Knock-knock

Oh, hey -- It's me! The wolf at your door! I'm having quite a time leaving clumps of fur out here on your mat. Boy howdy, I'll tell ya, there's just so much business going on these days that it's going to take the better part of the afternoon just to get this block down.

I guess your wondering why I'm out here, right? Well, I just finished noisily devouring that neighbor's kid, Jeffy. You know the little bastard -- douschebag used to throw whiffle balls at your car's door panels. Well, don't worry, he won't be throwing anything anymore. *burp* That letter-carrier coming down the block looks awfully tasty, too. Sure, mailman "Rob-Bob" has been dropping off parcels here for seven years, but you know that fucker is only going to bearing a foreclosure notice on this bullshit lean-to you call a house.

I think you're starting to get the picture -- I'm the lupine harbinger of madness, kiddo. You want high gas prices? I got 'em. You want war without end? I can has it. I haven't had this much fun in a long while -- a few hundred thousand folks laid off at GM and Ford the last few years was nothing. I was waiting for the time to be right. I want your house, your kid, your car, your genetically-engineered soybeans, the whole fucking shebang.

Aww, I'm sorry -- were you predatorily lent to? You do realize that a moron night manager at a Wendy's has no business getting any scratch up to own a house, right? After I pick the wishbone out of my fangs when I messily devour you and your family, I'm going to have fun starting a bonfire in here with your shitty album collection. Watch the value of this place finally soar -- as a weenie roast!

No one's exempt, friend -- I just paid a visit to that scarf-wearing panty-waist Aussie tennis instructor from American Idol a few weeks ago. Remember him? Neither do I! I guess he's having a rough spring too... being excreted in a warm coil on your front lawn! Hoo-hah!

I got a full schedule, paying visits to the American voter, the American primary candidates, errant governors, errant secretaries of state, errant attorneys-general, errant quarterbacks, errant actors, errant poets, Lionel Richie... it's gone from famine to feast so massively, I'm thinking I'll have to outsource some of this crazed carnage to Bangalore.

Hello... is it me you're looking for? *CHOMP!* Probably not! The more you people all sit there watching watching Olympic handspringing from Beijing, where my good Red friends take the truncheon to misbehaving journos, the easier it is for me to get my fill. What's that, you say? So long as the horror of systemic misfortune is happening to someone else, you'll have no problem moving to Phoenix and driving a Chevy Tahoe down the driveway to take out your garbage? I think not, jackass. Like the guy from TV says, I always get my man.

Hey, who ordered the umpteenth doughy white-guy comedy this week? I have bootleg copies of all this unwatchable, unimaginative shit in my hip pocket. Yeah, just come closer... closer... it's only 10 dollars, DVD quality... closer... no, these incisors are just for opening beer bottles, you dumb bastard. I am looking forward to a long, hot summer with millions of my closest meals, er, pals -- I suggest you stop the kicking and resisting and let canis lupus do his work. There are no bonus points for putting up a fight.

I have a lot of houses to attend to before this is all over with. This might take a while -- grab a poorly-written book and wait up for me.