Wednesday, November 01, 2006

Song of the Wereotter: Warrior of Justice, Protector of the Innocent

Life has this nasty habit of taking your every little failure, coating it with meat sauce and slapping it on your back, where it dangles like a festering squid until enough of them accumulate, and with a pitiful cry, you tumble into a ravine, where you thrash limply for a while until sand wolves come and tear out your spine.

I've seen it happen to others. I could smell it happening to me.

Well, I certainly wasn't about to sit idly by as life and my failures conspired to render me pitiful. No, it was time for some causative action. After reviewing all my many options, I decided to go insane.

And so then the next thing I know I'm an otter that can talk and my sidekick is a tarantula spider named Ernesto. And we're standing on a hilltop with the evening wind in our fur, watching clouds turn from purple to black as the sun slips behind Andean spires.

"Where am I?" I asked the spider.
"On a hilltop." Ernesto replied.
"Of course, silly question."

I stared at my paws.

"What am I?" I asked the spider.
"You're an otter." He replied.
"But a moment ago I was a man."

He crawled up on a rock and placed his long, segmented legs on my furry shoulder.
"You're The Wereotter." He solemnly blinked all eight eyes. "The Shamans said you would come."

Wow. That was a lot to process. After a long pause I asked Ernesto what it meant to be a wereotter.
"Not a wereotter," He replied. "The Wereotter."
"Well, what does it mean to be The Wereotter?"

He smiled and gestured to the horizon with one of his hairy legs.

"With me at your side you shall travel this world, seeking and combating evil. For you are The Wereotter: Warrior of Justice, Protector of the Innocent."

And it is so very difficult to imagine the powerful, singular feeling of pride that surges moist and hot and alive from places deep within, unless you yourself have been recently informed that you are a Warrior of Justice, Protector of the Innocent.

"Oh God yes!" I cried. "That just feels so right. Let's definitely be that. Let's definitely be warriors of justice and protect the innocent."

Ernesto knuckled a tear from eyes number two, seven and four. "And so you truly are The Wereotter." He whispered.

"Oh hell yeah." I had never felt surer of anything. "So what's the plan Ernesto?"

"Well," Ernesto replied. "The plan is--we travel the land until we come to a place where evil people are doing evil things. Then we hide in ferns until they walk by and then we jump out and bite the shit out of them."

And so that's what we did. And we had many, many adventures. And we frequently danced with grateful villagers at festivals of joy thrown in our honor near the town square fountains. And pretty girls jostled each other to dance with Ernesto and me.


And do I shapeshift back into a man from time to time? Sadly I do. I’m The Wereotter yes, but the otter is not my only form.

And so sometimes I wake up tangled in saline sheets, screaming for the forest.
"Ernesto!" I sob. "I'm a man again, not a Warrior of Justice anymore."

I staple live flies to my chest by their wings and beg for the spider to come.
"Please Ernesto, help me change. I want to matter some more. I want to be The Wereotter forever!"

And in the darkness an itch draws my hand to the red welts that dot my flesh.
"Ernesto, is that you?"

And then suddenly my hand is a paw again and I'm standing on a hilltop with the evening wind in my fur.

"You came back for me Ernesto."

"Of course I did my mighty friend." The spider replies. "You are The Wereotter."

And so I am. And so I am.

The End


At 1:07 AM, Blogger 12 Crumble Ave said...

It is nice to see you have found your calling, with Ernesto by your side and crushed skulls of your enemies in you paws.

Your tale brought a tear to my eye and makes me look upon this bleak tundra of life with the feint glimmer of hope that there might be some animal I may tranform into one day and become a purveyor of justice and crushed skulls to the weak and needy.

Sir, you are an inspiration,

- Mr Winston

At 7:56 AM, Blogger tangled said...

I would wish for more eyes just to knuckle tears from them all. Indeed, this was the most moving thing I have read in a long time.

At 8:16 AM, Anonymous Strange Forces said...

I once, at a side show, stapled a $5 bill to a man's cheek. Never flies, though. And never to myself. That would be weird.
But from you, it seems a small price to pay to be a Warrior of Justice and a Protector of the Innocent.

At 11:02 AM, Blogger ATD said...

I thought you were scared of spiders!

You LIED to me!

But ... perhaps you made an exception for Ernesto?


At 12:56 PM, Blogger Lightning Bug's Butt said...

I'm a wereblogger. Always a pleasure to meet a colleague.

At 4:27 AM, Blogger Noir Muse said...

Beautiful. Another fantastic legend born from the world of Mr. Latigo. Lovely reading, dear.

At 1:00 AM, Blogger Latigo Flint said...

I do what I can gentle Mr. Winston, I do what I can.

I'm not surprised to hear you have been deeply affected by my words Tharunya. It is for no small reason that I have come to be known as the great toucher of women.
(Wait, that didn't quite come out right.)

Is there any price to great to pay to be a Warrior of Justice, Protector of the Innocent, Strange Forces? I submit there is not.

I reviewed my options ATD... and decided to go insane. I could have sworn I made that clear.

I was born early and screaming LBB, torn from the womb by wolves. My wet nurse was a hurricane.

I write for you my Dark Muse.

At 11:43 AM, Blogger Ari said...

Where is the coolest were? In a wereotter's lair, that's where. I'm gonna make one for my next rpg character generation. I swere.

This part reminded me of the Hon. Mr. Yoakam: "And so sometimes I wake up tangled in saline sheets"

BravO. :)


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