“As Harry traversed the halls of Stevenson High, he often lingered near the locker of Muffy Sinclair, amusing her with his polite Midwestern charm and chiseled, wolfish features, sometimes leaning in close to sniff her hair, which smelled vaguely reminiscent of the dandelions he once romped in as a mere boy. He was fairly sure she wanted him to one day draw her close in a pure animalistic embrace, feeling her ripe cheerleader bosom against his chest like two spring-fresh melons ready to be plucked from Old Man Hyde’s melon patch, his straining wolfhood pressed between them, throbbing like a divining rod that he once saw an old gypsy use to discover an artesian well. Oh, to discover Muffy’s hidden depths is what he longed for all those long and lonely Midwestern nights the likes of which John Cougar Mellencamp sang about in “Lonely Ol' Night,” back when he was still called “Cougar,” which inspired Harry to think of himself, well, not as a predatory cat but as a young, hot, wolfman who would one day take what was rightfully his: Muffy. Indeed, he might fuck her right there by the lockers.”
See you next week, Lupus fans (both of you), hopefully with an installment from Dr. C!
During their weekly board meeting at Quinton's, the boys this week discovered not the usual fratty/sorostitute crowd but instead a quartet of thirty-something roughnecks, pounding beers and loudly discussing their wives and mistresses while flirting with the waitresses. One of these men, the boys soon learned, was named Chip, and he seemed to be the butt of many a good-natured joke from the other men, because he had to go home and eat dinner before the evening's later rendezvous at the Phoggy Dog. The boys found this discovery of a new Chip, at their usual haunt, to be rife with meaning: it felt almost as if Richard, in creating an artificial "Chip," had somehow called into being a real one, whose life seemed quite similar to the one our own "Chip" longs for in the near-future: a life of domesticity combined with occasional "macho" trips to Quinton's. As Chip and his compatriots adjourned, our Chip screamed (in his mind): "Take me with you, future-Chip!" But future-Chip did not look back. He simply went home to eat his wife's dinner before rejoining his fellows later at the Dog to stare at the sorostitutes and say things like "That girl's got an ass like an onion. Makes me want to cry!"