My chosen hobby has a lot of room for crazy, nut job, kool-aid drinkers who think the government is out to get them and the only way to deal is to embrace the second amendment like some favorite lover, but damn am I glad for them today.
Having my apartment overrun with werewolves, who may also have been snake people and maybe, at another point, robots, sure makes a girl love her guns.
Riding down the highway, listening to NPR soft jazz and end of the world rhythms also tends to put someone into a bit of a mood. It gave me a lot of time to think about the three werewolf-snakemen and then two more werewolves and god this whole thing has got my brain turned inside out.
Jessie isn't really helping. But I still can't tell if he's crazy, I'm crazy or we're both just crazy together. But temporarily safe, doing seventy-five miles per hour on our way to Canada on the lark of a probably-crazy kid makes me think maybe I've drunk that crazy-kool-aid too.
I killed four creatures today. One was definitely a werewolf, took his jaw clean off with a very nice shot, if i do say so myself, which I do, from a moving vehicle. The other three, well I can't even be sure now, I remember snakes and I remember werewolves and I *don't* remember snake-werewolves so it probably wasn't something in between.
I'd never shot something before today, well something that was alive before I shot it. Punching a few holes through a little piece of paper at 200m is one thing, taking some crazy werewolf's face off is something really different, I can't even begin to sort it out.
I'm just lucky I brought a gun to a werewolf fight.
And now my arm hurts, not from snakes or werewolves but from Jessie who's screaming for me to remember him. The kid's probably given me a scar to prove it, and I keep thinking, are mom and dad alright is James alright down in DC and did Bob from the gun range make it out of the city.
And goddamn I'm hungry. I could really go for some beef chow mein.
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