I don’t like Halloween. I don’t like that children walk around play-acting as if they are ghouls and goblins, as if it is all a joke. Because it isn’t. There are dangers in this world that are too gruesome to even talk about.
I told Rob to be careful. He was one of my oldest childhood friends. We were in our mid-twenties, single, full of vigor, our entire lives ahead of us. We were camping in Colorado. Neither of us knew much about camping, seeing as we were both nice Jewish boys from Queens. We wanted to try it… to see the stars at night. Before we left, we attended a class at Paragon Sporting Goods near Union Square, where we learned to pitch a tent and filter our water. However, no teacher could ever prepare us for… the wolf.
I told Rob to be careful. Don’t go to far from the campsite at night. He laughed. He was just going to take a pee. I heard the sudden rush of the leaves, the scream, Rob on the floor, and beady eyes of the wolf, blood dripping from its paw. When the wolf saw me, he ran away. Why? I will never know. I rushed Rob to a hospital in Boulder. He would be OK. He only received flesh wounds. Rob was lucky that I showed up at the moment when the wolf attacked. He would live. At that moment, neither of us knew that his living was an option worse than death.
After our camping trip in Colorado, Rob moved to Chicago, and we lost touch. I frequently thought about him. What was his life like? Was he married? I searched for him on Google, with no success. Last week, I received a phone call from Rob. He said he needed to open up to someone, to unburden himself from the years of terror. He told me a story that made my hair turn white.
The following is a verbatim transcript of the phone conversation:
Rob: “After our trip, I moved to Chicago to work for an investment firm. It was a good job and I felt that I was a success. I was dating a lot of hot babes and my life was good. The only difficulty I had was with my arm — where the wolf bit me. The wound would burn like hell, as if ten thousand needles were being shoved into my arm. I would get faint at work and pass out. I started making mistakes with my clients, even losing millions of dollars by selling stocks short. I was fired, disgraced. No on would hire me. My body felt weird, as if it was elongating. I noticed hair growing all over my body, at a rapid rate. I had an insatiable urge to eat meat, even raw meat right from the package at the supermarket.
The worst was when there was a full moon at night. I would wail like an animal. All I could think about was finding a woman, a virgin, and devouring her like a monster. My body grew grotesque and my clothes felt so constraining, that I shredded them to pieces. Full of blood-lust, I careened down North Michigan Avenue, naked, my ears flared, my fangs ready, growling as my nose smelled the scent of a nearby virgin. She was standing outside the Gap, having just bought a pair of khakis, when I stood on my hind legs, and raised my paws, ready for the attack. She screamed, her face in shock at seeing a man-wolf on a city street, but as she looked me over, she started laughing, hysterically.
I made a hideous growling sound, but she just chuckled and pointed.
“Your penis. It’s so small!” she said.
Horrified at her mockery, I ran from her while crying, the cold Chicago wind hitting my face. I raced up the stairs of my building and jumped into my apartment, closing the door behind me. Disgraced and embarrassed, I spent the night watching “Millionaire” and eating raw meat. I was a failure as a werewolf.
I tried several more times, whenever a full moon hung high over the city. I could feel the transformation of my body, the saliva that would build up in my mouth, and the deadly paws that were ready to pounce on a new victim, but whenever I would raise my man-wolf body in the attack position, the woman would laugh at my penis.
I went to my family doctor, Dr. Eugene Fishback. I told him that I used to have a normal sized penis, but ever since I became a werewolf, it shrunk.
“Very interesting, Rob.”
“I’m not Rob anymore, Dr. Fishback. I’m the Werewolf.”
“I understand that. But your insurance still has you down as Rob. It’s probably better that we stick with that for insurance reasons.”
“Yes, good idea. Thanks, Doctor. So, what about the penis?”
“Well, the test results show that you’re getting a tremendous amount of adrenaline in your system whenever you transform into a wolf, and it is having an affect akin to steroids. It is changing your body in many ways, one of them being that it is shrinking your penis.”
“How can I be an effective werewolf with such a small penis?”
“It is mostly in your head, Rob. I’m sure there are werewolves with all sorts of penises. It shouldn’t really affect your performance when you go out searching for prey.”
But it did. I’ve always been insecure about things. Even in elementary school I used to get Bs on my report card, and I didn’t feel as smart as you.”
Neil: Oh, come on, Rob… I mean Werewolf. You were always very popular. Grades in school didn’t really matter that much.”
Rob: “But they did to me. I felt the same insecurity as a werewolf. Here I was, looking all scary and dangerous, from the waist up, but one little thing below the waist made my victims laugh at me.”
Neil: “Could the doctor do anything for you?”
Rob: “He gave me some pills, but nothing worked. I just got headaches. I tried Prozac for depression. Nothing. I went to herbalists, Chinese doctors — nothing worked. Finally I decided I needed help. I enrolled in a 12 step program for Monsters and Ghouls who don’t quite live up to their own standards. There was a witch who would get yeast infections from riding her broom, a vampire without teeth, and the ghost who was too lazy to scare anyone.”
Neil: “Did it help?”
Rob: “Not really. But I made some good friends. I became particularly close with the witch, Syeira, and we sort of hit it off. We became friends… with benefits. Man, was she wild! One day, she saw that I was moping around, looking at my small werewolf penis, when she said she might be able to help me. She opened up an ancient book of spells, and started to chant:
Wagga Wanna Wigga
Make His Penis Bigger
The room started to shake and I felt a surge of energy in my body. I screamed. I revolved like a whirling dervish and was thrown against the wall. I dusted myself off and stood up… and Syreira had succeeded! My penis was twice as big as it was originally! It was the happiest day of my life. I grabbed her and made love to her for the rest of the night.”
Neil: “That’s great. I’m so glad that you are happy!”
Rob: “The story isn’t over. The true horror has not even begun!”
Neil: “Oh no!”
Rob: “We’re men, you and I. We always screw things up, right?. Despite being happy with Syreira and my now-successful life as a scary werewolf with a giant penis, I found it hard to commit to just one woman.”
Neil: “I hear ya.”
Rob: “After coming home from a long night ravaging a virgin, I’m not in the mood to do the dishes, or talk about “her day.” I told her that if she gets yeast infections from her broom, she should just stop being a witch and stay at home and clean. She didn’t talk to me for a week.”
Neil: “Yeah, relationships are tough.”
Rob: “One weekend, Syreira came home from some witches’ convention a day early, and caught me in bed f**king her sister. She went crazy, calling me every name in the book. I tried to apologize, saying she was partly to blame. After all, she’s the one who gave me my new penis. Shouldn’t I be sharing it with the world?”
Neil: “It makes sense to me.”
Rob: “She immediately ran to her book of spells, and chanted:
Woodle Yoodle Oodle
Turn Him to a Poodle
And the damn harpy turned me into a poodle. A little white poodle. That’s what I am right now. That’s why you never hear from me. Can you imagine how difficult it was to use the phone?”
Neil: “But what about being the werewolf?”
Rob: “I’m not a werewolf anymore. I LOVED being a werewolf! Now I’m a stupid poodle!”
Neil: “I’m so sorry, Rob. I’m so sorry.”
Rob: “And the scariest thing is that she kept the new penis on me, so as I walk, it scrapes against the floor, causing me pain — just to punish me for my transgression.”
Neil: “My God, how cruel.”
Rob: “Women who feel wronged are the cruelest.”
Neil: “This is the the most HORRIFIC story I have ever heard.”
Note: Be careful… on Halloween!
Now I hate Halloween too.
What a horrific tale of fright and horror!
You have a twisted sense of humor, my friend.
Strange. And twisted.
But well written!
Every well-endowed poodle knows to stick a sock over it. Do your homework!!
You’re too funny.
I’ve always thought that it was important for children to have “monsters,” for the reasons you mentioned. Real life is full of enough horrors. Creating a fake monster kind of helps process that, in a way.
Also, poodles are AWESOME.
“There was a witch who would get yeast infections from riding her broom…”
There is something wrong with you… but I like it.
Why is it always about penis size with you men?
Poor Rob I knew him well
Men are Dogs.
Women are Witches.
Rip the Shirt. How clichÃ©.
Despite being happy with Syreira and my now-successful life as a scary werewolf with a giant penis, I found it hard to commit to just one woman.
Neil: â€œI hear ya.â€
I’m glad you found a way to relate?
I hate halloween too; now I know why. I would be terrified of a poodle with a giant penis.
You see, it is as I said..Penis es or is it peni? huh never thought of that before..Oh, any who….the penis, of any size..sells.
Am I right, or am I right?!
You’re right, Wendy.
Oh Neil! I love how crazy your mind is. That was fantastic.
Fun story 🙂
I didn’t want to comment, but my pet poodle insisted…
My poodle said ask your friend to buy his book… it’s available soon in Amazon. “7 Habits of Hight Effective Poodles..”
Ha ha! I’m not quite sure what the moral was, but… ha ha!
i love halloween, i still like to dress up but i can honestly say i’ve never dressed up like a ghost or ghoul (or virgin) nor have any of my kids. i will be on the lookout for poodles this year though.
Wow – Now as for the moral of Neil’s story…Okay, I’ve got it. The moral of the story is… Aw, screw it. I have no f-ing idea what the moral is. Well, I should at least try…So how about “Walk softly and carry a big d**k.”?
The moral is pretty obvious to me… don’t double-cross a woman, or you will pay dearly.
hahahaha! That was AMAZING!
If a horse mated with a dachshund…
Oh my goodness! a fantastic post dude. Thanks.