From the Department of Werewolf Awareness to Mr. Bergstein: Where Our Tail Goes When We Transform
jolieg15, just LOL. —Sparkitors
Dear Mr. Bergstein,
As longtime readers of your columns, we must say that we are so thrilled with the attention you are giving our kind. You see, we are werewolves, and it has come to our attention that many of your kind carry misconceptions about werewolves, which we suspect is partly to blame on your "Blogging Twilight" series. We are writing to you because we would like to answer some questions that you yourself have posed in your multiple blogs of Twilight and Harry Potter in the hopes that any confusions about our species can and will be cleared up.
First of all, you address this essential question quite frequently: “Where does a wolf’s tail go when he transforms?” You see, Dan, if we are not mistaken (and we’re not, because we as wolves are forbidden to lie), in your human culture, some of you practice something called Buddhism. It is our knowledge that those who practice this religion strive to attain what they call Nirvana, or enlightenment.
Each time we transform, we are actually meditating in the loam (I’ll explain this later as well), and we are given only a millisecond to concentrate on the fraction of our spine that seems to disappear. Very few have actually figured out where our tail goes. It requires meditation of unimaginable sorts. Have you ever tried to howl at the moon and look at your tail at the same time? We promise you, it requires patience.
We have also taken notice of your satirical use of of the word “loam,” Mr. Bergstein. We’ll have you know, we as wolves take pride in the loam—we write books about it, our journeys hitherto and thereafter. You see, the loam is not something with which to trifle. You are very lucky we are peaceful and have resisted the urge to turn you in to PETA, as well as the Royal Canadian Mounted Police Veterans Association, and the Environmental Protection Agency. But we digress, Sir Bergstein his Knighthood.
The loam, regardless of your childish fantasies thereof (please, keep them to yourself), is not “a cotton candy paradise where no one makes fun of my back mole” as you inquired in a letter to us a few weeks ago. The loam is neither a place for Ringo Starr’s drum solos, nor for the distribution of free shag carpets and root beer floats.
Like the essential question of the journey of our tail as we cross over, the loam is a state of mind as well—whilst transforming into a wolf, we call ourselves “rolling around in the loam.” When we are dreaming, and are transfixed by a particularly real dream, we call ourselves “rolling around in the loam.” And finally, Lieutenant Dan, when we wolves are having trouble fitting into tight jeans (they’re European, okay?), and are forced to do what you silly humans call "dancing" or "hopping," we prefer to call it “rolling around in the loam.” The only exception is the extreme state of boredom experienced at the DMV, which we call “Googleshanking.”
In conclusion, Officer Bergstein, may I remind you that there are just as many weird questions about humans that we werewolves do not, nor aspire to, understand. Among them: why is an alarm clock going “off” when the sound is on? Why are softballs hard? If Jimmy cracks corn and no one cares, why do you sing that annoying song about him? Finally, if electricity comes from electrons, does morality come from morons (or from your totally misguided columns)?
Thank you, and may all your misconceptions be cleared!
The Wolves of Twilight and Harry Potter (we’re distantly related, FYI)
P.S.: We can't explain the Quil-imprinting-on-a-toddler thing, though. That's just weird. To be honest, we're convinced he made that up.
Anything you want to tell Dan about werewolves, loams, or Harry Potter? Write it in the comments!
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