Monday, September 30, 2013

MORE WEREWOLF LORE... in a sense the purest 'caste' of all 10/01/13

Before we go on. Before we share more Romulus Lupine secrets, it's only fitting we furnish a bit of information on the third caste, a very mysterious manifestation rarely ever seen. In a sense, they are not shape-shifters at all, maintaining original body type for life. In Europe they were termed 'hell hounds' and were much feared by people, occasionally the peasantry, but more often those of the landed class.

In all instances and at all times they exhibit a thoroughly lupine form, identical to European gray wolves and North American timber wolves, though exceedingly large and finely made. It is not known how the caste developed... at least by humans. But off-world beings responsible for many examples of  terrestrial species experimentation obviously know and are responsible for their origin.

Native American groups termed them 'bright eyes,' indicative of their high intelligence. Some, reportedly, became 'familiars' to noted magi, alchemists and wizards. Barbarossa, emperor of The Holy Roman Empire during the eleven hundreds, traded three chests of natural sea pearls (an incredibly rare commodity at the time) for two such creatures, a male and female known as Tristan and Isolde, after the mythological lovers of Norse Mythology. It is not known how he used them. Legends and theories abound. But those that know claim the line still exists, 'wolves' that walk undetected in the world, or at least the densely wooded parts. And they have a language witnesses claim bears striking resemblance to the 'vocalizations' of certain breeds of domestic dogs, such as English Springer Spaniels. Since they are 'wild' and unaltered by the hand of man, their somewhat well developed dew claws (primitive, canine 'thumbs') remain, affording them hand-like manipulative abilities. Look to old woodcut illustrations of 'The Big Bad Wolf' in early imprints of Little Red Riding Hood for accurate representation. 

Thus wolf-folk come in three types.
1) a blend of wolf and human phenotype that never morphs into an entirely human or lupine state, a bit like Lon Chaney's characterization in all those old, classic films. Shimmy Kate (scroll back a bit) fell in with these guys.
2) the 'hell hounds' described above.
3) shape-shifters who go from man to wolf with a fluid grace. Romulus Lupine is one of those. 

Old codices indicate attempts were made to mix wolf-folk 'seed' with various domestic dogs, most notably Alsatian Hounds (German Shepherds) and other imposing breeds, but reports of success are entirely anecdotal. 

Romulus Lupine has a library of ancient books detailing werewolf history and lore hidden deep beneath the root cellar of a venerable old place he owns on a big piece of land up the river.

Everybody who's anybody got 'land up the river.'

And the werewolf prince of Louisiana certainly falls into that rarefied and splendid group.
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ROMULUS DOES THINGS FOR PEOPLE... a werewolf hit-man... 9/30/13

They come to me and I make things right. I got a chest. They give me gold. They give me jewelry. Sometimes they pay with bullion. Is that the word for real watery soup? I don't know, 'cause I don't eat it. 

My brother, Remus, keep to hisself. He stay in the woods. He stay in the bayou. Got a friend... crazy, old, school teacher guy. Live in a hovel. Not in the bayou, but on the solid ground part. Folks call it 'the bayou.' Map call it 'the bayou.' But it not. They talk 'bout books and history and ree-lih-john. I not got no ree-lih-john. That why I gonna kill him one day. Not the crazy school teacher. He old. Got like a pencil neck. He gone die anyway. No, I gone kill Remus. I gone kill my brother, for he not bow down to my 'natural leadership.' He know it right, but he won't do it. 

Man comin' a see me. Not 'bout my brother. 'Bout somethin' else. Want revenge. Want it real bad. He ride his truck down road. Motorcycle cop shoot out, say he no good. Say he go too fast. Give him ticket. Six dollar big money for goin' fast, 'specially when it a lie. He go to where the judge be. He tell him. He tell him good. Judge say - Who you lawyer?.... Truck drivin' fella say - Ain't got one.... Judge say - Guilty! Now gimme dat money......... Dat how it be when you not got no lawyer. ..... Them what got one say - My lawyer Mister Jim... or My Lawyer Mister Luke.... They all we got 'round here. But them what gots 'em hear judge say - Approach the bench for a consultation.... So Jim go, or Luke go. Them what got one go too. Judge buzz a little. Jim or Luke buzz a little. Judge go - Harumph, harumph, NOT GUILTY!..... He do that 'cause lawyer fella give him money. Give him half what you give him. Lawyer fella and judge go halfsies.  Ain't nobody sayin' it out loud, but that what they do. That what they always do...... Truck driver fella say he gone give me gold watch. It worth more than six dollar, but he real angry. Want me to teach that judge real good. I say - For sure, I will..... Dat mean - You wait a bitsy an' I gone rip his throat out.... Truck driver fella gone watch. He pay 'nuff, so he get show too. He get real good show..... I a shape shiftin' werewolf an' I know how to do it. Don't advertise, but them what need me know. Bayou folk know lot a stuff. I like their big brudder. An' I take care my pack. You can gah-ron-tee.

Now 'scuse me (say the werewolf), as he get up an' give Miz Lizzie her two bits. She the diner lady 'round here an' he get half price chicken pot pie whenever he want one. Cop only get a doughnut.

That just how it is.....

Romulus Lupine a big handsome kind a fella. Real at home in his skin, if you know what I mean. Act like - What these God damn clothes doin' on my body? What for I need them skivvies an' all?..... 

But he not always a wolfie, so sometime he need that crap. Look, we all got a do what we all got a do... Bayou folk smart that way...
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Saturday, September 28, 2013

Billy Kravitz' vampire wonderland: PLAYING VAMPIRE POKER IN ATLANTIC CITY

Billy Kravitz' vampire wonderland: PLAYING VAMPIRE POKER IN ATLANTIC CITY: Baylah, our Beyonce look alike, poker playing vampirina, invited me to go stay at her rich boyfriend's exceptionally fine beach house w...This is the kind of thing real vampires do.. A good old episode from twenty seven months ago starring BAYLAH, our BEYONCE look-alike. She still does now what she did then. Go down to A.C. (Atlantic City) and pay attention. Look around. You'll see..

Who don't like to play cards???
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Friday, September 27, 2013

Gravity Official Main Trailer (2013) - Sandra Bullock, George Clooney Mo..... I'm too incapacitated to blog tonight and this is SOOO GOOD

The disembodied spirits who usually serve as narrators for the story arcs I put up tell me this is SPOT ON. Apparently disembodied spirits often roam through the void we call 'space' and they've seen many things, not Sandra Bullock and George Clooney necessarily, but ... many things. Please watch, share and enjoy. Then, if you want, view more of my stuff by clicking on ~>MORE OF BILLY'S STUFF ... and PLEASE join me on TWITTER by clicking on ~> THIS IS WHERE HE SCHEMES RANTS AND RAVES .... ok, good night. I gotta rest. PLEASE leave comments. thanks.

Thursday, September 26, 2013


She never 'ran.' She wanted to, but she never did. Shimmy Kate spent the rest of her life where she was. She never saw another full blooded human being again. She never ate ice cream or brushed her teeth or crapped in a toilet, not even in an outhouse. 

After a time the rest of them just stopped talking to her. Oh, they passed her food when they had it and bundled up with her on colder than usual bayou nights. But mostly they just let her be. She messed with the stuff wedged into the back of the cave. Early on, she listened to them three or four old records they had, but when the crank-it-up Victrola broke, what the hell good were a bunch of old records? Most of what they had back there was broke too. Wolfie-folk ain't too careful with their things.

Even her kids avoided her. Sometimes Papa Wolf would say - Go sit with your ma.... And they would, for like one hundred and seventy two heartbeats, til Papa Wolf forgot. Then they'd run off. Learned to 'shift' too. That came when they were about fourteen. The alpha, what was they papa, figured puberty had something to do with it. Looked like him too... all gray and black with green, piercing eyes. Green eyes is rare on natural wolves, but these here far from natural. 

Actually, it's not accurate to say that Shimmy Kate never saw another human being. She did see the ghost of that trucker guy she killed. Got used to it too, even though she never knew when he was gonna pop in. But always the same. Always the same. Never standin' up and walkin' in like a regular person. Just layin' there like a dead, cut-up corpse wit' its eyeballs missin'. But still able to 'see' her through them empty sockets. Ghosts got lots a strange talents. If you see 'em, you know..... He say - How you like it here?..... She go - Shut up and go to hell.... Ghost just laugh and disappear. Romulus and Remus never saw him, but they seen her talkin' to him. Everybody did. She just an old, crazy, human, hootchie woman... a mostly naked hootchie woman at that. Titties not look so fancy no more... jus' sad and long and dry. Sometimes she sing. She go - I got joy, joy, joy, joy down in my heart, down in my heart..... Not sing, so much as hum or mumble. But they don't pay her no mind. 

Soon, them two cub-sons she got start 'gettin' wit'' one a the wolfie-wimmen. She naturally a low caste one what stuck in partly wolf mode and can't be no person. But her suckers ain't. They like they daddies. They like Romulus and Remus. Old grandpop alpha wolf like that. He not so 'alpha' no more. He retired. Them high caste sons runnin' the 'government' now. Deal wit' humans and everything. Take kick-backs from moonshiners and gator poachers in return for 'protectin'' 'em. But alls 'protectin' means is they not get eat. Better class a junk back a that cave now. Got big, old battery powered radio and everything. Romulus like listenin' to the fights. Remus like Jack Benny...

So you know there gone be a war....
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Wednesday, September 25, 2013


Did she ever forgive him for what was essentially a rape, or damn close to it?... No, she did not. But that thing kicks in, the 'Stockholm Syndrome' and remember there was Romulus and Remus too. They were hers. She loved them. So she stayed with them, nursing her babies who would grow up to be like princes of the wolf-folk. 

The alpha tried to make things pleasant for her. He caught pheasants and fat, little wriggling salamanders for her dinner. Shimmy Kate ate the pheasants. Taste like gamier chicken or slimy duck meat. The other stuff she gave to the other young ones in the pack. Once he brought back a baby. Said it was a monkey with the hair singed off. Maybe to wolf-folk like him they looked alike. But she knew and started to cry. He said he was sorry. She said - Couldn't you tell it was a baby? Didn't you see how much it resembled Romulus and Remus?..... He said he was sorry again. But he wasn't. Wolf-folk lie. So she took the dead baby from him and buried it outside the cave. Said a few prayers too. Never wanted to know who killed it, or how they killed it, 'cause she was tryin' not to go crazy as it is. Nobody ever poked 'round lookin' for no baby. But that didn't prove nothin'. Bayou folks got lots a extra 'suckers.' 'Fore she put it in the ground, Romulus and Remus sniffed it a little. You could tell they were sad. Might have the ability to shape-shift into werewolves, but the shape they shifted from was human and sometimes all that human stuff came out.

Alpha male never pestered her for no nookie-stuff no more. They talked and all. He was curious about her and she didn't want no trouble. Figured later, when it got warmer, she'd steal something. They had lots a old human crap lyin' 'round the back a the cave. Some of it was valuable. Maybe she could sell it in New Orleans and run away? 

But you can't run from wolf-folk, less they want you to run... less they want to get rid a you.... and then they mostly kill you..... mostly eat you too. 

Shimmy Kate was naive that way. She was naive 'bout a lot a things. Wolfie-wimmen used a laugh at her. She'd tell 'em to go to hell. But they didn't care. They just laughed some more.

One of 'em slipped Remus a piece a human ass-bacon an' he liked it too. 

Shimmy Kate made like she didn't know... 
But she did...
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Tuesday, September 24, 2013

THE WOLFMAN AND THE DUESENBERG ..... 9/25/13 .... a part of the LYCANTHRO-SHARK story arc

A werewolf pack has many parallels to a true wolfpack. Offspring are raised by the group. 'Aunties' are ever eager to raise the little princes and princesses. And in this case, Romulus and Remus, being 'high caste' got lots of attention. Sometimes their human mother, Shimmy Kate, watched from the shadows, as wolfier in-laws entertained the little ones. They played games, tickled bellies and sang songs. Most people would say the songs were simply long drawn out howls, but human ears lack subtlety and that's a shame. At two months, the infants already raced 'round the cave on all fours, snapping at big, fat bugs in the larder. Their daddy was very proud.  Shimmy Kate stepped in to nurse. Of course she did that. And she loved the strange, little beasties. They were hers, after all. But she was not 'wolfen' and they, although not on the surface, were. Initial transformation had yet to occur, but it would. They had that ability. Tell-tale signs had already begun to manifest during dream time. Infantile faces contorted into tiny muzzles. Babyish fidgets became little growls and imaginary mice met gruesome ends. They kissed like wolves too, not with the mouth, but with the tongue. 

The alpha spent time with his human consort, taking her on long midnight walks through the trees.  Not every part of the bayou is wet. Some portions are higher than others, if only by a few feet. And those places are dry. That's where the roads run through. Granted, in the lupine lair those roads were more like foot paths, but foot paths were good enough.

 Conversation was minimal. Wolf-folk of this caste can articulate. Not with the nuanced grace of a French Quarter, or Garden District dandy, but well enough to be understood. He asked if she was cold. He pointed out hawks, bob-cats, gators and other neighbors too. Sometimes they sat and listened. Every species had a language of its own, blending into what Count Dracula would call 'the music of the night.' 

Once they found a car, an old, crumbling Duesenberg, long and sporty. Just the thing for discerning bootleggers and the like. An ivory-boned skeleton smiled from the back seat. But a bullet hole 'tween the eyes made its expression look down right idiotic. 

The alpha laughed in that raspy way of his. He said - Look how dumb he look. What can you expect? No brains..... And although she didn't want to, Shimmy Kate laughed back. He asked her if she used to ride in cars (the thought of a female actually driving one never crossed his mind). She said that she did, failing to add what else went on in those back seats.  He listened and nodded. Automobiles and other accoutrements of human culture were mysteries to him. What was an egg-beater, or a toaster, or a jock-strap to one as feral as he? Though he did run his paw-like hand over the hood. Shimmy Kate asked if he liked it. He nodded. She told him how it was in the city.... how cars looked when they were new, all shinny and fragrant and fast. He liked that, so she told him more... about picture shows and oyster houses and places where people went to get high colonics. The part about rectal irrigation didn't appeal to him, although she could tell he was very interested in everything else..... He asked if his children would see those things. She thought for a moment and said - I suppose they will, so long as you allow them to grow up human too..... The alpha studied the car again and said that he would.

On the way back he told her what it was like to never wear clothes or see unbroken glass, or taste fresh eclairs. His caste, due to their permanent lupine state, lived apart from men, except for those times when they ate their flesh.

And in this way, little by little, they began to understand each other...

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Monday, September 23, 2013


When the thermometer falls below forth eight degrees certain things begin to happen. Big, shiny, black, crunchy bugs begin to die. Roachie-roaches disappear and city dwellers breathe a sigh of relief. Kitchens seem less haunted, that is until the mice move in.

And deep in the twisted rabbit warrens of the old quarters of Philadelphia spirits slowly awaken. Perhaps the cold still air is more to their liking? The gaseous molecules of the atmosphere slow down. Lines appear sharper. Shadows grow darker. Vampires look forward to the Autumnal Equinox for it signals the triumph of the night. And they do so love the dark. 

But we reference another monster now, a puzzled being unsure of his own provenance. A ghoul, given to midnight suppers on torn, living flesh, ripped from startled sleepers, alone in their beds. 

Johnny Jump Up solidifies. The ghost-like being drips from his summer sleep among the crumbling plaster of a late nineteenth century merchant's palace, a shuttered, forgotten, narrow dwelling surrounded by grander things. 

Tall and thin he is... impossibly thin. Wraith-like would be a better word. Wrapped in a tight, black suit, like an eighteen forties undertaker. Could be he was. Who knows? A cadaverous hungry fool, though in no way short on cunning. 

Do you live alone? Are you in the city? Listen for the rattle of a window late at night. Is that noise just the refrigerator, or is it something else? Would the neighbors come if you screamed, or would they cower in their beds and pull the covers close?

Shhh, the ghoul roams free, his small sharp, pointy teeth revealed by an evil smile. Such white skin. Such dead skin. Such cold flesh he has. But your warm meat can fix that. You know oysters are alive when we eat them. Perhaps you'll be an oyster tonight? The experience of a lifetime. Pity it comes at the end.

They say he can soundlessly leap from pavement to rooftop... three or four stories at least.

What floor do you sleep on?

Maybe you should move?
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The alpha played with the newborns. Well, maybe they were too newborn for that, but he held them and examined them. Shimmy Kate pressed back against the rocky wall and watched. She didn't say a word. She just looked. Avoided eye contact, but she took it all in. 

He sniffed the babies and studied their faces, so different from his own. And they looked back with the cloudy eyed stare of the innocent. The other females pretended not to notice, but they did. Made like they were grooming each other, but that was just an act. Betas chased a couple live rabbits down in this pit they had. That was a big game with them... like werewolf pinball. Only rabbits ain't ball bearings and if you chase 'em too much they die. But werewolves don't care. It's only a hobby. 

Alpha flips one a the babies over and gently runs his index claw over the tail bump. He smiles as much as his lupine features allow. Remember, his 'caste' exists locked in wolf-mode, or semi-wolf-mode. Not human. Not wolf. Not nothin'.
Looks like they gonna have tails. Not big ones. Not like what timber wolf got, or even Lassie. Still, some a them 'daddy' traits gonna live on. Other youing'uns watch from the shadows. They got a paper sack full a Hershey Buds (old name for Hershey's Kisses). One a the females took 'em off a victim. Some guy waitin' for a bus late at night. You know how lonely the bayou can be. Wolf-kids munch on 'em. Sometimes they take off the foil. Sometimes they don't. Domestic dogs is allergic to that shit. Wolf-folk ain't.

Shimmy Kate find her tongue. She scared, but she talk. She go - I don't wanna keep 'em like that. Get 'em clothes. They need clothes..... But he don't answer. Maybe he glance at her a second, but that's it. Then he rub their bellies. The babies, I mean. Makes 'em purr, almost like kitties. One pees, but he a fast mover, so it don't get him.... He make with another stiff, wolfie smile. Then he whisper their names... 'Romulus and Remus.' ..... Shimmy Kate don't like when he say it. He know it, so he say it again. She get agitated and kick over a candle. Female wolfie-folk set it right. Other one start laughin' like a crazy woman. Alpha slap her 'cross the muzzle. That shut her up real good. She do curl up in a ball though.

One a the betas, down in the pit, get tired a the game and crunch that rabbit all the way through. Bones ain't nothin' to wolfie-folk. Young'uns howl when he do it. Beg for scraps too. Other one scream like a banshee. Most folks do not know rabbits can scream, but they do. It fixin' to die a fright, but not yet.

Female what ain't been slapped start nuzzlin' down in the pit. Make like she wanna lick the blood off the beta's face. Alpha don't like when they mess with the betas, 'cause it jazzes 'em up and makes 'em uppity. Gettin' 'jiggy' what he do, not them.

But he all occupied with them babies, so he don't pay no mind.

Shimmy Kate see he a good 'baby-daddy.' Least she got that. So she smile at him a little. Don't mean it, but she do it.

He ain't fooled. Wolfie-folk smart that way.
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Sunday, September 22, 2013


Whatever force it is that deems to call unusual forms of humanity into existence (aliens, spiritual manifestations, our own descendants from the future) is constrained by a simple fact... life is hard. 

Mere frivolities, such as giants (the really big ones), delicate limbed, ethereal elves and the like MUST be able to survive in nature. That's why we don't see 'fire' people who swim through granite, or glass maidens with amethyst eyes. Poetic license is one thing. The isolated, organic life form may be compelling and irresistible to look at, but that 'magic' thing only goes so far. The phrase 'comfortable in his own body' says it all. Would you enjoy being half spider, or having a psychotic, parasitic, profanity spewing twin sprouting out of your body? Be mighty hard buying clothes, if you know what I mean. 

That's why them that messes with us usually stick to a few basic forms.... 'vampires' (actually life-force-absorbers), 'werewolves' (shape-shifters, some of whom can adopt forms much more unusual than simple feral canines) and manipulators of matter, or witches, if you will. 

Please know that I do not speak of self-taught manipulators, who are able to learn certain things... 'wizards' of the Harry Potter type. True manipulators are born that way and need no special training to accomplish their feats. In the distant past they were demi-gods, remote and often rather sad.

The advanced being responsible for our bayou band of lupine-humans knows all of this. Our talented explorer is a juvenile among his own kind, though possessed of a certain well developed responsibility. He wants his hamsters to live.

But that doesn't mean his all-powerful, alien classmates won't make trouble. 

You know how 'kids' can be...
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Friday, September 20, 2013

Don Jon Trailer Official 2013 Joseph Gordon-Levitt Movie [HD].. BAYLAH, our BEYONCE LOOK-ALIKE VAMPIRE who has a cool piano bar in Center City, Philadelphia & a rich boyfriend down the shore turned me on to this...

Although we go off on a million tangents in '... the Wonderland' our vampire 'besties' are still here. And Baylah really likes this. You wouldn't think so, but she does. So, please watch the video and see the movie. Maybe after, go tip toe through~>  THIS ... then join me on TWITTER at ~> @wilkravitz ... Can't channel no werewolves tonight because I keep slipping into a catatonic trance caused by the hypnotic, 'white noise' hum of my refrigerator. Klactu borada nicto, y'all... Til next the world spins again....please COMMENT

Thursday, September 19, 2013

THE LUPINE TWINS ARRIVE... 9/19/13 .... The Lycanthro-Shark Arc continues

They were hungry, so the wolf-women wrapped each twin in old sheepskin and presented them to the mother. Shimmy Kate felt the weight on her belly, but that was it. Maternal she was not. An old she-wolf stimulated her teats with a bit of grease. Shimmy Kate didn't care. She just stared. 

Each baby weighed about four and a half pounds... small for humans, but big for wolves. And they didn't look 'wolfie' at all... No muzzles... No fur... although wolf-folk cubs are only born with a light pearl-gray down. Their eyes were closed. Their fists were clenched. They yawned and they trembled. Each had a tiny bump... no more than a bug bite... at the base of the spine. Maybe later there'd be a little tail... And maybe not. 

Their sire was pleased. High caste... He wanted 'high caste.' And he got it. But they had to feed. She had to nurse. Shimmy Kate had to play 'mama.' So he picked up the twins, placing each on a breast. Remus locked on first and the mama-woman did bleed just a little bit. Lupine newborns are born with teeth, even 'high caste.' When Romulus heard the contented mewing he latched on too.  After a few heartbeats the mama seemed a little bit interested. The wolf-folk liked that. She'd come along. Might not be no big love affair between her and that alpha, but she'd settle in. They were her babies... and that's a whole other thing all together. 

So in a deep, dark cave ('cept for a few fat, sputtering, wolf-folk candles) a strange clan welcomed new members. Outside, along the banks of nameless, shadowy waterways, isolated piroques made the rounds. Them gator boys like those hides, you know. Buys 'em drink. Buys 'em cigs. Makes 'em fat.... Wolf-folk like 'em that way.

Shimmy Kate (she the mama) commence to singin' a little song. She go - I got joy, joy, joy, joy down in my heart, down in my heart, down in my heart... It the only 'churchie' song she know.  An' considerin' the occasion it like a baptism too. When it done she croon 'Happy Birthday,' 'cause in a very real way, that what it is.

But Romulus and Remus don't care. They eatin'.  An' if you stick your head in close and look, she ain't even bleedin' much no more...
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Wednesday, September 18, 2013


The females all squeezed into a little niche, a warm, dark pocket at the back of the cave. The alpha male didn't enter. He never does, preferring to stand imperiously away from the rest.... Scipio Africanus  surveying the troops, attended by his loyal, for now, betas.

They helped the human mother crouch down on a pile of rabbit skins and straw. ...'Daddy's gone a hunting to get a baby bunting. To get a little rabbit skin to wrap the baby bunting in...' Pity the poor rabbits. They get it every time. This 'daddy's' obviously accumulated a lot of skins. 

Shimmy Kate (the mama) groaned. She wanted to lay down, but they wouldn't let her. Hard, lupine hands peeled off her torn, thin rags. Someone drizzled water on her head, using a wadded up piece of moss for a sponge. Another wolfie female shoved a leaf in her mouth. She chewed... an instinctive response, releasing a drug-filled resin... It helped.

Now we (the disembodied spirits who narrate everything in The Vampire wonderland) could tell you 'bout contractions and pains and rivulets of fluid squirting out from nether regions, but you've heard that before. A birth is a birth is a birth, at least among mammals. Some take place in sterile environments surrounded by shamefully high priced 'concerned do-gooders for hire,' and others happen in humbler places.

Romulus and Remus were coming. Two little organisms jockeyed for position, waiting for their chance to survive the birth canal and breathe. And as far as these wolf-folk could, they prayed, or rather radiated a desire for a particular outcome.

The mother might provide that. She had it in her blood. Let them look human. Let them blend in. Free them from the shadows and the swamps of the bayou. Other werewolves, higher castes, live that way. They talk. They look. They go and they see.... wolves when it's right and men when it isn't. 

The alpha 'prayed' too. Such a selfless thing he did, though the reluctant mother wouldn't think so. But if this worked, his band, in their present state, would disappear... rather like the Neanderthals. Yet permit us to tell you, oh 'human' children, that first-formed lines do not disappear, not truly. They are with us still, running through creation like underground streams... cold, dark and abiding.

Romulus and Remus are coming. They bite and gouge and scratch even now, fighting to be first. And 'le monde lupiniere' will never be the same....

Allez le bon temps roullez.......

Pardon our French, but we disembodied spirits hail from another part of the forest.

And now the wolf-folk keen...
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THE DECOMPOSING CORPSE GHOST ISSUES JUDGEMENT.... the Lycanthro-Shark story arc... 9/18/13

It's funny how much you can see by moonlight. I guess we forget what it was like before fire. The control of fire, I mean. Simple souls wandered through the night... looking at things. They saw, because they had to. And the cool, silvery disc in the sky was enough. Sometimes it wasn't even a disc. 

Shimmy Kate saw. She saw quite clearly, not like someone in a laboratory under harsh florescent lights, but she was able to interpret shapes, lines and masses. There were trees (lots of trees) and murky puddles filled with wriggling things. Tiny, buzzing, singularities danced about the clammy air. They bit too. She itched, but she was used to that. 

The decomposing corpse ghost laying in the chill, soupy water looked at her. Well, the eyes were gone, but a presence behind the bug eaten, flaccid lids saw her anyway. It breathed a raspy breath, nodded toward the strangely pregnant, near nude hootchie-woman-alligator-wrestler and spoke. She heard it. Shimmy Kate heard it. It said, or rather whispered - Go back.... And even the drowsy crickets seemed to echo those words. The flesh cracked and peeled off from the bones. Not everywhere, but along the arms and around the rib cage. One shoulder joint was clearly visible. It's amazing how white bones appear in the night. She wanted to run. She NEEDED to. But her muscles wouldn't move. Animals know that. They know, so they freeze. Monsters only 'get' you if you run. But stones pose no attraction, so she became a stone, there in the presence of the man she had killed. I suppose someone dragged him from the truck and dumped him in the swamp after, when they stole it. But she didn't know that. A few moments later the dead thing said it again --- Go back.... She whimpered a little. She did do that. But she still couldn't move, til the wolf-gal touched her spine. Then she got up. Her big belly, filled with Romulus and Remus made it hard, but she managed and together they went back to the cave. There was no escape. Neither made a sound and although no one saw it, the corpse-thing disappeared.

The birthing time was near...

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Tuesday, September 17, 2013


She get real docile. Shimmy Kate, I mean. Lay next to big, boss wolf-man. Eat all them grubs they give her. Wolf-folk like grub. Give 'em to all what 'spectin' babies. Taste like warm, salty taffy candy set in pickle juice... all sticky and gummy. Guess you gotta be part like a dog. Shimmy Kate gag. She cry a little. But that jus' make them give her more. She mostly numb, so she don't care. 

One day she say - I wanna go someplace. Y'all gotta let me outta here... 'Cause you gotta remember. They in the back of a cave. But not like he gone take her for no pancakes, or nothin'. An' she ain't no good when they go people-killin'. Sit in mud. Go - Eww! Eww! Eww!..... One a the wolfie-woman wanna take her snail huntin'. Snails is better than grubbs. They sweeter. Taste like funny oyster. Big, boss wolf-man say - OK.... He not say 'OK,' 'cause he don't make that sound, but that what he mean. So nex' night they go off.

Wolfie-woman got like a little basket. It really dried up bird nest, but they use it like basket. Snail slide out at night. Go down tree trunk. Go up tree trunk. Move slow, but snails good hunters. People think mouth up where head is, but it not. It down the neck near the stomach. Got like a tongue... a rough tongue. Dig into all kind a meat... bugs... silver, little fish what dart through mangrove root.... tiny, little, marsh people what like two peanut tall. They don't fly like Tinkerbell, but they still there. Wear spider web clothes. That like silk when you scrape the sticky crap off. Wolfie-woman snatch one right off a root. hold it up so Shimmy Kate can see. Got like a little, gray, baggy wife-beater. Jus' long enough to hide what for. But they so little it don't make no difference. Shimmy Kate go - Oh!..... This big surprise to her. She wanna touch it, but wolfie-woman jump back. That how she say 'no.' Put little person in her dried up nest. Think it a little man. Try to climb out, but she put a snail on it. Call Shimmy Kate over to look. Snail glide all over that little body, silver in the moonlight and greasy-like. It shake. It tremble. Tongue scrape half the skin off. Blood run out. Then it go over again an' start diggin' out flesh. Shimmy Kate don't wanna look. Make her think 'bout how she slice up that truck driver. Wolfie-woman don't feel that way. She like to look. Do it all over with another one. Tiny marsh man, I mean. This one cry jus' loud enough so you can hear.... Wolfie-woman like it. She hypnotized . Jus' wanna look. Guess little people meat make 'em sweeter. Snails, I mean.

That when Shimmy Kate slip away. Now wolf-folk good tracker, but bayou got water and water wash scent. It cool at night an' she mostly naked, but she don't care. Wanna jump in a gator pool. Wanna get herself chomped up real good, all dead an' all. Kill off that Romulus an' Remus she got growin' there inside her. Snappin' turtle cut her feet. Spider bite back a her hip. An' that not like bug bite. It almos' like snake bite. She cry. She shake. Not like she no delicate flower. She a trashy gal. Once ate a smoked up cigarette butt on a bet. It time for her to die. She cut up a fella. She livin' wit' monsters. She carryin' two inside her.

Shhhh... That when she see the ghost... layin' right there in the mud An' from how he cut up she know who he is.... even before he open his malf...
(more next time)
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Monday, September 16, 2013


You know how Disney would draw these talking 'dog' characters like GOOFY? Well, the second werewolf flavor is like that. The skeleton is mostly human, save for longer, stronger hands and feet. And the nails are claws, don't forget. Skulls are primarily human, but the ears are higher and definitely wolf-like. There's a bit of a muzzle too, sharp, wicked teeth and amber, lupine eyes. Bodies are covered in thick, soft, pale gray fur, with a bit of a neck ruff, or mane and a fairly respectable canine tail. The total effect recalls the feline dancers in Broadway's CATS, 'cept these ain't no kitties.

They live on meat, mostly people-meat, but other mammals get torn up too. Interesting creatures, locked in a middle ground, never human, nor completely wolf. Forest spirits to Native Americans (north and south), snow wraiths to their Siberiak counterparts. People in the Bayou call them Lupiniere. 

Do they want to have a human phase? Of course. That's what the whole Shimmy Kate thing is about. Her blood's supposed to do it. Not just hers... human, lady-blood in general. She just happen to be the one they got.

And the whole thing makin' her crazy. Look, other bands done it with other ladies in the past. But now they doin' it here. Shimmy Kate wanna throw herself in. She wanna be gator food. Used to wrestle 'em. Hoochie dancer/gator-gal, that what she was. Now she fixin' a be 'maw' to Romulus and Remus. An' they fixin' a bus' out.

Come back in a couple hours. Right now they jus' sleepin'.
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While Shimmy Kate sinks into insanity and depression contemplating the birth of her human- lupine offspring, let us fill you in on some of the in's and out's of the lycanthropic world. 

They come in three basic varieties. The first manifestation retains a completely human appearance, while possessing wolf-like stamina, strength and agility. Most also have an exceptional sense of smell on par with North American bloodhounds. Some report retention of what appears to be atavistic, small brush-like tail at base of spine that, even if surgically removed, always regenerates. Members of the breed form tight knit families, or 'packs,' often occupying important positions in various governments and industries throughout the world. In the past, certain 'noble' lines were rumored to possess wolf-like qualities, but verification is inconclusive.

Please know that we tried to post additional material about this werewolf phase and others, but were repeatedly foiled by suspicious computer cliches and outright, third party manipulations.

Those familiar with this site know much of what we share is fact. Indeed, we're only forced to pretend that it's fiction. 

But before closing (after 5AM here), we will say, once again, that off-world genetic manipulation believed responsible for all forms of werewolf and werewolf-like manifestations.

More posted within the next twenty four hours...

Look, I know I shouldn't say this, but I will... Some scientific investigators believe recent upswings in blood sucking (and blood TRANSFERRING) insects such as fleas, mosquitoes, bed bugs and ticks are covert attempts to introduce artificially manipulated DNA into the human genome.
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Sunday, September 15, 2013

WOLF FOLK IS GOOD TRACKERS... 9/15/13 ... still part a the LYCANTHRO-SHARK story arc

Some night ain't got no moon. Moon still there, but you not see it. It hide down 'round other side a Earth, like bad boy back a tree trunk. Them nights is dark... black nights. Milky Way arc 'cross a sky like God done a 'spit take.' Some folk can't look at it. Reminds 'em how small they is and what all's out there. Big rock come down, go BAM!  Them what see it wanna shit themself, only rock not give 'em time. Burn 'em up fast. BOOM! pfft! Uh oh.... That how it is.

Shimmy Kate crouch down by 'the terrace.' It not fancy like a real one, but it flat and out front, so what else you gonna call it? Wolfie-gal there with her. Rest a them off huntin'. They like a good, dark night.  Gator-boy go out. Try to catch a gator. Wolfie-folk go out. Try to catch gator-boy. 'Cept with them it ain't 'tryin' 'cause they get 'em every time. Fat gator boys best. They juicy. Taste like pork. Two fat ones even better. They cry. They squeal. Kick they feet. Bat they hands like little girl.  Alpha wolfie-man like to play with 'em. Bite ass-cheek real hard. Scratch 'em up. Let 'em go. Let 'em run. Chase 'em. Jump on top. Do it again. Maybe three time. Rip ear off... piece a face-meat. That like appetizer.

Shimmy Kate seen 'em do it, but she don't care. She crazy. Don't want no wolfie-babies. Let 'em get her. Let 'em catch her. Let 'em rip her up real bad. She laugh. She go - Wheee, I free! I free!... 'cause she believe in heaven an' all. Not that she so good. Jus' ain't got much else.

Wolfie-gal watch her. See her leg tense up. See her ass flex. She know. Shimmy Kate a runner. Don't want no trouble wit' boss-wolf. She got a job, so she do it. Jump on all-human gal an' pin her down. She growl. She snarl. Shimmy Kate get like gator-boy, bat her hands and go - No! No! No!..... Then, real fast, wolfie-gal nip her tittie. Sting her up real hard, like wolf do wit' bad puppy. Human gal stop. Breathe real hard an' cry. She jus' cry an' cry an' lay there an' cry. It the time a night when bite-'em-ups is out. Bite her up real good. But she don't care. Itchin' ain't no big thing.

Wolfie-gal lick her belly. Wanna stop her... but it don't do no good...
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Friday, September 13, 2013


No matter what religious path you take, may all of us have a blessed year filled with spiritual fulfillment and meaningful human relationships. 

'The righteous of all nations (groups) shall share in The World to Come...'

'Brighten the corner where you are..'

'MANKIND is created in the image of GOD. HE is ONE, so we are one.'

... and even for atheists... 

'Would that you would forget MY very existence, but remember all of MY teachings..'

'God is a verb..'



Thursday, September 12, 2013


They had an old, crank-up Victrola wedged back in the cave. One of the she-wolves kept the records. Wrapped them in an old cow hide. One or two were Bessie Smith. There was a Caruso. Some jazz by a local boy named Louis Armstrong and one with the label scraped off, but it skipped all the time and all you heard was a raspy voice singing 'Must Be Jelly, 'Cause Jam Don't Shake Like That.'

She-wolf wasn't to articulate. Not that she wasn't intelligent. You should see the tiny bead-work she hand stitched into a particularly tanned and supple human skin. Think it came from like a fourteen year old kid, but I don't know. But her mouth couldn't shape the words. Everything came out real hoarse and garbled. She knew Shimmy Kate liked the music, though. Played it for her all the time. Could be 'liked' is a strong word. She tolerated it. It calmed her. 

The alpha male tried regurgitating food for her, but she wouldn't have it. So every few nights one of the mysterious canids would silently pad down a little road to a village what had a Piggly-Wiggly store. Heater (really just a jumped up pot-bellied stove) had a stack that ran up through the roof. Wolfie people are real good at slippin' through tight spaces. Shoulder joints real flexible. Hip joints too. Pop 'em in and out of place like nobody's business. Stove not used much, 'specially at night, when the store's closed. So it's real easy to play Santy Claus, 'cept wolfie Santy Claus don't leave no presents. Wolfie Santy Claus grab bacon an eggs and skedaddle. Sometime grab an apple too.  Shimmy Kate take it all when they get back. Then she fry it up in a rusty, old cast iron skillet over little flame from collection of them wadded up, mushy candles they make. She don't say nothin', not out loud, but she do mouth a 'thank you.' Young ones like the bacon raw. She don't give 'em none. They just grab it. 

Sometime alpha male take her outside like when she gotta go shit. Betas want a do it, but he don't let 'em. Sometime he sniff her. Sometime he touch her. She try to move away, but he don't pay no mind. Sometime she don't move away. Who knows? Maybe she want him to touch her?

He like lookin' at her nails... her finger nails and her toe nails. Wolfie folk got claws. Nails seem la-dee-dah to them. She let him do it, but she don't say nothing. 

That how they live.... deep in a cave lit by couple messy, little candles. Few bats roost up by the roof. Nobody set under them, 'cause a the guano.

Wolfie woman wanna show Shimmy Kate that she know how to dance. Likes to percolate to jazz record. But it not real dancin'.... more like what a crazy lady would do beggin' for change on a street corner. Shimmy Kate make like she like it, 'cause she don't want no trouble.... Got enough a that already, what with bein' knocked up by a dog-man and livin' in a cave all naked and all.

I 'spects her mama be mighty disappointed. 

Shhh, it dark now. They sleepin', only Shimmy Kate eyes open. She lookin'. She thinkin'. She plannin'. Like, who knows? Maybe she gonna run...

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Wednesday, September 11, 2013

Billy Kravitz' vampire wonderland: These are the days of EL RANCHO TEXACO ..... Recol...

Billy Kravitz' vampire wonderland: These are the days of EL RANCHO TEXACO ..... Recol...: Little David (though everyone called him 'Davey', or 'Prince') squinted up at the two sky-ponies tracin' lazy circles ab...A wild west tale like no other... A Mars tale like no other too.... HOW THE WEST WAS WON... on Mars.... How you think it gonna be? The Pondorosa meets Dallas, 'cept them low hills in the distance is someplace else. Click onto them little 'EL RANCHO TEXACO' letters up top there. Saddle up and start ridin'....This here's the first episode in what's itchin' to be like a GRAPHIC NOVEL or a SyFy series. Goo see. Take a look.
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Tuesday, September 10, 2013


When you think about it, the universe is pretty boring. It's all just clouds or globes or shattered rocks. OK, some a the rocks is ice and some a the globes is real hot. No, wait. Pinwheels... We got pinwheels too. You know, like galaxies? But basically that's it. A vast (relatively speaking) Mandlebrot Set comprised of a few basic forms. Celestial Legos... Lincoln Logs ... Tinker Toys.

It's no wonder advanced beings like to mess with it. Some of the really advanced ones knock out whole wings and rehab huge galactic clusters. Dopier advanced beings do simpler stuff, like throwin' rocks at dinosaurs, or creating 'funny' people. And I don't mean like Sid Caesar or Chelsea Handler. I mean 'weird'... at least to us dull folk. 

Back in the day they made centaurs and mermaids and tattooed Zumba dancers. Now it's werewolves and zombies and vampires. Must be a free time activity in some really accelerated alien grade school. If a smart one makes you (not creative. just smart) you're all right. But if you get the alien kid who picks his nose and eats it, or runs around the house with his grandma's brassiere wrapped around his head,, you might not be all right. 

The wolf-folk what got Shimmy Kate ain't all right. They're stuck. Can't vacillate back and forth. Never human. Never wolf. Just a mess.... like that lion guy what lived in a clean part a the sewers in Beauty and The Beast. Think he graduated to Son's of Anarchy.

You see, Divine creationism is one thing, 'cause God has good taste. But retard creationism (and I only use that word to make a point) is something else. Some pots don't need no stirring.

What kind a pot you think human beans from... one what got stirred to much, or one that's just right?...Maybe we just gotta simmer?

Alpha male what loved up Shimmy Kate hopin' on her puppies. He think they gonna save him. Not just him, but ALL them 'stuck in the middle' wolf folk.

He waitin' on Romulus and Remus. That what he gonna call 'em. Shimmy Kate ain't picked no names yet. She jus' sit there huddled 'gainst the rocky wall suckin' her finger nails.

Belly gettin' big, though... Belly gettin REAL big...
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Monday, September 9, 2013


It don't snow. Hardly ever get no ice. But it do get cold... damp cold. Steam come up off the water. Sky all gray. Gators sleepin' deep down in the mud, like they got a case a temporary death. Still hear them crickets, though. sing a little slower than they do in summertime. But you still hear 'em.

Don't know how long it take for no human-werewolf babies. Wolfie-gals don't know either. Not like they talk much to Shimmy Kate. One of 'em wanna kill her. Big male know it. He say he rip her head off. He say he bite right through her spine, crunch it all up and crip her real good if she even try. Wolfie-gal make like she wanna snuggle. Make like she wanna go lick-lick-lick all over. He let her do a little bit. Then he push her away. She laugh, like it no big deal. But it is.

Meat stash gettin' low. All dried up too. They like it that way, beef jerky like. 'Cept it not all beef. Some is sheep. Some be possum. Little bit still 'long pig.' Shimmy Kate don't eat much, not for somebody what got two cubs gnawin' on her innards. Wolfie-gal hope she die. But big male get her eggs, turtle eggs mostly. He know where to dig 'em up. She eat them. Get a catfish sometime too. 

Shimmy Kate cry a lot too. Got bad dreams. One got a whole lot a kids on a picnic. They all eatin' egg salad sandwich. Laughin'... smilin'... You can see it 'tween their teeth. She a kid too. But she ain't got no egg salad sandwich. Look like egg salad. Got Kraft Miracle Whip, chopped celery an' all. But her eggs is maggots... fat, yellow, putrid maggots an' they still movin'.  She wanna say - Shit, I eatin' maggots.... But she don't, 'cause law say they kill you for eatin' maggots. Not in Louisiana. In the dream, I mean. Got 'nother dream where she jump off roof somewhere's. Land on a puppy. Land on a gray, little yelpin' puppy. But it don't yelp long. 'cause it die and she cry and cry and cry. 

Shimmy Kate sit real far in, back by the cave wall. Got two old bedspread. Don't know where she got 'em, but she got 'em. Wrap herself up like a lady mummy, or a tamale wit' a woman inside it.

Young one say - Shimmy Kate, you wanna play Yahtzee?

But she just shake her head 'no.'
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WOLF-FOLK go on a MEAT HUNT...... 9/09/13 ... part of the LYCANTHRO-SHARK ARC

Contrary to Hollywood, they do it on nights when there ain't no moon. Less light. Less interference. More stealth. Shimmy Kate can't go, 'cause she human all the way. Can't make time like the rest of them. She slow. She'd twist her ankle and fall. Shit, there ain't no cryin' in werewolf. Old one stay with her. Female name Frizzy Ass on account a her fur. They playin' Yachtzee. But Shimmy make sure Frizzy win all the time, 'cause she is a werewolf after all.

Rest a the pack went 'runnin'. That what they call it, havin' a 'runnin'. Stream out into the dark and find somethin'. Rabbits hide. Bob cats hide. Two big monkeys what got lost from the circus hide. Everythin' hide. 

Pad out to a road house off a little highway.... Jook joint really, full a moonshine drunks and dope fiends. Wait out in the bushes. Bayou got big bushes... real big bushes. Door open. Light shoot out. Fat bastid come out 'cause he gotta fart. It Ok shootin' quiet farts. But this round got special sound effects 'ttached to it, so best done outside...

Canines and them what like related appreciate a good stink. Butt sniffin' a hobby. How they find out who eatin' the good stuff. Fat bastid squat down to take a shit. Got shit hole inside, but it ain't been cleaned or fumigated in like... never. 

Wolf-folk hunker down. Get real still. Get real quiet. Suck in that first wiff. He be eatin' pig. He be eatin' cheese. He be eatin' macaroni. Don't smell like it did goin' in. But never you mind, 'cause to them it smell better. 

Little wolf-bitch-gal lunge in an' bite his ass real hard. He scream and fall over. Start wipin' the blood with his hand. Get scared, 'cause he see a lot a it. Start moanin'. Start shakin'. 'nother one score his ankle bone up real good.  Fat bastid go - Oh, Gawd! Oh Gawd!  Try to run, but he can't 'cause a his pants and all. So he fall in the mud and cry... just like a big, fat-assed Baby Huey.

Ain't no cryin' in werewolf. Already told you that. Cryin' make 'em mad. Somebody rip a nipple. Might a been one a the young ones. Then his pee-pee go missin', long with it's next door neighbors. One a the big females tear the neck, take a cheek off. That like a filet to her. Two heartbeats later they in a frenzy. Them what's inside watchin'. They watchin' everythin'... faces all squashed up 'gainst little glass window. Big eyes. Scared eyes. Open malfs. Nobody say a word. Feel bad 'bout that 'no audible fart' thing, but what can you do? Rules is rules. 

Little bit later they drag him away. Leave his head, 'cause wolf-folk don't like brain. Think he busted up into two or three parts by then. Not fancy butcherin'. Nothin' fancy. But very effective butcherin' just the same.

An' Shimmy Kate gotta eat some, 'cause she carryin' wolfie babies an' all.

Only she don't know that yet...
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Sunday, September 8, 2013


Say it isn't so. Better yet, stop talking and DO something..... The 'righteous' life-eater (vampire) known as Tomas de Macabea, has learned, or rather relearned things in his wanderings and  wants to speak again...  The VENGENCE .... coming later this fall.....'cull the wicked. save the worthy.'
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Saturday, September 7, 2013

HUMAN PUPPY-MAMA... SHIMMY KATE AMONG THE LUPINIERE... a lycanthro-shark tangent..... 9/07/13

She stayed with them throughout the winter. They slept a lot, though never really hibernated. Bayou winters aren't cold, just chill and damp and quiet. Sometime it rains a lot. And for like eight weeks nothing grows. Cop guys did a little bit a pokin' 'round tryin' a find her. After all, she did accidentally on purpose pop a guy's head off. But law's a funny thing down there and they had bigger fish to fry. No, really. Mako was runnin'.... Yellow Fin Tuna too. Think also Wahoo, but I ain't sure. 

So Shimmy Kate spent them months holed up in the caves pickin' ticks out a wolf-folk pelts and showin' 'em how to dance and all. An early form a the Lindy they liked. But wolves ain't agile as cats. Singin' is their thing. Howlin' actually, but they call it singin'.

After a time, her belly start a grow. Big Boss wolfman pester her a little bit, but he ain't pushy, 'specially 'cause he got them prime wolfwomen. Young ones find a dead fox and chew the tail off. Say Shimmy Kate ought a pinch it tween her butt cheeks (don't know what happened to her clothes, only she ain't got 'em no more) an' walk around wit' it to make herself look more normal. But she say 'no' an' rock back and forth huggin' her knees. 

Mostly, in the winter, they eat stupified frogs and half asleep rats. Kill a loner every once in a while, but cut down on that 'cause Shimmy Kate a human bean and so is most a them loners. They grab fish for her. Fish slow in wintertime too. Think they give her few taters and carrots, but I might a dreamed that part. Got a few old ripped up motion picture magazines in there wit' 'em. She look at pictures a Jeanette MacDonald and Nelson Eddy... Bing Crosby too, I think. 

Wolf-woman say she carryin' twins. Shimmy Kate, I mean. She a belly-feeler, so she know. But Shimmy Kate don't talk much 'bout it. Guess she 'fraid a nursin' little, rolly-poly puppy things what got sharp teeth..... Now she little bit crazy. Set there whisper-singin' I Got Joy, joy, Joy, Joy, Down In My Heart.

Them what got fur do the Lindy to it....
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