Man, holidays screw me up. I didn’t even realize it was Monday (and all that that implies) until it wasn’t even Monday anymore (it is currently quarter past midnight). But, I don’t want to give you another “oh, I’m so busy, I’ll try and get to a story later this week.” Instead, I’ll be giving you one the tried and true staples of the SotWC – the “I don’t have any time, so this is gonna be short and sweet, live with it.”
And remember… We care.
THE HAPPY MAN
Once upon a time, there was a happy man. He was so darn happy that nobody even knew his name; they just all called him Happy Man. Some folks called him “Happy.” Some folks called him “Mr. Man.” Some folks called him “H.M.” Occasionally, someone called him “dingleberry,” but those were usualy people who didn’t know him very well.
So, one day, this vampire hunter came to town (did I mention this story takes place in Transylvania? Well, it does.) and started poking his nose into things. Now, people thought this was weird, because I mean he was literally poking his nose into things. Butter dishes, candles, soup ladles, dirt, squashes (or whatever the plural of “squash” is), Kate Beckinsale’s leather-clad armpit, and, yes, even a dog’s butt. This guy was a total freak. Unfortunately, Hugh Jackman wasn’t around to chew scenery and kick this guy’s fanny out of town, so everyone just had to put up with it.
“Well,” said the vampire hunter after three days of this behavior, ” I, Cecil Carbunkle the vampire killing guy, have determined that there are no vampires in this town.” Which was funny, because there were, like, seven of them just in the crowd listening to him talk. They didn’t say anything, though. I mean, duh. “Therefore,” Cecil the freak-bomb continued, “I have decided to peddle my skills elsewhere. Unless you have anything else worth fighting around here.”
Totally ignoring Cecil, a young girl named Riddlemethisbatman Jones looked out the window and said, “Oh, look! It’s Happy Man, man.”
Cecil stood up straight, eyes wide. “Happy Man-man?” he said. “Is that like a wolfman?”
Everybody, in unison, went, “huh?”
Cecil said, “you know, like a wolfman is a man who turns into a wolf in the full moon (unless you like the Twilight series, where they have nothing to do with moons or nighttime and don’t have any rules except ‘don’t wear a shirt for God’s sake’). Is the Happy Man-man like that? Like, he turns into a Happy Man when the moon is full, or when the Happy Man-Bane blooms or something? Cuz, I could totally kill him for you if you want.”
Everybody looked at Cecil a moment longer and then, once again in unison, they all said, “get bent.”
“Well, I never,” said Cecil.
Just then, Happy Man walked through the door. “Hey, everybody!’ he said happily.
“Hey, Happy Man!” everybody replied.
Then Cecil shot Happy Man right between the eyes with a crossbow.
“My work here is done,” he said, putting his weapon back into it’s case.
“You… You murdered Happy Man, man!” screamed little Riddlemethisbatman Jones.
“Well, I had to do something,” Cecil replied, heading for the door. As he neared the body, Happy Man stirred. To everyone’s surprise, he stood up – crossbow bolt still jutting from his forehead – and looked at Cecil.
“That hurt,” he said, jovially. Then his head split open and his Happy Man costume fell off and it turned out he really was a werewolf even though it was broad daylight, because if Stephenie Meyer can make up any rules she wants about well-known mythological and legendary monsters, then so can I. So happy Man was a werewolf who wore a fake man costume (like werewolves do), and never hurt anybody until Cecil shot him (because that just pisses werewolves off). So he ripped everybody in the place to shreds except Riddlemethisbatman Jones because of course werewolves can’t kill little girls. Also she was wearing a t-shirt made out of string cheese, and I’ve just decided that werewolves are deathly afraid of cheese. But only string cheese. They love other kinds of cheese and will take a nice grilled ham and cheese sandwich over a fat Romanian peasant any day. Go ahead. Look it up.
Gadzooks, we’re clever here at the club. Re-inventing mythologies and all. Short and sweet, that’s what I said. Well, it was short, anyway.
See you in seven,