it might have stayed cool if I hadn’t screwed the pooch. Uh, no offense, Jim.”

[Jim: “I'm used to it.”]

“Thanks. Anyway, the next day, when I got to school, Larry and all of his stupid followers were waiting for me. They dragged me off into the bushes to get some revenge for what I did to Larry. But I wasn’t worried because I was sure I’d get the different feeling and just beat them all up. Only it didn’t work that way. Oh, I started feeling different, all right, but I guess being out numbered eight to one kicked that feeling into high gear.

“I fully transformed. One second Larry and his little evil minions were dragging a wimpy seventh grader into the bushes and the next a werewolf was tearing them up. I didn’t even care what I was doing to them as I clawed and bit them all. I had just enough control that I didn’t kill them, but they got pretty badly mauled.

“Maybe I should have killed them. Yeah, I know, not what we’re supposed to say. But sometimes, I still wish I had. While I was mauling them, I didn’t know what happened to people who got bitten by a werewolf. I didn’t know that’s how ALPS was spread. I didn’t know I was turning the school’s biggest bully and all his stupid followers into werewolves.

“And they were all bigger, meaner werewolves than I was. You know, most people don’t think about it, but werewolves are a lot like wolves. We run in packs if we can. And what does every pack have? An alpha werewolf. Just take a wild guess who the alpha was in our little seventh grade pack?

“If you guessed Larry, go to the head of the class. I thought my life was Hell before I turned Larry into a werewolf. It was a paradise compared to what came afterwards. Larry ruined my life growing up. I only got away from him because he was too stupid to get into college. And then I landed a job here and heard about this group. I figured this would be the perfect place to get the help I need!

“What I need is my own pack. A bigger pack than the one Larry’s got. And I’m not biased. I’ll take were-coyotes, were-badgers, anything. I just need enough people with ALPS to help me kick Larry’s ass and get some revenge. Who’s with me?”

[Group organizer: “Well, look at the time! That’s all for tonight.”]

“Hey, where’s everyone going? Come on, we ALPS types have to stick together, right? Right?

“Damn.”

Mr. Nice Guy

“Hi folks. I’m Jim. And I’m a were-wolf.”

[Group: “Hi, Jim.”]

“This is weird for me to be here. I'm really a nice guy. I hate this kind of thing. I hate having problems, see? I guess I should tell you what's up, now, right? Well, uh, here goes.

“I guess I’ve never been a guy to let my feelings show. Just a decent all-around guy. The kind that helps you fix your car.

“Particularly not the sort that would need to join a support group. But… I… just can’t cope anymore.

“Actually, it’s not me – I mean, I can cope… but in all honesty my wife has been on my case. She’s wanted me to do something about my, uh, transformations for a long time.

“When we were dating, and early in our marriage it was alright, I guess. My eyes were totally on her. But over the last five years it’s not cool anymore.

“Part of the issue, I guess, is not that I get violent or anything. It’s just that… well… I get, uh, a little randy as a wolfman… and I can’t control myself. Even though I want to.

“Okay… I see everyone is, uh looking at me. Stop looking at me. This is hard enough without your stares, you know. Seriously, stop it.

“Alright… so… my urges.

“Sometimes I’ll be somewhere, like the steakhouse where the girls wear those little shorts, and suddenly – bam – I’m a werewolf. It’s not really obvious, I guess. I can feel the wolf energy course through me, then I just want to, uh, have relations with the closest female.

“It doesn’t take much to switch, either. Some college girl will bend forward to wipe the table and suddenly – I’m there. Crazy and hopped up.

“You know how the old cartoon is? Where the guy sees a girl and suddenly he’s transformed into a drooling wolf for a minute. Yeah, that’s me.

“And… that’s not the worst of it.

“Stop it. You’re looking at me. I’m serious. I’ll kill you all and feast on your corpses. Aw shoot, I didn't mean to say that. Sorry, people. Just tense, that's all.

“I mean, I want support. Not to be looked at like a freak. At least I’m not a turncoat, like some other folks here. Not naming names, but… just saying.

[A partially transformed were-badger coughs nervously.]

“Good, right. Anyhow… the really embarrassing thing… STOP STARING, YOU FREAKS!”

[The were-badger falls out of his chair and shuffles quickly away.]

“Okay, I’m just a little hot under the collar. Tension gets me, too. Tension and lust, folks. Sorry, ladies... I'm sorry you're having to hear this...

“Dang, this is tough. I was always a nice guy, you know. Really dang nice.

“Alright, okay… what the heck was I saying? Oh right. The embarrassing part.

“The really bad thing about my, uh, issue… is that it’s not always girls that turn me on. It, uh also takes place around, uh… attractive, uh… well…

“Aw shoot… I’ll just say it like this. I can’t watch dog shows anymore. Ever.

“Okay? Are you all happy? I shared it, okay. That’s my thing. When it’s just girls, my wife almost understands… but when the neighbor is walking her dog… and she’s in a little sports bra, and her collie is wearing one of those faux leather harnesses… I mean… hot dang… I can’t figure out which is more hot, you know… the tight spandex over girl-fanny…. or a fluffy tail waggin’ in the wind… this one time… the lady and her dog… man… okay… she was, uh… washing the dog… and they were both getting sudsy in the yard… and OH CRAP!

[Suddenly Jim's face becomes slick with sweat… for a moment his eyes roll back… then his eyebrows and the hair on his arms are darker]

“CRAP CRAP CRAP!!! AROOOOOOO! MAN! I mean, WOLF! I’m ALL freakin’ WOLF right now! Hey you… babe in the front row… you got a poodle at home you wanna show me, eh? HEE HEE! Come on, fox, throw me a bone here! What? Is the moon not full enough for you? C’mon, SHAKE THAT TAIL FOR ME!”

“AROOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

Another Sunday Down the Drain

"Hi. My name is Sean and I am a were-hyena."

[Group: "Hi, Sean!"]

"Unfortunately it’s been about 6 hours since my last transformation. What can I say, it’s been a tough week. My boss has been riding me all week because our numbers are down. It doesn’t matter that I’m knocking mine out of the park. There are rumors of a big layoff if we miss this quarter, and judging by the looks of some of the big mucky mucks walking around I’d guess that was true. My backside is getting saddle sores from my boss ridin’ it so hard.

"The stress of my home life has taken a turn for the worse. We took in a foster cub and she has been keeping us up all night howling for food. I got things falling apart around the house. The kitchen faucet needs fixing, the backyard is a jungle with gigantic weeds sprouting everywhere, cash is low and the bills are high.

"I got up at the crack of dawn yesterday to care of the kids so my wife can get a rest, and was up late with family business so I was at the brink of exhaustion when I got up this morning.

"We were late getting to church like we are every week. I was looking forward to it. Church usually has a way of relaxing me, well it didn’t quite work out that way this week. We were sitting towards the back of the chapel listening to the preacher. Well he’s expounding on how we need to ask for forgiveness of our sins. Typical church speak, but for some reason I started thinking about my personal situation and the issues that I have to deal with. I got to thinking about how I lead a good life. I’m a good person and a good husband and father. I mean I follow 9 out of the 10 commandments. That’s like 90 percent. That’s pretty dang good.

"So what if I eat the occasional homeless person? Some husbands have to take out the garbage. I choose to eat it.

"Well... the thought of human lunchables triggered something and I started to feel “the change” come over me right there in the middle of church. I tried really hard to concentrate and stop it from happening, but all that did was cause me to start cackling like…well like a hyena during a particular poignant part of the sermon. The entire congregation turned around and stared at me. Talk about embarrassment. This particular heavy set lady wearing a blue dress and ridiculously large hat tsk tsk'd me which was my breaking point and all of a sudden all heck broke loose. You would have thought they had never seen an evisceration before. Talk about your over-reactions! I offered to clean up my mess, but nooooo they made me leave and told never to come back.

"Now I have to go find another church. Maybe we just need to start our own church. I hate having to go establish new relationships every time I get a little stressed and rip the guts out of some busy body.

"It’s getting old."

The Were-Weasel's Tale

"Sorry I'm late. There was some nasty weather in Chicago today and I was stuck in O'Hare for a few — okay, I know, I'm making excuses. Let me start over.

"Uh, hi, I'm Scott, and I'm a were-weasel."

[Group: "Hi, Scott."]

"I hope you'll excuse me if I seem a little nervous. I've never actually — I mean, I've been coming to Were-Creatures Anonymous for about a month now, but to work up the nerve to stand up and talk — well, it's taken me some time to come to grips with it, and accept what I am. I mean, I've been aware of my wereness for a long time, but I've been pretty deeply in denial. I thought I could handle it myself. I was like, support groups are for total losers, you know?

"Sorry. I didn't mean you were losers. Not all of you. Not total losers, anyway.

"Uh, it's only been in the last few weeks that I've really come to realize that my — well, that my problem is out of control. It's ruining my life. I mean, people who used to be my friends hate me now, and the people who claim they're my new friends are like, just, damn. Who'd want them as friends?

"I suppose — well, maybe it was different for you, but I really can't remember when I became a were-weasel. I mean, I really can't for the life of me remember ever being bitten by any kind of weasel, much less a were one. But I know that the first time it became a problem for me was when I was in Junior High. It was in eighth grade, Mrs. Kazmarek's American History class. We'd had a big assignment I didn't feel like doing, to write an essay on Lincoln, and just my luck, the Kaz singles me out and tells me to come up in front of the class and read my essay. Well, this piece of paper I'm holding is blank, of course, and I'm just standing there at the front of the room, in front of everybody, all embarrassed and humiliated and everything, with my face turning bright red and the puberty hormones surging and all that, and the Kaz gives me that over-the-glasses look and says, "Well?" And then Sue Miller, in the front row — she was this pretty little blond I had the crush to end all crushes on — well Sue started giggling, and you could hear the whole class drawing their breaths, and in about a half-second they were going to totally explode in laughter—

"And just like that, it happened. I transformed, right there, in front of the whole damn class. And right off the top of my head, running on ninety-nine percent pure bullshit, I rattled off the most amazing essay you ever heard about Lincoln, with not one single word of truth in it, beyond the fact that some guy named Abraham Lincoln was once the President of our country.

"Well, the Kaz was stunned, of course. She gave me an 'A' on the spot. Never even asked to see that blank sheet of paper I was holding.

"I can see some of you; you're giving me that look. That was a problem?

"Yeah, that was a problem, but I didn't recognize it as such at the time. And I'll get back to it.

"But right now, I have a question: is that what it was like for you, the first time? Because to be honest, I really haven't spent a lot of time around other were-creatures, and I honestly don't know. I've been in denial, remember?

"I only know that I really got off on the raw power, and the way the Transformation, when it happened, was like — like — well, it was even better than sex with Sue Miller, a fact I later confirmed through extensive and repeated experimentation.

"But at the time, I was confused. I'd heard the stories; I knew the legends. Full moon, right? Not for me. I was really — ah, irregular. It was more related to hormones and stress than anything having to do with the Moon. When my life was going well and everything was on an even keel, it was really nice and predictable, every 28 days, like clockwork. But when I was stressed out, I could transform two or even three times in a month — or sometimes not at all. One time I went three months without transforming, and it scared the hell out of me. I thought — well, I didn't have a clue what to think. That was right after the first time Sue and I went all the way on the couch in her parent's basement, and I thought she'd, like, done something terrible to my body. I was scared out of my ever-lovin' mind — until the next month, when the Transformation happened right on schedule, and I could go back to breathing again.

"While I'm asking questions: I don't know about you, but for me, well, some months it's really heavy, and I become like this giant rabid stoat that walks on its hind legs like a man, and other months it's so light all I have to do is remember to shave twice daily and keep my mouth closed so the Normals don't see my fangs.

"But as far as being a curse goes, well, it was really more of an inconvenience than a curse. And to tell the truth there were times it was damned useful. I never would have made it through law school or launched my political career if I couldn't get in touch with my Inner Weasel on a regular basis.

"That's when things started to fall apart. As I worked my way up the political ladder, I became totally dependent on my Weasel Sense. In time — well, eventually I wound up being the Press Secretary to somebody really important, if you can believe that to look at me now, but along the way I got so totally addicted to using my Weasel Powers that finally I just couldn't turn it off any more. At the end, even I couldn't tell when I was spewing bullshit. It got easier to try to figure out when I might be telling the truth, because it happened less often.

"I'm sure you've heard stories like mine before. In the end, I pushed it too far. I lost control. I actually transformed in the middle of a press conference, in front of the entire White House Press Corps, and not one of them noticed. I mean, maybe Maureen Dowd did; she later wrote a column in which she called me a "beady-eyed little ferret," but at six-foot-two and two-hundred-and-ten pounds, I'm by no stretch of the imagination "little," so maybe she was just communing with her own Inner Weasel that day.

"But while the press didn't notice, the people I worked for sure did, and that's when they decided I'd become a liability. I got fired; replaced. But I still had my Were-Weasel Powers, right? So that's when I decided I would really stick it to former employers, and show them the full fury of an enraged were-weasel! I would write a book.

"You can guess what happened after that, can't you? Now all my former friends hate me, and all the people who claim they're my new friends are total dirtbags who claim to love me but secretly — not that secretly, actually — despise me.

"And that's my story. My name is Scott, and I'm a were-weasel. But with your help, my friends, I believe I can change.

"Hey! Why are you all looking at me like that?"