But today...here's one for the fans. If you can stomach the opening scenes where a bear and K!p make love, you'll find some of Dr. X's best meta-work yet, such as this description of the story's fans: "these busy shits usually just skip directly to the swearing and plot holes so they can type witty ass fuck afterwards."
And don't forget that today brings another important finale: The Cougar. Surely this episode will allow us to see Stacy mounting her chosen cub and riding him off into the sunset?
Now, it's Lupus time!
"Yah, that's about it right there. I get into the galley and all I see is this mottled Grizzly laying a very furry boner to that dumpy kid in overalls who used to hang around the docks flicking rocks at gulls. Remember him? Looked like a cross between a dumpy rock and a Chia?"
"Why was the bear fucking him?"
"Well, how the hell would I know?"
"Well what kinda fucking story is that?"
"It's the fucking thing I saw. What do you want? Graphic details about how the bear stripped the K!p down to his sexy underthings, greased him up in his own bear Juices and slipped him a very polesnake up into the darkest crevasse not unlike a very little mini bear was burrowing into his winter snuggie for a long Winter's hibernation? Except there was no hybernation here -- there was the stank of matted bear shit and sweaty fuck of a 800 lbs fucking Ursus arctos horribilis (No. I didn't make that shit up. Go to fucking school and read your bear texts... Unscientific shits.) laying his steady claws deep within K!p's... oddly sweaty, turgid and relenting flesh. Like he was breaking for the cornholing he was getting from a bear. Like it was all his body could ever know of physical love. Come to think about it... it was pretty disgusting. Even just documentingthe entire thing gives me the lonely boner. Ya know that sorta half and half affair between stiff and limp. I sometimes call it flippy dick, ya know, because you can--"
"Can we get back to the bear fucking?"
"Fuck geez. Fine."
"So... again, why was this bear fucking K!p on a boat? What the hell was he even doing on a boat?"
"Ya know, I often wonder about that myself as K!p is not one prone towards water... though I'm told he oft enjoys taking a vessel out to wri--
"NOT K!P, THE FUCKING BEAR!?!"
"Oh, sorry. Got a little confused what with this sudden shift to this almost Hemingwayesque lack of exposition or even name markers. I mean, everyone knows I'm scruffy, right?" Scruffy asked. "Oh, nice. Thank fucking you, author-shit. Make me look like a fucking asspony and drop... anyhow.
"I dunno. From what I'm told, the grizzly is largely indigenous from the banks of Alaska all the way down through the Pacific Northwest... Hey did we ever establish where we are, geographically-speaking?"
"Uh, no I think we elided over that bit and went directly to pop-references and picture of bitches in stocks."
"Huh. So... no one's questioned how we became a port town all of a sudden?"
"Nah. these busy shits usually just skip directly to the swearing and plot holes so they can type witty ass fuck afterwards. Seriously, check this shit out:
--but I have one question said...
"Did Lardass have to pay to get in that pie-eating contest?"
--and also: is Harry still part of the Lupus series?
May 27, 2009 10:55 AM"
"Who the hell is Lardass? And who in fuck is Harry. Maybe harry was the bear... you know: Harry the Bear? That sounds like some sorta meta shit... eh, from a two year old... but wait a second. I wonder if Harry..."
In the distance, a bell rang signaling that it was time for old Scruffy to shove off again.
"HO, HO, HO... wait a second old man. I don't give a shit what the exposition says. This fucking thing has been dragging on for like a month already. Give up the details."
"Eh, but what about my boat?"
"Hold on. Hey. Hey you. Writer guy. Hey, look the fuck down here."
"Yes, you. Who the fuck else would I be talking to?"
WELL, YOU WERE TALKING TO SCRUFFY THE SEA DOG THERE--
"Yah, and what fucking sense did that all make anyhow? Seriously. I thought this shit was about vampires and werewolves?"
WELL, THERE ARE ALL THOSE ZOMBIES IN THE BAR.
"Oh, you mean the invisible bar currently floating in the white spaces of the imagination because you wrote no fucking setting. Shit, at least we had pictures last time. Now, I'm just a disembodied dialogue floating on the fucking screen."
WELL, SOME OF THE RESPONDENTS WERE COMPLAINING THAT WE WERE GETTING BIT OFF COURSE. AND THEY KINDA MISSED THE WHOLE CONCEIT ABOUT THE MISBEGOTTEN SAILOR, AND THE BOAT METAPHOR ETC. WE WERE GOING FOR A SORT OF 'BREAKING BAD' APPROACH -- YOU KNOW -- WHERE EVERYTHING IN THE MASTER NARRATIVE IS ALSO VERY SYMBOLIC ON AN ENTIRELY DIFFERENT LEVEL.
"Do you seriously expect anyone to buy that hipster bullshit?"
HIPSTERS DON'T OWN TVS. THEY ONLY WATCH WHAT'S ON THE BAR SET AT THE TAPROOM. AND IT ONLY GETS ONE LOCAL CHANNEL OUT OF TOPEKA.
"Touche. Shit. Can we get back to matter at hand: Write Scruffy five more minutes so he can get to the goddamned point of this thing. Please."
WELL, I MEAN... CL*THIER IS GETTING REALLY BORED WITH THIS WHOLE THING, AND I THINK HE WOULD PREFER US TO MOVE ON TO THE KICKBALL COVER--
"Fuck Kickball. Cl*thier is probably listening to the new Dave Matthews CD that dropper yesterday. Hey speaking of what in shit is a GrooGrux King anyhow?"
IT WAS THE NICKNAME FOR LEROI, THE SAX PLAYER. HE DIED LAST YEAR DURING THE RECORDING SESSIONS, SO THE BAND DEDICATED THE ALBUM TO HIM.
FAIR. GIVEN THE UNDER LYING CIRCUMSTANCES AND ALL. P*FORK GAVE IT--
"Ok, fuck Pitchfork. Let's get back to the point: The Cl*th is in his jim jam room getting his shit down learning the chord progressions on half a dozen new tunes that he'll likely incorporate into next week's show at the Yacht Club''
YOU KNOW, IF YOU GO TO THE STALLS -- YOU CAN OCCASIONALLY SEE LOCAL CELEBRITIES JUNK WHEN THEY PISS. BECAUSE EVEN LOCAL ROYALTY HAVE TO PISS WHEN THEY DRINK BEER.
"You are a sick and weird fuck, you know that? What kind of animal would strike up a conversation with someone at the urinal so they could check out their shit?"
"I don't want to know. Here. Let's simplify: Give Scruffy the Shitsack here five more minutes. Have him explain his shit. Get us out of this complicated metafuck of a narrative. ...would it behoove you to fucking get a werewolf in here?"
WELL, HE'S COMING, YOU SEE, THE REMAINDER OF SCRUFFY'S DIALOGUE EXPLAINS WHERE HARRY HAS BEEN THE ENTIRE TIME.
"But you were not going to show that."
RIGHT. IT'S A VERY TWIN PEAKS MANEUVER.
"Season one or Season two?"
OH. SEASON ONE. SEASON TWO SUCKED ASS. EXCEPT FOR THE LAST EPISODE.
"Yah that was pretty... FUCK! Will you please fuck off and let him end the fucking story? Jaysus. AND WHY THE FUCK AND I SPEAKING IN AN IRISH BROGUE NOW? AND HOW DID I START TALKING LIKE DR. X FUCKING X. Wait a minute? Who the fuck is Dr. Fucking X?"
And it was true. Scruffy's mysterious bar croney was the elusive Dr. X (Fucking was just his first name near as we can tell). X did not realize it, but as he tied to escape with the bitches, a swell o'ertook the boat, capsizing it and taking the bitches off to where ever floaty bitches go (their silicon-enhanced breasticles not only kept them afloat but repelled shark attacks as sharks do not favor plastic. Why you say? Well check this shit out why: http://cavernsmeasureless.blogspot.com/2007/08/breasts-in-film-and-beyond.html). His ass had washed ashore, and, typically, he dragged his loathesome carcass into the nearest bar and set up at a stool. Though the chaos (and loss of his flippy bitches) had left him with no memory of the incident... or of his life prior to his arriving in the Harry Lupus Dimension--
"Wait, wait, wait. Hold your fucking expository bullshit up for just one second. I'M FUCKING DR. ?"
DR. FUCKING X, ACTUALLY.
"How can I be Dr. X? No, wait. If I'm fucking Dr. X, who the FUCK are you?"
... YOU WANT ME TO UNWRITE YOUR STUPID ASS?
"No, I'm just saying: If Dr. X arrived here via some kinda... Wait how the hell did he arrive here in the first place?"
*SIGH* LISTEN, EVENTUALLY, WE WERE JUST GOING TO WRITE YOUR CHARACTER OFF A LA THE BRITISH VERSION OF "LIFE ON MARS" WHERE YOUR STUPID ASS HIT YOUR HEAD, FELL INTO A COMA AND YOUR EXPERIENCES IN THE HARRY VERSE ARE COMPLETE BULLSHIT BECAUSE THEY TAKE YOU OFF THE VENTILATOR AND ALL THIS SILLY SIT WITH WERE BEARS AND FUCK NEVER HAPPENED BECAUSE IT MADE NO GODDAMN SENSE TO BEGIN WITH.
BUT THEN, A FUNNY THING HAPPENED. DR. C
"Who the fuck is--"
DON'T WORRY ABOUT WHO THE FUCK IS DR. C. HE'S JUST DR. FUCKING C. DR. C CREATED A LOOPHOLE, DID YOU SEE LOST? NO, WAIT... HOW COULD YOU HVE SEEN LOST... LOST DOESN'T EXIST IN THE HARRY VERSE YET. DR.C CREATED A LOOPHOPE WHEN HARRY AND K!P LEFT THE BOAT... AND SOMEWHERE/ HOW KIP HAD BECOME A WEREBEAR WHOSE ASS KEPT TEARING HIS PANTS EVERY TIME HE GOT HORNY (WHICH CAUSED A TRANSFORMATION... WHICH CAN OCCUR BECAUSE THERE'S NO ESTABLISHED MYTHOLOGY CONCERNING BEAR TRANSFORMATION, YOU SEE). AND AN AMUSING ANECDOTE OCCURRED WITH K!P GETTING ELASTIC PANTS AND SUCH... SO WE RE-WROTE THE OVERALL SCHEME OF THINGS TO KEEP THE UNIVERSE AS IT WAS BECAUSE WE DIDN'T WANT TO BLINK OUT THE FACT THAT WE HAD A WEREWOLF AND AN AMUSING SIDEKICK WHO NOW HAPPENED TO BE PART BEAR.
PLUS WE HAD A GOOD TIE-IN WITH THE FINALE AND ALL TO THE NEW GRIZZLY BEAR RELEASE WHICH PITCHFORK TELLS US--
"Ok, Ok... fine... fuck it. Whatever. Can we just finish the goddamned story so I can poof out of existence or what the fuck you literary jackasses have in mind. Cripes. this is the most super contrived bit of bullshit I have ever seen. Oh wait. I have no eyes as I'm just fucking text... so I guess I can't see shit.
"Nice writing there, bitchcakes"
...YAH, YOU DIE AT THE END OF THIS NARRATIVE.
As Scruffy was released from sort of paralyptic time freeze where everything got really hazy... as if some sort of parallel time interceded into the reality of his own existence... he realized that the bell ringing was actually just the Good Humour Man. For he had sea water in his ears, and about five minutes more to tell his tale.
"Is it my turn to talk now?" Scruff said.
"Yes, Scruffy. Go Ahead." replied the narrator.
"Uh, what happened to that guy I was talking to earlier?"
"Hmm? Oh Dr. X. Dr. X fucked with Daddy. And when you fuck with Daddy, Daddy ducks you out of existence."
"So, uh... I just kinda talk to no one in particular?"
"Yes. And you better do it RIGHT THE FUCK QUICKLY or I will write you the fuck out of existence too."
"Now, speak your fucking peace or be obliterfucked."
"Uh... anyways. So, there was a bear slipping sweet bear dick to K!p. Which seemed quite strange and out of character for a bear. On a boat. And then I recalled that bears are interspecies competitors who occasionally feel compelled to force mate in an attempt to keep their diminishing numbers up.
"Uh... and I reading this shit, right... because -- it doesn't make a lick of sense to
AND THEN SCRUFFY WAS BLIPPED OUT OF EXISTENCE FOR BEING A SMARMY BITCH WHO QUESTIONED NARRATIVE AUTHORITY TOO MUCH.
Sadly, now there were no more characters left to tell the tale, so the narrator had to fill in the rest of the plot. And at a rather fast clip too (as he needed to go water his garden before the contractor came over to help him install a fireplace!).
But, this shit almost works out better this way, anyhow as the omniscient eye of the narrator allows him to cut to the chase. Kinda like a shitty Dean Koontz ending where he just spills every fucking thing at the end in a nicely wrapped bow. Which also goes to show why none of his shit is made into movies.
Anyhow: apparently, on the boat. Harry, remember him, the eponymous protagonist of this little story, like K!p were asleep in their bunks after a session of hot made fuck (presumably with the bitches. Even the narrator does not know... nor cares to think about the idea nor sight of K!p moving his zaftig thighs or buxom rump in tune with the throes of passionate, missionary style fuck (with man, beast or the space between the mattress and the box spring... which, if one imagined hard enough, could be thought to be a gigantic sideways vagina... just in case you needed to shot that quick one off.). When the full moon came out in all its selenic majesty.
Harry, having the lyncathropic night terrors that came with his transformation... grew in the mass, size and hairy girth that one would expect with turning into a dog. Asleep, or perhaps now, the subconscious of the active werewolf, Harry Lupus considered a howl of longing and awakenedness... wait is that even a fucking word? Sure, now it is. The wolf was awake. And the wolf was hungry.
To his left, was a pudgy little ham named K!p.
Ravenously, Harry looked over in ways which could be deemed somewhat homoerotic... but really, bare in mind that Harry, again, is now the subconscious of the wolf... kinda like when Banner and Hulk switch in and out when he gets his cheese caught in the wind.
So, it's not like Harry wanted deep into fuck with K!p... but I guess if Harry is part of the wolf's subconscious... and Eating and Sex are more or less on the same line of neurons and shit... Hmm, this is getting far to Freudian. The wolf was gonna tear Kip's shit up and swallow him just as if he was Little Fucking Red.
But then, just as Harry's drooling snout was about to dive teeth first into K!p's fleshy exposed rumpus... Dr. X (before he was obliterated from the narrative) stammered in drunk on Santana DVX and could not believe the shit he saw!
"HOLY FUCK! WHAT IS THIS SHIT!" and such he would say.
Mostly he was surprised by seeing the boy werewolf about to consume his best friend and flunky, but, more realistically... he was also scared to save his own ass... which explains why he grabbed this bitches and headed off to wherethefuckever in the dinghy!
But, in that one lone vulgar moment of profanity, Harry snapped back to consciousness and thought about the homoerotic underpinnings of him putting his mouth on K!p... and that he was also going to eat and pass him through his lower intestines as well... and that shit was more fucked than he could stand.
Not unlike Sampson pulling down the pillars of Gaza, The wolf grabbed at both sides of his face and literally tore the fleshy wolf asunder from his body. Fortunately, you can essentially blow a werewolf straight to fucking hell and back... and the gooey shit will still combine unless you slip a little silver into the bucket. So, though Harry tore the hairy dermis from his body, he did not die... but that shit did hurt something serious!
The shock of ripping his own flesh clean off his body caused Harry to revert to his adolescent body and fall the fuck straight out of the room. Yet, in all this commotion, Harry flung his now severed wolf skin out of his hands... where it's bloodsticky under side stuck to K!p's body... pretty much in consistent pattern with where his arms and legs were.
See, all this shit is starting to make sense now, right: It's the fucking aborted Terminator: Salvation ending. Well, FUCK YOU, McGee -- we're using it! You snooze, you lose -- bitch!
Anyhow, K!p was covered in a wolf's skin, the bear got confused and fucked him straight away... and all the tearing and shit and the mixture of the bear jizz with the blood of the werewolf let to some sickass transmutations and K!p would be forever changed into a new species... that we totally own the copyrights to... so fuck off publishing world: the werebear.
And, now that we have explained how all of this has come together, season two can politely get on with the adventures of the Harry: the Boy Werewolf and his Andy Richter-like flunky K!p: The Werebear!
WAIT. WHO THE FUCK IS LEFT TO ASK A QUESTION?
"We're the collective mind speak of the Hipster zombies. You can write us out of existence. we're like fucking cockroaches -- we don't die. Anyhow, we finished our discussion of the paragraph of the P*Fork review of Grizzly Bear so we just wanted to know why there was a bear on that boat in the first place."