A "Dialogue" On Cougars Starring Several Readers and Chip! / Plus, This Week in KU News: A Surprise Visit from Taylor Swift!

On last night's episode of "The Cougar," one of the 'cubs' learned a painful lesson that the boys themselves discovered at Quinton's long ago: the ability to recite large swathes of poetry or Shakespeare will not necessarily get you laid.

Yes, the cubs performed in a talent show in hopes of winning a "group date" with their cougar, but she opted for a guy who cleverly imitated Borat's sexual innuendoes as opposed to the sensitive man in the group, whose Shakespearean monologue failed to sufficiently impress the ever-horny cougar.

We're three episodes in and still no one has had sex, but ads for next week's program reveal that one lucky fellow will soon be getting some one-on-one time in the "cougar den" (yes, Cl.thier, this term is used on the program).

A discussion of "cougars" has been raging in the LC's talkback section, and today we offer a few choice thoughts:

Cl.thier, local tunesmith, questions the entire mythos of 'cougars': "Yes, we'd all like to think there are incredibly hot 40ish women roaming random bars, prowling swanky nightspots, just looking for hot, no-strings-attached "wild jungle-cat sex," but is it really just a ploy, a front to lure attractive young men into a conventional domestic relationship with an aging woman afraid of being a spinster? In the end, is the "cougar" a strategy devised by women to play into male sexual fantasies reminiscent of the "Mrs. Robinson Scenario"? I mean, after crazy cougar sex, is said lady going to get up, saunter into the bathroom, open up her days-of-the-week pillbox, and pop some calcium tablets to fend off osteoporosis and estrogen pills to level out those post-menopausal hormones? Is the cougar den really a sex palace, or just a carefully designed trap? My heart says sex den, but my mind screams a warning. Wait, did I say my heart? Wrong muscle all together."


The Red Vixen, from California, a rare female perspective in this boys' club, insists that the 'cougar' is indeed based on sex: "Clearly, what defines a cougar is the nature of the relationship - for the cougar, it's about sex. That's not my question, though I think we can safely say cougars exist, just maybe not in the numbers you all think (or wish) they do. My question is: how old does a woman have to be to be a cougar, and how young (i.e. what's the minimum age difference) does the *bobcat* need to be for this *relationship* to be an encounter with a cougar?" [She was later told by an expert that a cougar must be at least 42 and financially better off than her twenty-something sex-toy].

Chip, quoted at Quinton's this week, weighed in: "If I ever start to prefer a sorostitute's mother to a sorostitute herself, it's time to put this old stud out to pasture."

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The boys had an occasion this week to turn their attention to younger women when platinum-selling country-pop artist Taylor Swift, 20, made a surprise visit to KU to sit in on a Media and Society class (appropriately enough) with a friend of hers who attends college here. Naturally, the Twitters of other students alerted a large crowd to her presence, many of whom were waiting outside when the class ended. According to the UDK, one male fan (sounding suspiciously like Chip), shouted at the singer: "You look pretty."

Richard: "Although she falls well outside what Dr. C calls my 'gentleman's seven,' I'd have probably banged Ms. Swift, had she visited my class, just because she's a celebrity and I think it would have made a good story to tell later students."

Chip: "It's my understanding that every attractive celebrity has made a celebrity-sex tape, but so far I'm unable to locate one from Ms. Swift. But I did find this picture of her driving a truck, which is nice. Notice how she's looking back over her shoulder as if to say, 'Hey, you wanna ride in my truck?'"

Wednesdays are for Cougars and Werewolves! (Dr. C. Returns for Today's Lupus Episode)

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

Further Thoughts on the Official State Rock Song of Oklahoma (Mainly a Post for Cl.thier)

We reported some time ago on Oklahoma's somewhat surprising choice of native-Oklahomans Flaming Lips' song "Do You Realize" as the state's official rock song. Although the song won by a popular vote, the Oklahoma House of Representatives voted to reject the resolution to make it official because bassist Michael Ivins recently appeared at the Capitol wearing a shirt feauturing a "hammer-and-sickle" Communist symbol. The state's governor is expected to overturn the House decision in a ceremony today.

But how do the good, God-fearing folks of Oklahoma (who did not vote for the song) feel about the matter. Let's check in with the talkback section of an Oklahoma paper to find out.

Charlie, from Tulsa, writes: "The Flaming Lips; their name is either taken from a porn film or is a pot-smoking reference. They stole equipment from a church to get the band started. They sing “Jesus Shooting Heroin” and about a come-on from The Virgin Mary. One member had his hand amputated due to an infection from shooting heroin. They blaspheme, use all manner of profanity, even in public, and sing about sexual lubricants. Their first album, recorded in OKC, spoke of ‘this town full of dumb f**ks’. We are about to prove their point. I’m sure they are giggling over their bongs. Do these represent Oklahoma values? We don’t think so. Obviously , the committee did not vet this group. Even without these obvious negatives, there are manifold reasons why they are not the best choice. They underscored this by wearing a communist shirt to the capitol and calling the majority of congress who opposed their selection ‘a minority of religious wackos.’ We doubt that congress even knew about the seamier side of this band. The closeness of the vote is indicative of the disinterest in this resolution. The majority of Oklahomans have not heard The Flaming Lips."


Chip: "I hope we do not choose a Charles S. McVey song as the official rock song of Kansas, but somehow I suspect that we will."

The Boys Revisit Lawrence.com's "Style Scout" column / Plus, The LC's Band of the Week / Also, KU Baseball Breaks a Streak!

Everything in Lawrence.com is excellent, but perhaps the boys' favorite feature is the weekly "Style Scout," in which two people on the street are photographed and interviewed about their fashion, music, and bar preferences. One of the interview question always seems to produce unusually quirky answers: "What's in your purse/pockets/manbag, etc." Here are a few recent responses: "Crystals; an eagle knife; lavender; PBR koozie; a scriber tool."

For a lark, let's find out what the boys are carrying in their pockets:

Switchblade, in case of visit to Club Axis (Richard); half-chewed log of beef jerkey (Chip); just enough cash for a Replay cover charge and 3 PBR's (Richard); journal full of hand-written odes to Quinton's waitresses (Chip); Kodiak-brand dipping tobacco (Chip); Big League Chew (Richard); flavored condoms in case of back-alley fun with drunken sorostitute (Chip and Richard); ticket stub from Hannah Montana film (Chip).

What's in your pockets, readers? Funniest answer gets a free PBR.

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At the LC, we love power-pop in the springtime, and a new band is giving us just the sugary sweetness we need. That band: Tinted Windows, a veritable supergroup fronted by Taylor Hanson and featuring Adam Schlesinger of Fountains of Wayne, Bun E. Carlos of Cheap Trick and James Iha of Smashing Pumpkins,

Entertainment Weekly gives it a B+ and says: "It's all hook-riddled, fast, and ephemeral, and if you don't love it, your tie's too wide."

Chip: "I've always hoped that Hanson and the Pumpkins would merge, somehow. Also, I prefer this record vastly to Charles S. McVey's "Animal," and that's a nod to the readers who actually read our weekend blog material."

Richard: "My tie's too wide. Still, I hope that Cl.thier learns at least a few tunes from this before Friday."

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Now that we have a ranked baseball team at KU, we've started getting front-page LJ-World stories that document its every victory. This weekend, the Hawks won their series against Nebraska for the first time since '97. The LJ-World offers this powerful bit of rapturous nostalgia: "The last time the Jayhawks defeated the Huskers in a series, 'South Park' had just debuted on Comedy Central and Bill Clinton was beginning his second term as President."

Marge Simpson: "This story begins in the unforgettable spring of 1983. Ms. Pac-man struck a blow for women's rights and a young Joe Piscopo taught us how to laugh."


Chip: "Would it kill the LJ-World to give me a single fucking front page story about KU football?"

Is It Art, Or Isn't It? (Local Album Edition)

Larryville singer/songwriter Charles S. McVey has a new album called Animal and the Pitch's review offers this interesting statement:

"So similar is McVey's style to FM radio rock that this may well be the one gay concept album that straight, Nickelback-loving broheims could rock to in their extended cab pickups on the way to nab some Buffalo wings and pussy."

Perhaps, but such "broheims" are unlikely to get past the album art, which "features McVey dressed as a priest making out with, and getting urinated on by, a gay porn star dressed as Jesus" (Pitch).'

Is it art, or isn't it?

Chip: "First off, we'd arrest this guy in Forttt Scottt. Second, I suppose it might be art, but is it really worth going to hell for?"

Richard: "Yeah, I suppose it might be art, but when spring is in blossom I'm less in the mood for this 'religio-homoerotic effrontery' (Pitch) than I am for the shimmery electro-pop sweetness of the Transmittens 'Meet Me at the Swings.'"

Chip: "Actually, this post has me in the mood for Nickelback, hot wings, and pussy, maybe all at once."

McVey's album release party occurs not at the jailhouse but at the Jackpot, this Tuesday, opening for Joe Ginoli of the influential "queercore" band Pansy Division.

Chip: "There's really a lot I don't know about music, isn't there? For instance, I recently asked Richard if jazz music ever had vocals. He laughed a bit at that one."

A Brief Assessment of the Current State of Larryville

With our new and sophisticated dueling piano bar and our elegant downtown loft living, many are worried about the "blandification" of Larryville: are we on the verge of becoming a new Power and Light District?

And with the recent wave of near-nightly knifefights, sexual assaults, and drive-bys, others are concerned that we're the new "Top City."

But the boys are more optimistic, believing that--at heart--Larryville is just as quirky and hipster-centered as ever. Let's use two of today's events as evidence.

At three o'clock this afternoon, from the rooftop of Wonder Fair Art Gallery, an art collective called Asteroid Head Art Club released a "flight capsule" (an asteroid-shaped capsule attached to balloons), which contained items such as "1 Orginal Asteroid Head Doodle Jam" and "1 Asteroid Head Fun Pack including coupons for personal services, including a night on town with Asteroid Head Art Club!" (Lawrence.com).

While Chip originally deemed the event "stupid," the following announcement quickly changed his mind:

"Free icey pops will be distributed during the launch event." (Lawrence.com)

Richard: "I hope I win that night on the town with the Club. I'll bet we'd totally go to the Replay!"

Later tonight, local electronica/metal band Baiowolf (yes, as in Scott Baio) are releasing their new VHS-only (yes, VHS-only) collection of music videos and such with a special performance at Love Garden ("Is that the place with all those fucking cats?" --Chip).

Richard: "We all know that hipsters are into vinyl over CD's, but I guess I didn't know about their VHS fixation. Also, we hope to get Baiowolf to do the soundtrack for the Harry Lupus film we're making this summer in Larryville!"

Chip: "In Forttt Scottt, we still use VHS, but it's not because we're hip. It's because we're backward."

"Gentleman, Turn and Face Your Cougar!": Episode Two Recap / Plus, This Week in Sports News!

This week on "The Cougar," the one-on-one dates began between the cougar and her remaining suitors. While there were several hot and heavy makeout sessions, no one has gotten laid so far. Are the boys still engrossed?

Chip: "Yes, but I still find the premise to be odd. Cougars don't date. They go to a bar, pounce on a young bobcat like myself, and drag him home to do with him what they please. I've bedded a lot of cougars in my time, and the closest we've ever come to a 'date' is stopping at Jensen's to buy a bottle of Boone's Apple Farm on the way from the bar to the cougar's trailer."

Richard: "The most touching moment in this week's episode was when the cougar 'dismissed' a couple of the suitors from the house because they didn't seem sufficiently mature in their approach to dating an older woman. Stacey seems to be a rare cougar looking for true love with a younger man instead of just wild jungle-cat sex. Sadly, she's forgotten that all of the men are only there because they want to fuck her and be on television for a few months."

Chip: "I find myself falling a little bit in love with this cougar."

Richard: "I think we all are, Chip. I think we all are."

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Yesterday was a huge day for KU basketball fans: Xavier Henry, one of the nation's top recruits, finally committed to KU after a wild, protracted recruiting process. Local talkbackers seem to believe that this virtually assures a 2010 NCAA Championship for the Jayhawks.

Chip: "Henry's committal is huge news and it's absolutely ridiculous that we didn't cancel class today to celebrate. We're just not a basketball school anymore. The baseball team is ranked now, for God's sake. Baseball is the new women's basketball around here."

This Week in Local Fashion!

As you know, everything that happens at the Replay is both excellent and important. Look, for instance, at the photo at the bottom of this entry, which showcases a rare view from the stage outward during a recent Thin Lizzy tribute. It's fun to click on the picture to enlarge it and see how many people you know and how many PBR's you can count.

But one of the Replay's greatest recent events, a series of fashion shows featuring eccentric creations from local designers, has gotten so popular that it's moving to...Abe and Jake's. Yes, this is perhaps the first time in history that an event has been moved from hipster-central to frat-heaven, but nonetheless the Drunken Sailor Fashion Show will occur there tonight.

Richard: "I don't approve of the venue. What's next? Will the Transmittens suddenly start playing gigs down there? I mean, they might win over the fratty crowd with their cute tunes about 'sparklemittens,' but more than likely they'd get beaten about the head with a bottle of Jagermeister until they agreed to play some Jack Johnson."

Chip: "Plus, every night is a fashion show on the dance floor at Abe and Jake's. It's always been one of my favorite places to grind."

Here's a sneak peek at one of the models.




Chip: "The bunnies on her shirt suggest her fondness for screwing and the owls on her skirt suggest her hard-earned wisdom. I find the ensemble both aesthetically pleasing and boner-inducing. Also, her legs are long."












And here's that Replay photo, courtesy of the LJ-World, which featured it on the front page of this week's "progress" section as an example of booming business in troubled economic times:

Two Things to Do Today! / Plus, Harry Lupus!

Before we get to the newest installment of Lupus (in which his creator revisits his creation), let us remind you of two important things going on today:

1) Episode two of "The Cougar" airs tonight. Here's the summary from TV Land's website: "The guys must design a custom workout regimen to help the Cougar stay in shape."

Chip: "This is essential. One can't have a cougar with a fat ass."

2) Flight of the Dodos at the Replay: Yes, it's a Flight of the Conchords cover band, hipsters! But didn't the Conchords reach the peak of their hipness a year or so ago? Or do hipsters find the mediocre season season to be even hipper in its unfunniness? Maybe you'll learn the answers tonight.

Richard: "Oh, I hope they play "Sugarlumps!"


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What the shit is this fuck? thought Richard, perusing Dr.X's last installment of Lupus. How did my meticulous, sentence-at-a-time, exploration of adolescent horror fiction give rise to this...metanarrative? And, more importantly, how did Harry and the gang end up on a boat? And, more important yet, has there ever been a werewolf tale set at sea before? Perhaps Dr. X is onto something, after all, Richard thought, and he decided to pursue the tale briefly himself before handing the reigns back over to Dr. C, Cl.thier, and Dr. X.

Yes, Harry was at sea, adrift. Or perhaps this is some maritime metaphor for his limbo-like existence between boy and wolf. At any rate, the soft waves sucked gently at the sides of his dinghy (as Dr. X might say: That's a sexual innuendo, bitches!).

"Bring me a beer, Queequeg!" Harry yelled at K!p, having decided to refer to his crew with the names of Moby Dick characters. "And not a Coor's Silver Bullet! Those hurt me, for some reason."

Harry's parents (for he does have parents and is not the kind of orphan character commonly found in authors such as Dickens, to which we aspire) had warned him that being on a boat was dangerous these days, because the seas were fully of Somali pirates (ah, a topical reference!). Harry refrained from explaining to his parents that he could very easily transform into a wolf and rip out the throat of any pirate that boarded his dinghy and, besides, the only person likely to board his dinghy on this particular seafaring excursion was Muffy, who at this very moment was staring moodily at a school of dolphins.

"Son of a bitch, I'm sick of these dolphins," muttered Harry, in a hilarious reference to a hipster film involving one Steve Zissou, a film which none of his crewmates had seen because they spent most of their time reading teenage werewolf fiction, which presented a rosy, romantic picture of the young wolflife which was quite at odd's with the actuality of Harry's own tormented existence.

Watching Muffy watch the dolphins, he felt his boner rising.

"Harry," said Muffy. "These dolphins are making me horny. Are we gonna fuck or what?"

"Call me Ishmael," Harry said. "But, yes, we are going to fuck."

And as we draw to a close and the sun sets over the sea and Muffy slips out of her bikini, this appears to be yet another installment that has very little to do with werewolves at all. But the dolphins were nice, didn't you think?

Weekly Box Office Report, Zac Efron Edition / Plus, Local Citzens Discuss Quinton's / Also, The Boys' Book Pick for Earth Day!

Time magazine film critic Richard Corliss offers this take on why people are going to see young heartthrob Zac Efron's 17 Again in such large numbers:

"The people who made 17 Again don't want to waste time reminding the movie's core fans why they're there. So right away, we see a shirtless Zac Efron on the basketball court, practicing his moves, radiating an innocent musk, his smoothly muscled torso seemingly gleaming with — not sweat — dew. The camera not only loves the 21-year-old actor but laps him; it wants to wring the moisture from his socks and drink it. Few female stars of Hollywood's golden age received the luminous, slow-motion, soft-focus devotion Efron gets here. The idea is to stir the audience, and not just the young girls, to a collective rapturous sigh."

Chip: "First off, readers, as you know, I'm straight as an arrow, but this review, disturbingly, gave me a boner! Second, that comment about drinking the guy's sock-sweat is just...weird. Surely all that most of Efron's tweener fans want is to hold his hand. Corliss, why do you have to turn everything so sexual?"

Richard: "I can't wait until I become a professional film critic so I can get paid to write articles about lapping up Scarlett Johannsen's 'dew.'"

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The boys feelings about Quinton's can best be summed up in Chip's four word review of the place: "Terrible food, beautiful titties."

But how do other Larryvillians feel about the venerable restaurant/sorostitute playground. Let's take a look at the Quinton's talkback on Lawrence.com to find out.

Larrynative says: "The service has been so so at times but I think they hire people based on attractiveness and not work ethic."

jgrant14 says: "Bottom line rookies, you don't even know how good you got it at Quintons Downtown. Always a girl to bang at this spot. Go get yourself soco lime. No two bartenders will charge the same thing to anyone. Show an ounce of cool and maybe they'll take care of you."

missmagoo says: "the wait staff is good looking but sometimes dumb as rocks. Just be prepared to have Barbie wait on you but the food will be worth it.

n126 says: "To Missmagoo and those who like to bash Quinton's waitresses as Hooters girls, Barbies, dumb as rocks, etc: It is evident from your choice of words in describing the servers that you are merely jealous of something that you aren't and wish you could be. Coming from one of the "Barbies" who have to work to support themselves while going to school full-time (as is every other waitress there), I hope you realize that we can spot your types in a second, and we hope that someday you will find something better to do with your free time than bash those who are better than you (and consequently better looking)."


Chip: "Oh, I bet I know which waitress wrote that! She's as feisty as she is hot! I'd drink her sock-sweat."

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Readers, if you're looking for a fun--but also ecologically important--book to read to your children during this Earth Day week, allow us to recommend Adventures of a Plastic Bottle: A Story About Recycling. Amazon's product description explains: "Peek into this diary of a plastic bottle as it goes on a journey from the refinery plant, to the manufacturing line, to the store shelf, to a garbage can, and finally to a recycling plant where it emerges into it's new life...as a fleece jacket! Told from the point of view of a free-spirited plastic bottle, kids can share in the daily experiences and inner thoughts of the bottle through his personal journal."

Chip: "When I think about little Larryville boys and girls being forced to hear this night after night from their oh-so-progressive, 'green' parents, it makes me want to cry. I'll just bet they are begging for some Poky Little Puppy or some Three Little Pigs, only to hear, 'No, Timmy, finish your tofu and I'll tell you about the plastic bottle, again.'"

Richard: "I tend to agree with you, Chip, but just imagine how we might have turned out differently, and better, if our parents had regaled us with such ecologically sound tales. We might not burn our plastic water bottles in the backyard if we'd heard this shit when we were four."

More Earth Day Coverage! / Plus, This Week in Campus News: "I Heart Female Orgasm" Lecture

Wake and bake, readers, it's 4/20, and that means it's time to get stoned! The boys are planning to hit the bong and watch a full marathon of BBC's Planet Earth!

In fact, the Planet Earth series is the subject of a fascinating piece in yesterday's NY-Times, which explores how the series has not only become a must-own status symbol for anyone vaguely "green" but is also lending itself to other pursuits. Sure, plenty of people like to toke up and watch elephants fuck, but it's also become a hot commodity in bars, where "Playlist Earth" events match the animal footage with various songs (apparently marching penguins go well with hipster-artist Jens Lekman's "Your Beat Kicks Back Like Death"). A young college coed interviewed in the article explains how she loves to "make out" with Planet Earth in the background: "it's so natural." (Chip: "Oh, this makes me want to bang a sorostitute while watching a tiger stalk its prey!"). Others in the piece speak of "Planet Earth" parties in which groups of friends turn down the sound and booze it up while concocting hilarious dialogue for the animals (Richard: "I'm going to get trashed on PBR and pretend that the monkeys are hipsters discussing their favorite bands.").

However you use your copy of Planet Earth, readers, make sure to watch some of it this Earth Day!

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It's Pride Week on campus and the boys have spent most of the day happily watching lesbians participate in a "Kiss-off." (Chip: "Where are you, sorostitutes? I thought college was a time to 'experiment?'"). But other events are of interest as well, including tonight's program called "I Heart Female Orgasm," which was originally scheduled during National Women's History Month but is happening now instead, although it's unclear if the gay men of Pride Week will care. One of the program's speakers explains: "It feels like people are starving for honest, down-to-earth information...Not the impossible acrobatic sex positions you see in magazines."

Chip: "Wrong. I'm starving for acrobat sex."

The program's advertisements wittily play on the lecture's subject: "Come alone or come with a friend." (Chip: "I don't get it.").

See you at the lecture.

Chip Offers a Terrifying Guided Tour of Larryville's Earth Day Festival ( A Photo Blog)

Chip: "Readers, what you are about to witness may be shocking, but we strive to bring you frontline reporting from Larryville, which means we must occasionally report on the things that scare us most, such as hippies.

Now I attended their Earth Day "happening" yesterday in South Park thinking that, at the very least, I could enjoy a nice corndog. Instead, I found myself confronted by this:















Free or not, readers, vegan food is best avoided. My old grandpappy told me that even one bite of it could be enough to turn a man into a treehugger.

This next photo is even more distressing. Notice the look of sadness and confusion on this child's face as he is made to sit in a hippie music-circle all day and participate in their incessantly noodling. He may, in fact, be as stoned as they are, and within a few years the poor kid will probably honestly start to believe he's having a good time and will be found in the front row at a String Cheese Incident show.














I left soon after this, but on my way out I saw and heard, in the distance, a mysterious chanting. I turned to witness a horrible pagan dance ritual (pictured below) that no doubt culminated in a sweaty, smelly orgy. Naturally, I called the police...only to be informed that they were busy investigating the latest local stabbing incident at the Cross Town Tavern at the moment but would try to find time later to 'harass the hippies', a hobby they'd been missing since Wakarusa got cancelled."

"Gentlemen, Here's Your Cougar": The Boys Watch Reality TV! / Plus, Earth Day Approaches!

The boys rarely watch television except for Frontline and Charlie Rose. They prefer NPR ("It's just more...cerebral than TV." --Chip). But because they seek to understand pop culture and modern sexuality, they have decided to watch TV Land's new reality series The Cougar. As you know, the premise of The Cougar involves twenty young men, ranging in age from 23 to 28 or so, vying for the love of the "cougar", Stacey, a 40 year old mother of four. In our first episode, the suitors were introduced to "their cougar" by host Vivica A. Fox (a bit of a cougar herself). The cougar explained that she was liked young men because they, like her, were "in their prime," and that one of her primary concerns was the "bedroom" part of the relationship. The show culminated in a "kiss off," in which each young man stepped forward and the cougar either allowed herself to be kissed or "gave them her cheek," thereby ejecting them from the competition. Fifteen men remain, and the boys are fucking hyped about next week!

Chip: "If the first week contains something as titillating as a 'kiss off," I can only imagine that future episodes will feature a segment in which the men line up and proceed to, how should I put this, give Stacey oral pleasure. Readers, this may sound crude, but I think we can all agree that the men's talents 'down there' is something Stacy will need to discover right away and that we, the viewers, need to witness for ourselves to better judge which suitor is best suited to please this sexually ravenous old lady."

Richard: "This series works as both a sensitive meditation on youth and aging and a complex examination of modern sexual mores. Also, the cougar is sort of hot and I'd totally bone her."

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Now that the Wakarusa Festival has been banned from Kansas, local hippies don't have much to do in a town that caters more to hipsters. But the next few days are major. This morning brought us Larryville's annual Earth Day parade, in which many of the town's dirtier citizens took to their bicycles bearing banners urging us to save the wetlands (pictured below: an electric car powered by the driver's sense of self-satisfaction!). The parade proceeds to South Park for more festivities, which Richard is expected to cover later today.














Then Monday, of course, is one of the most important hippie days of the year, which they refer to as "4/20, dude!" The holiday "originated at San Rafael High School, in 1971, among a group of about a dozen pot-smoking wiseacres who called themselves the Waldos, who are now pushing 50. The term was shorthand for the time of day the group would meet, at the campus statue of Louis Pasteur, to smoke pot. Intent on developing their own discreet language, they made 420 code for a time to get high, and its use spread among members of an entire generation." (www.urbandictionary.com). On Monday, almost every hippie will smoke weed, just as they do on virtually every other day of the year. Will the boys celebrate by toking up and heading down to Papa Keno's. Perhaps.

Wednesday finally brings Earth Day itself. But no one around here really cares by that point.

The Boys Visit The Barrel House Piano Bar! / Plus, a Shocking Story of Art Theft in the Hipster World!

Obviously, the Barrel House is not going after the hipster crowds. First off, the cover is three bucks, and real hipsters do not pay more than two. Second, it's only fun to mock poorly-performed versions of Bruce Hornsby and Bruce Springsteen songs for an hour or so. So, for the Barrel House to succeed, they need the business of the kind of people who live in the lofts across the street from the venue (if, in fact, anyone actually lives in those lofts). Dueling-piano bars may thrive in the upscale Power and Light District of Kansas City, but can this work in a college town?

Judging from the boys' visit last night...unlikely. Although the venue is made for crowds (three downstairs bars and several upstairs "lounges"), at 9:00 on a Thursday the only real crowd was more than 30 employees, waiting sadly for customers to arrive. To be fair, there were eight actual customers, which consisted of: three businessmen in white shirts and ties who kept requesting Young MC songs and getting made fun of by the pianists because they looked like Jehovah's Witnesses; three cougars sipping cosmos; and two bobcats (Chip and Richard), one of whom (Chip) kept repeating over and over: "I am very uncomfortable right now." The younger of the two pianists, a long-haired gent from Michigan State, insulted Kansas crowds several times and occasionally checked his phone in the middle of songs when his fingers were otherwise unoccupied. While the pianists claimed to know every song ever sang "except for four," they were unable to play any of the (more than four) requests made during the evening. Impressively, however, they were able to play Lonely Island's "On a Boat": "Fuck land, I'm on a boat, motherfucker; fuck trees, I climb buoys, motherfucker." But of course they censored their f-words, so as not to offend the cougars. As the boys left, four other employees stood outside near the roped-off entrance, the sort one sees at Hollywood movie premieres, as if waiting for a sudden wave of people bent on hearing overly-loud piano-based versions of mainstream country hits like "It's 5:00 Somewhere." But they might as well have been waiting for Godot. That's a literary reference, folks, because in Larryville we read literature instead of going to piano bars.

So, all in all, how do the boys rate their experience?

Chip: "I would have preferred getting shot at Last Call."

Richard: "Perversely fascinating. I'll go back."

---

Sure, we all know that knife-fights are prone to breaking out in the parking lots of "undesirable" local bars, but it turns out that crime can even affect the insular world of hipsters. A "breaking news" story on Lawrence.com yesterday reported a truly shocking incident: the theft of three small works of art from the Bourgeois Pig's "6' X 6'" exhibit: "Please help to make it known that this is not only unacceptable, but reprehensible, and that Lawrence is small enough that someone will eventually see these artworks."

The crime, however, was soon solved in the story's talkback section:

sethm_wiese says..."I did it...kinda. I was on my computer at that corner booth and reached to grab something; my elbow bumped the display knocking it off the wall. None of the art was hurt, the 3 top pieces, I rehung. But the bottom 3 pieces, the hangers fell off the backs of the pieces. I then gave the fallen pieces to the bartender working at the time. No harm was intended...."

Chip: "This is disappointing. I was looking forward to sleuthing out the perpetrator, who I imagined to be some twisted hipster beating off to these small naked art pieces, and exacting vigilante justice on him, Forttt Scottt-style!"

[a photo of the art in question]:

Larryville's Dueling Piano Bar Has Arrived! / Plus, Is It Art, Or Isn't It? / Also, The Boys' Book Club Returns!

Downtown's Last Call nightclub, formerly known for its Top City vs. KC gang wars, is long-gone and now filled by Larryville's first "dueling pianos" bar, The Barrel House. The boys will be visiting, of course, perhaps as soon as tonight (readers, you should come with us!). But will the place once again attract shoot-outs?

Richard: "I suspect the only gang violence at the Barrel House will be occasional re-enactments of the Jets vs. Sharks rumbles from West Side Story."

Chip: " 'When you're a Jet, you're a Jet all the way from your first cigarette to your last dying day.' This place is going to rule!"

---

One of Larryville's favorite artists, Travis Millard, whose illustrations adorn the bestselling Fart: A Spotter's Guide and whose work is "featured prominently on the back porch of the Replay" (Lawrence.com), is back in town for a show tonight at Wonder Fair called "Pizza Party, Again." Lawrence.com offers this mysterious bit of description:

"Asteroid Head Art Club will [be] in uniform, guiding you through this experience
and in place to answer any questions you might have about this event."

Chip: "It costs five bucks. My question is: Why would people attend?"

Click on the pic to enlarge:

















Chip: "Ah, hipsters, they can't see any further than their own mustaches. Not art."

Richard: "There's a Whitman-like celebration at work in what may at first seems like Millard's navel-gazing. Hipsters contain multitudes. Art."

---

The Obama family may have only had their Portuguese water dog, Bo, for less than a week, but the first book on the subject is slated to hit shelves next week: a children's book called Bo, America's Commander in Leash."

Richard: "Ideally, a dog should help Obama overcome some of the accusations of elitism that have always plagued him. He's got a dog now; therefore, he must be just like the rest of us. But the fact that he's got a ridiculously adorable Portuguese water dog may complicate the situation. I mean, look at that thing, would you? That thing's so cute it makes all other dogs look like common assholes!"

Dr. X. Returns With the Longest (2873 words!) Lupus Installment Yet!

You're probably asking yourself, Why do the boys persist in writing such a long, multi-authored, meta-narrative about a boy werewolf? Didn't they read last week's Time magazine article declaring that zombies have returned in a big way as the official "It" monster of the terrorism years: "There are these large groups of faceless people somewhere in the world who mean to do us harm and cannot be reasoned with. Zombies are sort of familiar territory" (Time). Maybe so, but we believe that young Lupus is a trenchant metaphor for the economic crisis, the submerged populist rage, the possibility of being normal (i.e rich) one minute and clawing and scratching on the sidewalks the next. And don't the boys realize that the new trend is "literary mash-ups" in which monsters exist within the world of established literary works, such as the current bestseller Pride and Prejudice and Zombies, which receives an "A-" from Entertainment Weekly's review (" At a neighborhood ball, 
Elizabeth, Darcy, and Bingley come upon unmentionables feeding on some slaughtered servants. Says Mr. D: 
''I don't suppose...that you would give me the honour of dispensing of this unhappy business alone. I should never forgive myself if your gown were soiled.'"). Well, readers, yes, we do realize the popularity of such literary mash-ups and in fact Richard is currently at work on an installment in which Holden Caulfied and Harry Lupus collide ("If you really want to hear about it, you'll probably want to hear about that goddam phony werewolf kid I roomed with at Pencey for awhile."). And Chip himself is writing a Great Gatsby Meets Lupus piece (guess what: the minor character of Meyer Wolfsheim is a werewolf!).

But in the meantime, readers, Dr. X returns with a piece so long that Richard threatened to cut it (and still insists that the first scene can be skipped altogether to "tighten things up"). But Dr. X. insists that its very length is essential to its themes. So we present it to you as the creator intends, in all its vulgar glory. It begins, as all of Dr. X's best tales begin, with an orgy. Enjoy!



*yawn*

Scene: Saturday, April 11th, 20XT9. Dr. X wakes up. The LED readout on his alarm spells out the hour: 1:00 PM. The day has begun.

Dr. X casts off Hoe #1 who has been resting on his arm far too long and caused it to fall asleep. Considering the opportunity, Dr. X fails to masturbate himself with yon sleepy arm feeling the thought too trite and his own imagination/ suspension of disbelief that it was someone else 'filling the knockworst casing" too limited by his own endrunkening of the night prior. He barks out a second yawn, and occasional, smallish elements of something cascade out his mouth and fall onto the glistening ass of Hoe #3 (who herself is snuggled closely to Hoe #1 and, now, Hoe #2 in the Hoepile occupying his roundish bed -- because -- in this universe, DR. X WAS THE DIAMOND SQUIRE OF AN ENFUCKING LAST NIGHT, YO! ... Yes. He. Was. Bitches.).

Back to reality.

X grabs his robe and discarded bottles of Santana DVX that litter his bedroom chamber/ swingset.

He heaves a deep sigh. "Messy bitches," the good doctor dismisses with one obligatory swing of his junk... elements of which are still stuck under the leather midget. Some dude named "Chang: the YouTuber." X makes a mental note and a chuckle that, apart from his leathery exterior, Chang: the You Tuber rightly resembles his earthly potato namesake. And that was the shit.

And this is some BLACK DYNAMITE SHIT, right here. But for a white guy. And Arsenio Hall still may show up at any time.

YOU. JUST. DON'T. KNOW,

Scene II: The Quickening

Dr. X leaves his bedchamber to drain the lizard, stopping by the refrigerator to drink a Frosty Bottle of Quik. Breakfast of Champions.

What? You thought this was some kinda Highlander shit or maybe some kind of swift allusion to Kurt Vonnegut. Yah. Fuck all that. This is hard core meta-commentary. The kinda Charlie Kaufman fuck that I had to sit through for three fucking hours in Synechdoche, NY. And I still don't know why that fucking house was on fire the entire time.

This shit will make sense. And there will be a reckoning. There can be only one. (THAT was a motherfucking Highlander reference. And the only one worth retelling, you shiftless wretches. Word.).

Back to the matter at hand. The orgy zone smelled of the rank stench of enumerable sweaty bodies. And a leathery midget. It would take weeks to air the stench of ass and jelly and what mighty be some kind of bedroozle of a chicken-friend steak/ Onion Loaf from the premises. And there was a good chance Dr. X might lay waste to the maid's ass when she came by to attend to this because that's how we roll in Alternate Earth X where werewolves and zombies and mother fucking supermen get their shit on.

But that shit probably wouldn't happen because then the house would not be clean. And we like the shit clean. And smoothe. And with a little camera-weilding midget.

I digress.

Given the rank, Dr. X took his Quik and his junk and entered the library practically like a Clue-Embedded Slippy Dick. The stench of ass and fuck were soon replaced by the smells of oily wood and rich mahogany. "That's the stink of a man," he mused. But today he would not pick up his favorite leather-bound volume "The Buttress of Windsor" nor serenade his embattled senses with the dulcet gravel of one Leonard Cohen. Because everything Leonard Cohen sings is sexual and layered with the goosefat of one million fuckings. Like Wilt "the Stilt" but by a factor of 10. Maybe a hundred. The Doctor doesn't do math. He pays for that shit. No, on this day, X decided he would load up the internet and see where the last few episodes of the most important fucking drama ever to unfold in any language, genre or fucking can of beer, Harry Lupus: Boy Werewolf, was and this is what he saw:

"I am two people.

I’ve never quite reconciled the dichotomy.

This book is a step toward understanding…

The sense that I comprise two people who aren’t always compatible never left me.

…at odds with my folks’ ideas and instructions on how to live life. "

"What the fuck?" mumble the Doctor. Admitted, his junk was erect as a banana as pointed as an obelisk, the seat of fucking fertility (which may be redundant)... because the Doctor gets hard for literary shit -- but this is not what he came here to see!

He read on:

"What is the werewolf model for Harry? What werewolf archetypes will be employed? What modern twists will he have? What werewolf literature will be slyly referenced and ironically employed? What will Harry’s “werewolfness” be a metaphor for? Can’t he just be a werewolf, and not a metaphor? It’s tiring always having to stand in for something else – seems deceitful too. If you want to represent how difficult it is to be something, don’t be something else and have us have to make the leap. Werewolves have it hard, without also having to stand in for the gay community, or immigrant cultures, or social stradd..."

...IN THE FUCK IS THIS SHIT!? What crazy ass Literary Theory class am I living in."

Dr. X vaulted from his chair and snagged the better part of his baby-seal and marmet-fur lined robe on his EX-FUCKING-SQUISITE Leather-Backed, Queen-Anne Wingback... more of a pimp throne than any seat of the soul. And smashed his head on the seat of his creation (meaning he fell on his ass). And therein, it was quite a lucid scene what he did saw as he entered the Dreaming of Harry Lupus.

Scene III: Welcome to Mother-Fucking Fifth dimension of Impressiveness

Dr. X's head hurt. And this time it wasn't an allusion to sex. But he craned his ears to the winds and picked up the scent of a conversation:

"How many of those Emo motherfuckers are there?" Coach asked. "Let's get 'em, Harry." He rushed at them, his seatshirt hanging loose on his now long and muscular body.

X sat back and realized his ass was on the toilet. The king had found his throne. But what in the hell was his gnarled ass doing in some High School Stall. And where were the hoes? WHERE WERE ThE HOES? The bitch tried to regain his composure. This was clearly some kind of messed up fever dream bought on by the nights of high octane, pimped up freaky shit brought about by a combination of ludes, hoes, ...and that little potatoe mother fucker probably had some kinda Oompa Loompa bullshit to do with it.

With ruckus abounding. X pushed open the stall door to see what in fuck was going on.

The toilet stalls opened and out came Ben, his body transformed into a half-rat humanoid.

"WHAT THE SHIT IS THIS FUCK?" screamed Dr. X as his eyes did see this crazy fucker with black, greasy fur dripping with toilet water. Now the other stalls opened and out came more wererats.

"'WERERATS?' WHAT THE FUCK ARE WERERATS!?!" he yelled wondering where this strange free indirect discourse was coming from in the form of audible, slightly pervie narration, like he was trapped in a poorly constructed Will Ferrell movie that oddly contained both not a puma or some kind of bear! Or even mention of another type of Jungle Cat... and where the fuck was Paul Rudd? His ass would know what this shit was all about because that asshole is the brainy, sensitive motherfucker in every bromance whose exposition clears up the air for the slick, idled wang like Dr. Fucking X who can't get his shit straight when there are fucking WERERATS and a tubby bitch who suspiciously looks like... Nah... what in hell would HE be doing in his pimp cellar with women abouts. This ain't Quintins!

Yah. I used even more allusive shit to suggest fluid boundaries between this world, the Harry World and at least half a dozen fucking Will Ferrell movies that sucked (Except for Anchorman -- where that shit was phat!)... What of it? Do you wanna get literary or fucking not? I thought so. It's called Roman a Clef, and Hemingway made much mint on this shit. Let us resume.

Still confused. X closed the doors to bot the stall and his barn door and heard a godlike voice intoning: Behind Ben and in the other stalls, still more Emo-rats were pulling their skinny, flexible bodies out of the toilets.

The two varsity boys holding her tossed Wilhelmina roughly to the ground. Her head cracked hard on the concrete floor and she grunted as the wind came out of her. Harry wanted to help her, but looking at her half-naked body made him think only one thing. His boner was practically ripping its way out of his heans, and his clawed hands looked no good for rendering aid.

"WHO THE FUCK IS WHILO-FUCKING-MANIA?" But Dr. X heard this shit in his head... but he could also hear this shit clear as day in binaural fucking sound! This was some crazy shit right here! And some how he had traversed lines of magic and portal fantasy -- but his mother fucking Quick did not make the journey. And it was a good thing he was in a stall because his ass was scared and he was pretty sure he had pinched a yard of loaf off directly into the bowl. But that shit is sick -- so let's get back to the narrative.

Though he could see nothing, he could hear everything, and words created deep pictures in the seat of his imagination:

...he looked at Coach, ["NO, I FUCKING DON'T! WHO IN FUCK IS COACH? I DON'T WATCH ANY FUCKING CRAIG T. NELSON SHIT!"] who was tearing a hunk of flesh off a wererat. ["HOLY SHIT!"] The scent of blood filled Harry's nostrils. ["HARRY? HARRY? Oh hell... I'm in some kinda LOST fucking thing. My ass is thru the Looking Glass!"] He wanted to dive into the frenzy and feel flesh between his teeth, let the blood run down his throat and gobble the meat in great chunks.

Instead, he turned and loped off on all fours, looking for a place to hide.

"FUCK ALL THAT!" Dr. X cried! See, Dr. X figured that if he had some how tripped the Light Fantastic into Harry's universe. Then there was no way in Doughy that he was gonna let some crazy Werevermin beat the ever-loving snot out of Harry and possibly turn his favorite would-be cum-possible Boy Werewolf into some kinda half-bred effed up rat-dog thing. So, Dr. X bent the rules of an already skewed reality and reshaped the universe like

Donnie.

Fucking.

Darko!

And no one should see this sequel bullshit. THERE IS NO SEQUEL TO DONNIE DARKO!

X erupted from the stall with a rather conveniently, if not straight out Resident Evil V placed, chain gun and laid much waste to every single thing he didn't know to be Harry or K!p, where the ! stood for adventure! Shit literally flew. Mostly because in this, or any other dimensional possibility, Dr. X can no more carry the weight and force of mega-ffucking fire power no more than less than five hoes can carry the immense weight of his swollen gonads... so his shot was erratic at best.

But many a possible extra character that might be brought back to life later at some point of the story where character and plot development have allowed for the inclusion of superfluous figures and their timely subnarrative might be included. But since this is some kinda LOST shit and since ben Linus tells me that, even on the island, "Dead is Dead," when these fuckers come back... there's a really good shot that they will be ZOMBIE-WERERAT, HIPSTER MOTHER FUCKERS! (Because anything with such a convoluted, yet illy-thought out, history and piss-ably [yeah -- fucking pun!] contradictory sense of self, would likely be a hipster. And they would not be hipsters who would get much laid at M*tt C!o+#!#r show. No -- they'd be the serious unlaid type that would hang at the back of the Jackpot bitching about why the Fucking Tr@nsm!ttens go on and on about the Puffy Sparkle Clouds shit and don't just fuck right there on the stage -- It's called performance art you little Casio-playing bastards with your merry, sing-songy horseshit! ... Oh fuck... am I at a parenthesis or a bracket cum parenthesis??? Fuck it. End of thought.)

The point is. Many people lay, now, much dead... until their Zombie-were-rat-reawakening... which as any hipster knows will occur no earlier than at 10pm and will very likely be at least an hour late until the hot dog guy feeds every one and much PBR abounds. So, Dr. X put his massive hand cannon down. And his gun too.

Littered amongst the dead were people he knew to be Mr. Strictland... a very likely leader of the Zombie hordes to come, The Coach... because he never knew exactly what the fuck that guy was all about any way, Quist and Whilomania and alot of other people he had no idea who in hell they were because it took too damn long to read all this shit on a fucking blog where 140 characters were supposed to rule the day and... awe shit... same thing abounds here.

X looked and K!p and Harry. They nodded in each other's general direction and they left the school. What the hell else were they supposed to do, I just went back in time and blew the joint straight to Evil Dead II. It's not like any fucking class was going to on or some such. And NO... there was no death of regular everyday folk or anything fucking tragic. Listen: fucking giant wererats and slothbeasts and werewolves were running amuck in the fucking bathroom stalls? Use your heads! Do you THINK people stuck around and let that shit play out while giant dogs and rats and wildebeats ate and fucked and shit everywhere? No. Three paragraphs past the description of Whilomina's dashboard confessional t-shirt and the entire school cleared out just like the last episode of fucking Buffy when the whole school got swallowed by the Hellmouth and no one, except that hot She-Demon, died!

Deal with it. Every human is fine. And Dr. X, K!p and harry are on a boat. Why? Because they had a hard fucking day. That's why!

Scene IV: On a Boat.

Don't ask difficult questions like: Where did the boys get this boat? Or: why would they retreat to a boat to drink good wine and lay out with the fine, fine ladies of this universe -- like Muffy Whatsherface and the new girl: Bunny Hopsnscotch (both of whom were now partaking of much break as they laid out in their two-pieces and drank fine, fine Santana DVX while the boys soaked up the fleeting rays of daylight on an otherwise strangely balmly dusk). What's important is that these characters, of whom, it appeared Dr. X now might be one in one of those American theft jobs like Life on Mars, might be in some importantly new reality where this sort of thing happened on a regular basis. So, why not partake?

Oh sure... there was a chance that he was on a boat with K!p and a potentially a boy werewolf... but there was also such a chance that anyone who masturbated as much as Harry purported to might have some kinda crazy full-body reverse alopecia or some shit brought about by laying such waste to one's own junk. And where did such vital supplies of manjuice come from, X considered as he tipped one back watching the sun dip in the sky. Pound thought that the spunk as stored in a special compartment near the pituitary gland, but Pound was much fucked in his head and broke one of gertrude Stein's favorite chairs with t hat horseshit. And that horseshit could not stand in this universe. But it had been quite a day, and he was very likely surrounded by werewolfs... all of whom seemed to be sizing up K!p's fleshy mass, coddled as it was by the banana-hammock bearing containing neither his girth nor his fuzzy buckles, and this shit might get odd and freaky as the hour closed in on moonrise.

...but that's some shit we'll figure out in the next adventure.

Until then, he thought, beautiful words sank into his lazy brain as he noodled off to sleep:

Oh oh here she comes

Watch out boy, she’ll chew you up

Oh oh here she comes

She’s a maneater.

N.ggle thinks about Muffy. Cl.thier thinks about Muffy. Dr. C thinks about breasts. Dr. X thinks about muff. But what about Harry? Poor Harry. Watch out boy, she’ll chew you up.

What does that shit'all mean? And what happens when the zombie-were-rat horde awakens from their state of unfuckedness? And will Dr. X ever return to his sleepy hoes?

Stay tuned.

I ain't even spell checking this shit!

The Boys Consider TV's Newest Reality Show Sensation: "The Cougar"/ Plus, The Weekend Box-Office Report/ And A Sneak Preview of Tomorrow's Harry Lupus

It's hard to believe reality television can get more exciting than "Hot Girls in Scary Places" ("They are sooo cute when they're frightened"--Chip), but "The Cougar," premiering tomorrow night, might just become a new favorite of the boys. In this series, 20 young men vie for the love of the "cougar," Stacey, a 40-year old businesswoman and mother of four. (http://www.tvland.com/prime/shows/cougar/season1/)

Chip: "The premise seems a little faulty. Cougars are supposed to stalk young men and pounce on them. Men are not supposed to have to pursue them. Also--and I may have asked this before, but we blog a lot here and repetition is part of the humor--why is it acceptable for older women to bang young men while my and Richard's affection for sweet and nubile flesh gets us labeled 'lechers.'"

Richard: "Yeah, why can't our lust for sorostitutes gain us a cool nickname? Like 'bobcats.' We're just a couple of 'bobcats' on the prowl."

The LA-Times offers this tantalizing quote: "The presumption of sexual availability suffuses "The Cougar" more so than any reality dating show of its kind. "I'm in my prime, they're in their prime," Stacey explains to the show's host, Vivica A. Fox. "So not only is that connection outside the bedroom, but it's also inside the bedroom as well."

Richard: "Does this mean that she actually has sex with each of the guys and we get to watch? Because how can she know which younger guy is right for her unless she mounts them?(as Dr. C. would put it!). And why is this on TV-Land? I thought TV Land mainly consisted of reruns to Leave It To Beaver?"

Chip: "This is like 'Leave It To HER Beaver.' Get it?"


---

Tween-sensation Miley Cyrus' Hannah Montana: The Movie racked up major bucks at the box-office this weekend, easily besting the competition, including what seems like the 23rd movie Seth Rogen has starred in this year.

Chip: "Enjoy the innocence while you can, children, because I predict Miley is really going to start whoring herself out in the next few years. Big-time. Possibly worse than Britney, even."

Reviews are generally mildy favorable, such as this one taken from Rotten Tomatoes:

"If you guys don't mind, I'm gonna add a little hip-hop to this hoedown," announces Miley, contributing a quote to the culture that ought to be sampled, pronto."

Richard: "Well, it's not as catchy as my failed attempt to add the term 'bitchcakes' to the lexicon, but I guess it will do for now."

Chip: "I'm using that shit at the next barn dance I attend!"

---

Readers, we're pleased to present a photo of Dr. X's notes for this week's installment of Harry Lupus. One day you'll only be able to see this kind of material under glass in library archives, so enjoy it here now while you can. Click to enlarge and peruse it!

How the Boys Spent Their Easter Vacations!

Readers, it's been awhile since last we met, so let's catch up on local news.

Richard traveled to Arkansas, where he met up with the mysterious Dr. X to eat a famous "onion loaf" and mingled with a new wave of Southern academics, many of whom carry around cans of Old Milwaukee in their pockets.

Chip, in Forttt Scottt, ate a lot of ham while wearing his own version of the classic "Easter bonnet": his best hooded sweatshirt.

Was Easter celebrated at all in Larryville, which is "essentially a pagan village?" (Chip, 2002). In fact, it was. One local congregation held a "Beatles Easter service," with the young assistant pastor explaining the mysterious link between the Fab Four and Jesus as follows: they are both "awesome."

In other news, last week, the half dozen or so people who voted in city elections chose to re-elect downtown barber Mike Amyx as City Commissioner.

Chip: "First he'll cut our hair, then he'll solve our problems."

Richard: "There's a wonderfully small-town feel to having a barber as a local politician, but at the same time I think Larryville could benefit from someone a bit...quirkier. Like maybe that guy Dennis who visits local bars pushing a doll in a stroller, often while dressed in a Spiderman costume. I'll bet that guy would have some interesting ideas about how to run a city."

On Saturday, the all-female Led Zeppelin tribute band known as Lez Zeppelin payed a visit to the Bottleneck.

Chip: "Are they lesbians, as the name implies? And are there other all-lesbian tribute bands out there, such as maybe Los Lesbos, a lesbian tribute to Los Lobos?"

Also on Saturday, the KU football team, Larryville's third most popular sports team behind men's and women's basketball, made their debut at the annual Spring Game. Several prominent players were mysteriously missing-in-action due to unspecified "behavior" issues. Readers, we suspect it was knife-fights.

And the city has begun plans for the coming weekend's Earth Day celebration. It sounds especially exciting this year: "Ashman [parade coordinator] will dress as a wind turbine for the parade while fellow KU environs member Nick Benson wears a dirty coal costume" (LJ-World).

What will the boys be dressed as? Readers, you'll have to attend the parade to find out.

The LC Takes a Late Spring Break/ Cl.thier Is Back With a Lupus Piece That Will Blow Your Mind!

Readers, we hate to interrupt your daily hipster news, but Richard is taking a late Spring Break vacation. See you again next week.

In the meantime, you should go hang out with Chip downtown at Quinton's and experience his wit and wisdom firsthand ("The only thing more embarrassing than women's basketball is Royals baseball"--Chip).

Until we return, we recommend you read and reread Cl.thier's newest Lupus episode, which should (finally) convince you of this series' cultural importance:


"N.ggle thought about werewolves. Cl.thier thought about werewolves. Dr. X thought about masturbating, and about urban legends, and about hairy hands. Indirectly, he thought about werewolves. Dr. C thought about [wererats] [Wererats] and boobs. “If I were a vampire, I’d go right for the heart.” Vampires and werewolves and Frankenstein and mummies. Outcasts and misfits. But only werewolves are caught between man and beast, man and monster.

I am two people.

I’ve never quite reconciled the dichotomy.

This book is a step toward understanding…

The sense that I comprise two people who aren’t always compatible never left me.

…at odds with my folks’ ideas and instructions on how to live life.

“Who am I?” Harry thought, the urges welling up again, the hairs bristling on the back of his neck as Muffy walked by. “Come on, Harry,” his mother called after him. “We’ll never get all of this shopping done if you keep wandering off like this. Kids and full moons, drive ‘em crazy.”

We get it almost every night

When that moon gets big and bright

It’s a supernatural delight

Everybody’s dancin’ in the moonlight

Where to take poor Harry? A morality tale? Soft-core porn? Graphic novel sans graphics? The nature of Harry’s text hangs in the balance. Meta-Harry? Werewolves hate Twitter, twitter, twittering, any word that seems to denote high-pitched squealing. They’ll rip the heart out of twitters, like Dr. C’s [wererats], ripping through corsets, brassieres, cutting through décolletage to get to the heart of the matter, but my will gets weak…

Harry’s mother continued to prattle on about how “out of it” Harry had been lately. Harry struggled to act like he was paying attention while ignoring her, but she was persistent today. He turned the radio station, off of his mother’s “Hits of the ‘70s, ‘80s, ‘90s, and today” – some awful middle aged man singing about forgiveness – and she shot him a look. “What do you think you’re doing? You know that in my car the radio stays on KISS 100!” Harry didn’t hear. He almost couldn’t hear, the sound of his blood rushing through his veins was too loud, the smell of Muffy still too powerful in his nose. It was as if she were there in the car, there in his lap, there in his face. The smell was so powerful Harry couldn’t differentiate between smell and taste – it was as if he could taste Muffy. “I think you’re old enough now that we can talk about some things. You’re going to start getting erections in your pants. The kids call them ‘bonies.’ They’re natural, but I want you to ignore them. And whatever you do, don’t touch them. Don’t touch your erections.” Harry didn’t hear his mother. His senses were overwhelmed with Muffy. He had what his mother called a “boney”.

Squeeze my lemon, ‘til the juice runs down my leg

Squeeze it so hard I fall right out of my bed

Won’t you squeeze my lemon

‘Til the juice runs down my leg.

What is the werewolf model for Harry? What werewolf archetypes will be employed? What modern twists will he have? What werewolf literature will be slyly referenced and ironically employed? What will Harry’s “werewolfness” be a metaphor for? Can’t he just be a werewolf, and not a metaphor? It’s tiring always having to stand in for something else – seems deceitful too. If you want to represent how difficult it is to be something, don’t be something else and have us have to make the leap. Werewolves have it hard, without also having to stand in for the gay community, or immigrant cultures, or social straddlers.

For things are bad all over, etc. etc.

Harry walked through the lunchroom feeling as if every eye in school was on him. His skin tingled with shame and nervousness. His legs felt like they would give out at any moment. He no longer knew who he was. He was scared to look in the mirror. He felt completely alone, and completely strange. Even the school outcasts, the misfits, the weirdos and freaks and geeks seemed to look at him with a look of disgust. Harry looked at his tray of food – vegetable medley – and almost threw up. He wanted some meat, but got only soggy carrots, peas, and broccoli. Harry suddenly felt how hard the world would be to him hereafter. Of course, Harry was being melodramatic. None of the other teens were really paying Harry any attention – the cool kids were too wrapped up in their coolness and how to stay cool, the dorky kids wrapped up in their dorkiness, and how to get cool, the misfits and outcasts at once thinking how they could fit in and how they could stand out, and the rest of the students, all basically concerned with the monumental task facing all teens – growing up as unawkwardly and as quickly as possible. The only person in the lunch hall who gave Harry any mind was Muffy. Muffy always paid attention to Harry. Alas, Harry, like most boys, was too stupid to notice.

Cl.thier wonders what N.ggle and Dr. X and Dr. C think about werewolves. It is late while Cl.thier wonders this. A storm has just passed, and he thinks that most smart werewolves would have spent the storm as humans, wrapped up in their beds, worried about human things and not ripping the flesh from some poor rabbit or squirrel. But then, it’s not really up to the werewolf when they transform, is it? Michael J. Fox seemed to have no choice. Nor Jack Nicholson, or Michael Landon. Michael Landon as werewolf? He was a teenage werewolf.

Harry turned the television off, after finding nothing on but infomercials and “Highway to Heaven” reruns. He had hoped to catch a dirty movie on one of the cable movie channels, but with no luck, only watching a bit of some dumb movie about kooky vampires. He went up to his room and got on his computer, wondering if he should chance looking at porn on the internet. His parents kept a sharp eye on his computer, and his father, being in IT, knew all of the tricks to hide where he had browsed. But Harry suddenly found himself extremely horny, and was getting more aroused thinking about the pages upon pages of pornography at his fingertips. He decided to hell with his dad.

Harry settled down to his search when he heard, from what seemed like right outside his window, the long howl of a coyote or wolf. Harry jumped out of his seat, his hair standing on end. Though he had heard coyotes and wolves before, there had never been one so close to the house; they usually stayed up in the forest. Harry realized that every muscle in his body was tight and ready to spring. He caught a glance of himself in the mirror and barely recognized what he saw: his eyes were almost black, yet seemed to glow in the dim computer-lit haze of his bedroom. His muscles stood out from his body like they never had before, and his stance looked as if he were about to pounce on an enemy. Then, there was a small tap at Harry’s window. He leapt to it in an instant, throwing the sash up. There, a story below, was Muffy Sinclair, throwing small rocks at his window. “Feel like coming for a walk?” she whispered. Harry could not believe his luck. He forgot about his strange appearance, and almost leapt from the window.

Muffy thought about N.ggle and Cl.thier and the good Doctors and wondered why they were obsessed with some teenage weregirl. She thought it flattering, but kind of creepy, especially since everything they wrote about seemed to end up going all perverted and sexual. Not that Muffy minded that, it was just that there were other things to think about in the world, like love, and romance, and being swept away by someone. She thought about Edward from Twilight and wondered why none of the wereboys she knew were as exotic as he was. She would let him do anything he wanted to her, because she knew he’d be good, not like the wereboys who were always pawing and groping and talking about asses and tits and beer. They were like regular boys on super steroids. It was tiresome. “It’s a shame vampires don’t exist,” she thought, then thought about the quiet boy from her English class, Harry, and what it might be like to date him. Muffy hadn’t dated many humans, as it was mostly frowned upon by other werewolves, but she had gone on a few dates. She found them boring, and most of the boys just wanted to talk about World of Warcraft, or football, or action movies. But Harry was different. Harry read books and had his own blog and played guitar. “Maybe she could try and date Harry,” she thought. “Or I’d tear him apart.”

Oh oh here she comes

Watch out boy, she’ll chew you up

Oh oh here she comes

She’s a maneater.

N.ggle thinks about Muffy. Cl.thier thinks about Muffy. Dr. C thinks about breasts. Dr. X thinks about muff. But what about Harry? Poor Harry. Watch out boy, she’ll chew you up."

Cast Your Votes, Readers: It's City Election Day in Larryville! / Plus, We Check Back in With "Drunken Concert Goer"

On this exciting day in which we elect new City Commissioners to preside over hedgehog and urban chicken legislation and proposals to rename various streets after random local coaches, the LJ-World is providing the valuable service of a live blog to keep track of the events at various polling stations. The most recent entry reports that, as of 11:30, one voter had voted at the Burge Union! Come on, fratboys! Don't you want to make sure we keep hedgehogs legal. They're hilarious to watch when you're smoking your bong!

---

Our new favorite local blogger seems to attend many of the hipster shows we promote here at the LC, and his newest entry (and best yet) examines the Bishop Allen show at the Jackpot.

Richard explains his technique: "Essentially, he casts himself in what we call the 'Chip role,' a crude and boorish fellow who does not understand the local customs of the hipsters he finds himself surrounded by. In his new entry, he seems to have learned to play it with a straight face. Let's take a look:

"As far as their performance tonight, I tend to judge a band on whether or not they play my favorite song of theirs. (I had to see the Decemberists four times in Lawrence/KC before they played Here I Dreamt I Was An Architect.) Because Bishop Allen just had a new album come out, I knew there was a chance they wouldn’t play The Monitor off their previous album, a powerful ballad about the ironclad battle of the Civil War. But they did, and all was well in the universe that night – I was free to return to shouting “Free Bird!” between the remaining songs."

Chip: "First off, I'm not entirely sure he's being sarcastic and, second of all, I'm nothing like him: I assure you that I shout 'Freebird' from start to finish at every show."



As far as their performance tonight, I tend to judge a band on whether or not they play my favorite song of theirs. (I had to see the Decemberists four times in Lawrence/KC before they played Here I Dreamt I Was An Architect.) Because Bishop Allen just had a new album come out, I knew there was a chance they wouldn’t play The Monitor off their previous album, a powerful ballad about the ironclad battle of the Civil War. But they did, and all was well in the universe that night – I was free to return to shouting “Free Bird!” between the remaining songs.

Your Guide to the LC in the Springtime!

Despite the fact that it still snows in Larryville every third day, the boys are beginning to turn their attention to springtime concerns, and today we provide you with a glimpse of what you can expect from the LC in coming months. What are the boys most anticipating from the season?

Well, there's baseball, of course, and it's always fascinating to see just how much the Royals can suck. They're off to a good start today, as they have postponed their Opening Day because of a slight chance of flurries (Chip: "Pussies!").

And then there's Earth Day. Larryville's celebration is on April 18, a day in which local hippies smoke their best homegrown and take a brief break from the Free State patio to go down to South Park and talk about electric cars ("It's powered by my own sense of self-satisfaction"--Ed Begley Jr.).

Cinco de Mayo has become a new favorite springtime event for the boys as well, following their memorable outing to the Sandbar last year. A surprising number of sorostitutes apparently celebrate this particular holiday, mainly because they love margaritas. A new company called Star Industries has also announced their plans to launch a new "kosher tequila" called Agave 99 prior to Cinco de Mayo, so the boys are also looking forward to getting fucked-up with their Jewish friends this year.

But in the meantime, readers, I suppose we should concentrate on tonight's major event: the NCAA men's championship between Michigan State, a team which defeated KU in the Sweet Sixteen, and North Carolina, a team which is coached by a villainous traitor. Who are the boys for?

Chip: "I hope they both lose."

Can 16113 Lady Jayhawk Fans Be Wrong? / Plus, the Boys Consider Tonight's Country Music Awards! / Also, More City Commissioner Coverage!

It's true, readers. 16,113 (bandwagon) fans packed the Fieldhouse yesterday to witness the Lady Jayhawks loss to the South Florida Bulls.

Chip: "There's been a lot of talk about winning and losing with this tournament but what people are forgetting is this: in the WNIT, even the winners are losers."

The LJ-World's sports columnist Tom Keegan feels the team has won a respect that will carry on throughout their program: "They won over a town that spends its winters obsessing on the other tenants of Allen Fieldhouse." (LJ-World)

Chip: "Wrong, Keegan. The 'fans' showed up simply out of a desperate need for local April competition that must be filled by something, anything, since the men are out of the Dance. You could have held a fucking...turtle race in there yesterday and people would have turned out. Some of us would have preferred it."


---

The boys; love for country music is well-documented here, and you can bet they'll gather around the set tonight for the AMA Country Music Awards. Do they have any particular favorites.

Richard: "I'm rooting for Brad Paisley's 'Waitin' on a Woman.' We've often praised Paisley's rib-tickling work here, in songs like 'Ticks,' but this new song shows us he can combine his trademark wit with a powerful and moving tale about a man who learns to love the initially annoying habit of his woman's perpetual lateness so much that he looks forward to dying first and waiting for her in heaven. Snark aside, this song is quite touching."

Chip: "I cry every time I hear it. My other pick for the night is Larryville's own Sarah Buxton, for Best New Female Vocalist. Her name reminds me of 'buxom,' which remind me of breasts, which gives me a boner. I'd bang her. In fact, I think I may have, back in the day."




















---

Local elections are Tuesday, readers, and we hope you'll make the right choice in electing new City Commissioners. Today's LJ-World provides a useful account of the major positions and campaign promises of each candidate. The LC's choice, KJHK general manager Tom Johnson, "wants to work with downtown businesses to develop an 'incentive bus pass' that would give riders access to special discounts and promotions at downtown businesses" (LJ-World).

Richard: "I'm not entirely sure what this means, but what I hope it means is that he's creating a special bus exclusively to pick up hipsters and take them to discount shows (half-price PBR) at the Replay, TapRoom, and Jackpot."

Chip: "Actually, I've decided to lend my support to Mike Amyx, because he's the guy who cuts my hair."

The Day Has Arrived: WNIT Championship in Larryville!

Chip: "Readers, I speak to you now, during the Lady Jayhawks game, from a field in Forttt Scottt, where I will spend the afternoon romping with my beagle, flying kites, and pretending that my beloved Larryville has not just spent an entire week discussing women's basketball. Indeed, it's been a hard week for us old-school men's basketball fans. For instance, I sat down this morning for a nice light breakfast of chicken-fried steak and eggs and saw this quote from the Capt. of KU Public Safety on the front page of the LJ-World: "We're running this like a men's game." I cried, readers. I won't lie to you. Let us hope that things return to normal soon, and that no WNIT banners will soon mar the beauty of the Fieldhouse."

Richard: "While it's true that the LJ-World has devoted a shocking amount of space to WNIT coverage this week, they have not neglected their usual hard-hitting news coverage. For instance, sharing equal space with the Lady Jayhawks on today's front page, is the story of 'Beans the Cat,' a local feline who took a hilarious journey to California by stowing away on a neighbor's moving truck. After a week's absence, the family and Beans were reunited."

Chip: "That cat is an absolute prankster!"

[photo from LJ-World]











But not everyone is touched by this story. On the LJ-World discussion boards, Pogo offers this: "Why was this cat running about “at large”? There is a City leash law for cats. It really needs to be seriously enforced." Then he posts a lengthy list of city animal ordinances.

Even More Women's Basketball Coverage!

Why? Because it's the hot topic in town right now prior to tomorrow's WNIT championship game in the Fieldhouse. And surely Chip's oft-noted anti-women's-basketball sentiment is an anomaly, right? Surely most of the rabid men's basketball fans can find it in their heart to show a little love for the ladies, given the fact that their own season ended at the Sweet Sixteen.

Let's look to the KU Sports website's message boards to find out.

The hot topic is this: If the women do manage to defeat the Bulls tomorrow, do they deserve their own WNIT Championship Banner hanging proudly in the Fieldhouse?

CrimsonNBlue says: "Are you out of your [censored] mind? There better not be one. Trophy in the case is fine."

WaHawk04 says: "NIT banners don't go up in AFH. Period. Like WaHawk said, trophy in the case is ok, but no banner."

jdoneg says: "A banner for the NIT in Allen Fieldhouse would be a Mizzou or K-State thing to do."

whitemagus says: "There are many ways to honor people without desecrating on Allen Field House."

billselfistheman says: "Maybe they just wont win it.

Which of these do you think is Chip's message-board moniker, dear readers? I think it's "billselfistheman."

More Exciting Women's Basketball Coverage! / Plus, The Boys Prepare to Vote for City Commissioners Next Week / Also, It's National Poetry Month!

At this week's board meeting at Quinton's, Chip vowed to leave town if attendance at last night's WNIT Final Four game at Allen Fieldhouse surpassed 5000, claiming that the program was the second most useless institution in Larryville, behind the "T" Transit system.

Well, pack your bags, Chip, because 8360 (sudden) fans filed into the Fieldhouse to watch the Lady Jayhawks defeat Illinois State. Today's LJ-World is bursting with news of the victory, including a prediction from the coach that Saturday's championship game might actually draw a full house if everyone who attended last night would only bring a single friend.

Chip: "First off, friends don't bring friends to women's basketball. Second, I hope people will remember that the real Final Four is on TV that day. And third, it's sad to see my daily paper full of such 'news' when this time of year should be bringing me nonstop, important coverage of whether Sherron 'Elevator Cock' Collins and Cole 'the Sheriff' Aldrich will return next year or go pro."


---

On April 7, Larryville citizens (or somewhere around 10% of them) will head to the polls to elect new City Commissioners. What qualities do the boys look for in a local leader?

Richard: "The most important issue to me right now is hedgehog rights. We've made them legal, now we've got to keep them legal. And I also want someone who will fight to make it legal for me to own other, even more ridiculous animals, such as badgers. Or maybe bobcats. My pick for City Commissioner is Tom Johnson, general manager of KJHK, because I assume he'll do good things for local hipsters, such as maybe reducing the price of PBR at the Replay by a quarter, or making sure that the Transmittens play at least a gig per month."

Chip: "My primary concern right now is local violence. I'm looking for someone who will shut down Club Axis and bring in a better, safer establishment there, such as perhaps a new Quinton's. I've seen enough sweet titties in this town to believe that Larryville can easily support two Quinton's."

---

The boys love April, National Poetry Month, and the LC plans plenty of poetry coverage this month, including a special edition of Harry Lupus in verse (Cl.thier?) and an event in which the boys read some of their favorite poems, such as Paul Muldoon's "Hedgehog." Here's an excerpt:

The hedgehog
Shares its secret with no one.
We say, Hedgehog, come out
Of yourself and we will love you.

We mean no harm. We want
Only to listen to what
You have to say. We want
Your answers to our questions.

"Bite My Scruff": Dr C's Long-Awaited Take on the Harry Lupus Saga

Readers, it's Wednesday, which means we take a break from our usual local culture commentary to bring you the continuing adventures of America's favorite boy werewolf, composed by a rotating series of authors (his original creator, Richard, has pretty much moved on to other work).

Today's installment is brought to you by our old friend Dr. C, a man whose Corona bottle diorama of a G-spot at Quinton's has helped Chip and Richard please so many sorostitutes in recent years. We're honored that a winner of the "Writer of the Future" award, a man who has shaken the hand of David Carradine, takes time out from his own work at www.statelypleasuredomes.blogspot.com/ to participate in our shenanigans. As expected, his piece is the sexiest ("Now mount me"), most violent, and longest yet! Put the kids to bed early tonight, readers, pop yourself a boner, and enjoy the hijinks:


Harry Lupus let go of the jeep and coasted up to the curb. He jumped up to the sidewalk, pumped once and rode until he was close to the school steps. He hopped off his board, then kicked it up to his hand.

Just outside the door, K!p was waiting for him. He had a round, plain face with nervous but friendly eyes. Those who were inclined to be generous described him as a cuddly teddy bear of a man. Those less so inclined [i.e. Dr. X] used words like doughy, pudgy, flabby, and the like.

"We're gonna be late," K!p said.

"Why didn't you go in without me?" Harry asked.

K!p looked confused. The possibility had not occurred to him.

Going in, Harry glanced over at the cluster of disconsolately lolling Emo kids, hoping to catch a glance of Wilhelmina. Unlike most Emo chicks, she was hot, in a mousy kind of way, of course. Even in the shapeless rags of Emowear. She had breasts that bulged in her t-shirts, and ass no jeans were baggy enough to hide, and a compact, curvaceous body all around.

But she wasn't there. It was just Ben and the rest of the Emo kids who were as pale as their hair & clothes were black. Lanky frames, narrow faces with long noses, they all looked like someone had killed their puppies just that morning.

K!p tapped Harry's shoulder, "Look out, it's Mr. Strickland."

Harry looked up and saw the bald, angry little vice principal heading his way. The bell rang and crowds dispersed into classrooms. Mr. Strickland knew he was between Harry and his first hour classroom and rushed forward for the kill. K!p said, "Uh, gotta go. Excuse me," and he ducked into the men's room.

Mr. Strickland was a small man who carried himself with big anger. He jabbed Harry with his finger, "You'd better get to class, Lupus. I've got my eye on you. You're a slacker, just like your old man."

At that moment, Coach Finstock appeared. Mr. Strickland suddenly melted. "Mr. Finstock," he said.

"Jack." Coach nodded nonchalantly."Listen, can I borrow Harry for a minute."

"Why, sure."

Coach led Harry away. "Harry Lupus, I'm glad you're almost one of us."

"What do you mean?" Harry remembered seeing a lupine coach (still bald, of course) on Goodman's Meadow. "I thought that was all a dream."

"You might have thought so, the way you handled those tryouts."

"So it wasn't all a dream. But if I made the team, what do you mean, 'almost' one of you?"

"You know what I mean." Coach pushed open the door to the gym. "Until you've spilled the blood of our enemies, you're not one of us." The words echoed in the big, empty space and when they died away, Harry heared the muffled sounds of struggle. Coach led Harry to the locker room.

Inside, Wilhelmina struggled against the two big Varsity boys that held her. As she lunged against their powerful grip, her breasts heaved, barely constrained by her Dashboard Confessional t-shirt. Her eyes were terrified but fierce, and sweat was beginning to glisten on her skin despite the thick, careful makeup.

Harry felt his boner spring suddenly to life, the prickling of fur pushing its way through his skin.

"You want her, don't you?"

"No," Harry said. He clenched his hands and felt the claws growing, digging into his flesh. He unclenched his hands and looked down at the blood diffusing through his hairy palms.

"Don't deny it," Coach said, showing his fangs and long, wide tongue. "Let it take you, and then take her." He nodded at the Varsity boys. They held her with one hand each and used the other one to grab her shirt and tear it open. Her huge breasts leapt into view, their pale pink nipples taut with chill fear. They were growing covered by thin, short, white fur, as her face grew thinner and longer and was itself growing a fine grey coat.

Harry felt his body grow painfully. His ribs strained and tore. His arms lengthened, too, reaching involuntarily toward Wilhelmina, his own tongue lolling out of his panting mouth. But his carnal thoughts were interrupted by a commotion in the toilet stalls.

Coach laughed. "Sorry to jerk you around, Harry, but she's just bait. For you and for them."

"The East Side Werewolves?"

Coach shook his head, "We have enemies closer than that. Spill their blood and join us."

The toilet stalls opened and out came Ben, his body transformed into a half-rat humanoid. His black, greasy fur dripped with toilet water. Now the other stalls opened and out came more wererats. Behind Ben and in the other stalls, still more Emo-rats were pulling their skinny, flexible bodies out of the toilets.

"How many of those Emo motherfuckers are there?" Coach asked. "Let's get 'em, Harry." He rushed at them, his seatshirt hanging loose on his now long and muscular body.

The two varsity boys holding her tossed Wilhelmina roughly to the ground. Her head cracked hard on the concrete floor and she grunted as the wind came out of her. Harry wanted to help her, but looking at her half-naked body made him think only one thing. His boner was practically ripping its way out of his heans, and his clawed hands looked no good for rendering aid.

Then he looked at Coach, who was tearing a hunk of flesh off a wererat. The scent of blood filled Harry's nostrils. He wanted to dive into the frenzy and feel flesh between his teeth, let the blood run down his throat and gobble the meat in great chunks.

Instead, he turned and loped off on all fours, looking for a place to hide.

The teahers' lounge light was off. Of course, they were all supposed to be in class. He ducked inside.

"Huh? What? Who's there?" asked a sleepy, feminine voice.

The light in the lounge was dim, filtering in through the thickly frosted windows from a narrow, concrete courtyard. He knew that if he opened the door he would be seen in the light of the hallway, but he hoped that if he remained still and quiet he might go unnoticed.

But her eyes focused right on him, shiny like cats' eyes in the dark. "I see you there. Are you going to speak up or am I going to have to take you to Mr. Strickland's office?"

Harry recognized her voice now. Miss Quist, and immediately an image of her plump round ass, pushed up by her high heels as she stretched to write on the board, leapt to his mind. He barely had the presence to say, "No, Ma'am, please don't."

"Why, Harry," she said, suddenly friendly, "you sound terrified. I hope I didn't scare you."

"No, ma'am," he said, though in truth he was afraid of her. Not just her commanding voice or the way her face could change instantly from casual and laid back to angry and demanding. He was afraid of her because she was so sexy and so in command of her sexuality. The way she stalked around the classroom with feline grace, aware that every eye was on her movements. Everyone, not just the boys, but the girls too would bend over backward (probably literally, if she asked) to earn her throaty, purring words of praise. So as she rose from the couch and began walking slowly towards him, Harry felt his knees begin to tremble.

She used the same walk as in the classroom, only with a languid, luxurious unhaste. Shoulders, breasts, waist, hips, and legs all joined together to create a single sinuous sensual movement. Her skin--face, neck, breasts, and arms--seemed to glow in the dim light.

With every step, a faint tremble passed through her breasts. The luster of her skin made the depths of her cleavage seem even darker. I could be lost in there, he thought, and it didn't seem unpleasant.

Now she was so close to him that he could feel her breath. He wondered how "wolfed out" he was. She must be able to see it, yet she still stood this close, fearlessly. She reached for his hand, and he drew it back.

"My, you are scared. Don't be afraid of me." As she said these words in a strong, soothing tone, he noticed her long canines. He looked in her eyes. They were yellow with vertical pupils.

She reached for his hand again, and he let her take it. "You're becoming a man, Harry Lupus, my kind of man, but you've got a lot to learn. Let me teach you.

"First, calm down. Feel my heart."

As she lifted his hairy paw to her chest, he closed his eyes and thought, "There's no way I can feel her heartbeat through those breasts." But he felt it throbbing slowly, and after a moment it was as if her heart was driving blood through both their bodies. His own blood was flowing slower, stronger, deeper than ever before.

The he felt something else: fur. He opened his eyes and looked into Miss Quist's feline face, covered with a fawn-colored fur, her pointed ears tipped in black. Her expression was ferocious. "Now mount me."

With a single motion, she shed her clothes, revealing her long slender tail with its soft black tuft. When Harry fumbled with his jeans, she growled, "Let me help with that," and slashed them with her claws. Jeans and underwear fell to the floor, freeing Harry's big beast.

Miss Quist's pussy wasn't tight, even on his huge lycanthropic dick, but it was wet, and it could clamp down. The resulting tightness and suction drove Harry right to the edge, but she could read him and would release him to relax and enjoy the ride.

"Bite my scruff," she growled. Then when he did, she said, "Harder. It's no good if it doesn't hurt and your cock isn't barbed." So he bit harder.

He tasted her blood and she hissed and yowled in pleasure.

"Shit," Harry said, "somebody'll hear."

"Let them. I'll take care of them, too--you're just about done."

And he was. He could no longer contain himself. He exploded inside her, then fell backwards, exhausted.

Quist was not satisfied, though. She spun around and went to work on him with her rough tongue.

Then a grate burst off one of the air conditioning vents and in poured Ben and the other wererats, obviously the worse for their run-in with the werewolves. Ben said, "You coward, Lupus, we'll make you pay for what your kind did to us. And you, Quist, you'll pay for that 'D' on my review of Fall Out Boy."

Quist leapt gracefully to the back of the couch. She walked along it with her tail in the air. "I'm sure this can be resolved without anger. Although if you feel violence is necessary, I suppose you can all take your satisfaction."

Ben was stunned a moment, then said, "We'll figure out what to do with you, later. But, Lupus, you're in for it now."

Harry barely had enough strength to crawl backward. He couldn't seem to summon his wolfly alter ego. The rats closed in around him, their greasy fur reaking of sewers. He knew he was in for it.

Then the door burst open with a roar. A huge bearlike form stood silhouetted in the hall light. "Don't you dare touch him," K!p boomed.

The wererats scattered in all directions, with most of them getting clear, but a few taking swipes from K!p's great paws.

The wererats gone, the door closed, the lights on, Harry tried to hold up his slashed pants. K!p had regained his clothes from the hall. Quist was dressed again and leaning against the couch with her legs crossed. She looked piercingly at K!p.

"I notice your pants aren't torn. They must have been at least unbuttoned before you began transforming. How long were you outside that door before you burst in?"

"Uh . . ." K!p said, and trailed into an uncomfortable silence.