Wolf Battles Common Sense (And Gravity)

We are all familiar with the fact that the Wolf has structured his life as a spectacular paean to all that challenges common sense and reason. Beginning at the very moment he decided to forsake the tranquil serenity of the womb and claw his way into a cold and bracing world, the Lobo set into motion a life that would tarnish everything it touched with a heretofore unseen brand of lunacy.

The motivation behind the decision to live in this manner is unknown to all besides the unseen forces that shape the heavens and earth. Was it genetic mutation? Divine intervention? Something more sinister (Rosemary's Baby)? The world may never know.

And yet at the same time motive is irrelevant. It is a human force important only to county prosecutors and method actors. For there exists outside of elusive motivation, a tangible and concrete record of the Wolf's war against capable, prudent, and thoughtful action. There stretches behind this man an endless wake of ill conceived undertakings and the cruelty, insanity, death and destruction they wrought on the world around them.

For who could forget the Wolf's struggle to build and maintain a sprawling marble mausoleum in the dense Mexican jungle? How could we fail to remember the vicious voodoo feud that felled Dead Burt? What about his proclivities towards automotive insanity?

All of these endeavors serve to document the lunatic history of the Lobo's lifestyle. And yet they have also instilled within the man a deep belief that he has conquered common sense. They serve to announce that he is a man who operates on a plane of existence unfettered by the rules of logic and reason.

There remains, however, one undefeated aspect of the Wolf's complete and utter victory over common sense. This lone insurgent dwells in the unfinished nature of his power project. Sure, he has killed Dead Burt, scared away Dead Burt's daughter, engaged in a vicious campaign of arbolcide, and successfully strung high voltage cable all the way to his home. But he is still without electricity. The Mexican power company has refused to activate the line and have thus left him without the secure knowledge that his refrigerator will have the power needed to cool his cranberry juice. Without the feather of electricity in the Lobo's cap, common sense continues to reign supreme.

And so the Wolf has sown the seeds for the final chapter of his war on logic and reason. He recognizes, however, that to take on the Mexican powers that be is a Herculean endeavor. For this is an organization that (if such a notion is even possible) flaunts common sense in such an aggressive manner as to make the Lobo appear sober and levelheaded. Thus he has decided that if the organs of Mexican bureaucracy will deny him the means to conquer sane thought through the steady flow of an unnecessary electrical line, he will seek an alternative method for demonstrating his mastery of the insane and illogical.

This decision has led him to an appropriately lunatic solution. If the flow of electricity itself cannot serve as the trumpet call of victory, he will use the presence of the lifeless poles and lines themselves to mock all that is prudent and reasonable. And he will do it in a manner that smartly compliments his eye for style and panache.

And thus we find ourselves in the heart of the rainy season with one of the Lobo's many power poles purposefully and consciously erected at an angle that contradicts gravity's hold on the universe as we know it. That's right; he has decided to demonstrate the inefficacy of logic and reason by proving his control over the immovable force of gravity.

Many would view the listing nature of the Wolf's handiwork as the result of a dangerous combination of poorly planned construction and a saturated and shifting jungle soil. The Lobo, however, sees it rather as his final exclamation of victory over the factions of common sense and reason. In fact, so certain is he in his ability to defy such a powerful force of nature that he has fled the hot Mexican sun for the comfortable mountains of the Pacific Northwest. He has divided and conquered.

And yet in departing he has left the crowning jewel of his lunatic power project (and spoil of victory over both common sense and gravity) unattended in the wet and unstable jungle soil. Such a decision, may seem to us to be unwise, ill conceived, or even insane (it does to the Badger). And yet how many among us have devoted our lives to challenging all conventions that allow us to live comfortably, happily, and peaceably? How many among us have sought to slough off the constraints of the natural world, only to be continually confounded by them? How many amongst us believe that God is solely and personally responsible for the malfunction of our household appliances? I believe the answer is clear (the Lobo!).

A Crown Jewel Of Victory Teeters In The Distance

Gravity Strikes A Blow Against Unbridled Insanity

The Leaning Tower of Lunacy

The Badger Quietly Aids The Forces Of Common Sense

Badger Battles Coconut Dwelling Crab

With the Wolf frolicking gaily in the wilderness of the Pacific Northwest, the Badger has largely been left to his own devices. Gone are those heady days of endless plotting and counterplotting. Nearly forgotten is the relentless sense of urgency that accompanies conflict at such close quarters. What remains are the smoldering embers of a feud that once burned so hot and fast within the dense Mexican jungle.

That is not to say the danger of a raging firestorm has passed. The Tejon understands that the only thing preventing the hot coals from transforming themselves into a devastating inferno is the introduction of combustible fuel. And in this case reservoirs of potential kindling are vast.

For though the Lobo has temporarily abandoned his Caligulan compound in search of more comfortable climes, the indelible fingerprint of insanity with which he imbues his surroundings remains. Massive undertakings of marble and electricity have not been abandoned. They simply await the return of their lunatic creator.

It is in the inevitable resumption of these efforts that the Badger finds motivation to remain vigilant in the absence of his adversary. He knows that this all too brief detente will pass, and he has committed himself to ensuring a swift and calculated response to the Wolf's return.

To accomplish this goal, the Tejon has been conditioning his combat reflexes by engaging local wildlife in minor skirmishes. He actively seeks out adversaries that bite or sting or pinch and battles them into submission as a means of honing the skills so crucial in his conflict with the Lobo.

Today we find the Badger face to face with a menacing crab. He encountered the beast while gathering coconut bark for the barbecue, and not a man to simply abandon his meal at the first sight of trouble, the Tejon valiantly forced the crustacean into the shell of a burnt out coconut.

From there he gingerly avoided the crushing force of the extended claw and suavely posed for photos with his incapacitated prey. Hardly a man to induce suffering upon an innocent creature, the Badger later released the prisoner to its natural habitat.

The series of photos below depicts the Tejon as he masterfully poses with his adversary. While the Wolf idles away his time sipping cranberry juice and proselytizing his unique brand of lunacy in the western United States, the Badger remains battle ready in the jungles of Mexico. Could this be the tipping point? Only time will tell.

A Fearsome Encounter

These Claws Take No Prisoners

Hey Lil' Darlin'

Predator And Prey Strike An Accord of Peace

Wolf Battles The Open Road

It has been recently established that the Wolf is not the type of person who caters to implications that he is in any way "little." He is the Lobo, most certainly not the "Lobito," and when he does things he does them on a scale that leaves no doubt as to the virulent grandiosity of his character.

He doesn't build houses; he builds sprawling mausoleums of marble and stainless steel. He doesn't simply erect power lines; he launches campaigns of destruction that anger myriad government agencies and kill elderly German developers. And when he prepares for his annual sabbatical in the densely wooded mountains of the Pacific Northwest, he doesn't simply purchase a plane ticket and rent a car when he gets there. No, he outfits himself in a style that demands instant respect and attention.

For when one is accustomed to living within the tropical luxury of marble clad insanity, when one expects cold cranberry juice and Walker Texas Ranger, how can one be asked to forsake them when one is away from home? The answer is one cannot. And the simple solution is that one who wants these things brings them on the road.

And so the Wolf has devised a means of transportation that accomplishes these goals, all the while smartly complimenting his lust for conspicuous lunacy and mammoth impracticality. The result is a massive truck/camper combination that pushes at the outer bounds of America's constitutionally tolerant fascination with vehicular absurdity.

The photos below depict the Lobo minutes before his departure for the great green north. It is obvious that even in exiting the field of battle he conducts himself with an eye towards cultivating a sense of intimidating vulgarity. For who could have thought a modified 4x4 Ford F-350 Crew Cab Dually could be dwarfed by anything short of a 747? Who could have thought it necessary on top of all that truck and camper, to attach a steel rack and motorcycle? Who could have thought it prudent to meticulously dye each gray hair in his beard before posing in front of his own automotive Frankenstein with an animal that clearly does not wish to be there. The answer is one man. That man's name is the Lobo.

A Seamless Transition from Marble Mausoleum to Alpha Dog of the Asphalt

The Wolf Den Goes Mobile

A Road Warrior's Ode to Youth in a Bottle
(of Just For Men)

Wolf Battles Pejorative Nicknames

By now, it should be perfectly clear that the Wolf is a man who pictures himself striding through life with a brio and panache much larger than his slight frame might suggest. He knows in his soul that he is a big person stuffed into a little package and he demands that the world view him that way as well. For, if there is one thing that should be most apparent to readers, it is that the Lobo is not someone to quietly suffer the slings and arrows of attacks upon his person or surroundings.

When Dead Burt mistook him for a bowlegged yokel from Idaho, he educated the German with a formidable torrent of hate and malignancy. When Dead Burt's daughter made the same mistake, he responded with a herbicidal display of carnage and destruction. And finally, when a band of vacationing Mexicans refused to stop defecating in front of his gate, he devised a wily and effective method for dissuading them. By all accounts the Lobo is a man who, though slight in stature, projects a force of power and resonation. He engages all three dimensions in real time and does it with style.

That is why he becomes so infuriated when the few elderly Mexican women he associates with insist on addressing him as "Lobito."

For the Wolf, it is a cut that borders on the unfathomable. For really, who are these little old ladies to suggest that the Lobo is a "little" wolf? Who are they to suggest that he is little in any capacity? Don't they know that he has carved into the unyielding jungle a monument to all that is excessive and depraved and eternally unnecessary? Do they think that someone named "Lobito" would be capable of spearheading the feats of design and engineering involved in ensuring that his cranberry juice remains at a fixed temperature?

In the reality that exists outside of the Lobo's vision of himself, these women have never considered these questions. For when the nice innkeeper or friendly seamstress that sews his torn pillowcases encounter the Wolf, they see a silly little man stumbling through an ill-conceived and horribly pronounced sentence in broken Spanish. They smile, maybe say, "Si Lobito" as a kind term of endearment, and go about their business without a thought. The Lobo also smiles, turns away, and is instantly crushed by the existential implications that he is widely considered to be "little."

On more than one occasion the Wolf has expressed his dissatisfaction with the nickname to the Badger. He has never overtly betrayed the extent of the psychological turmoil he experiences upon hearing it, but the Tejon can sense the doubt and despair.

Now make no mistake, the Badger is not foolish enough to think that this uncertainty in any way diminishes the danger of the Lobo as an enemy. The events surrounding Dead Burt are still excruciatingly present in his consciousness. If anything the Lobo's existential dread could push him into rash and even more dangerous action.

But at the same the Tejon recognizes the potency of this knowledge as a psychological weapon against the Wolf. Drawing on his knowledge of propaganda, the Badger has begun an innocuous grass roots campaign to draw community awareness to the viability of incorporating the nickname "Lobito" into everyday conversation with the Lobo.

Recognizing the power of the mural in the rich history of Mexican art, the Tejon commissioned a piece by a local artist. While the finished product is simple and understated in its aesthetic, the Badger has great faith in the influence of the medium. Below lie photos of this piece of urban art. Only time will speak to its effectiveness.

A Breakthrough in the Art of Psychological Warfare?

The Badger Votes With his Thumb

Wolf Battles Common Sense: The Carnage Continues

It finally happened. The Wolf's drive to secure power for his home via high-voltage cable has crossed that obscure yet indelible line that separates foolhardy obsession from lunatic bloodlust. Yes, the Lobo has decided that someone must pay for the fact that boundless electricity continues to elude him. Sadly it is the fertile Mexican jungle that has been forced to offer up the proverbial pound of flesh.

Just as it seemed Angela the camera wielding kraut had permanently mothballed the Wolf's plans to connect to Dead Burt's existing power line, the jungle roared with news of renewed electrical progress. The Lobo decided to take matters into his own hands and he began by enlisting a crew to assist him in his assault on the surrounding trees, vines, bushes, and shrubs.

As the dust and chainsaw exhaust settled a scene of bitter brutality and destruction revealed itself. A road once surrounded on all sides by lush jungle had been transformed into a twisting thoroughfare of pastoral scar tissue. It had become, for all intents and purposes, the ideal conduit for ferrying electricity from one point to another.

The Wolf struggled to affect a posture of remorse in the aftermath of this display of unchecked aggression. He lamented the need to mar the beauty of his surroundings. He assured anyone who would listen that "it really kills [him] to cut down trees but [he] doesn't have a choice."

Many would believe him. And in light of the Lobo's repeated mantra "I want what I want," it can all come to sound entirely reasonable. The man wants a flat screen plasma television and ice cold cranberry juice. That he wants these things in a place and manner staggeringly ill-suited for them is secondary. Nature dictates that the jungle will grow back. It doesn't, however, offer any guarantees that his cranberry juice will chill itself.

Yet the Badger knows that there is more to this story than a man with limited yet specific demands cutting down a few trees in order to make his life more comfortable. For he happened to stumble across the Wolf and his legion of goons in the midst of their herbicidal orgy of destruction. And what he saw left an indelible impression of horror upon his otherwise battle hardened psyche.

To depict the scene in detail would undoubtedly scandalize even the most depraved souls. Suffice it to say, the Lobo and his minions appeared to be garnering more "satisfaction" from their work than seemed reasonable or decent. Before he could fully compose himself he even let slip that he had simply been "raping nature like I've done all my professional life." This certainly wasn't a man merely doing what had to be done for the sake of a high voltage power line.

Now what caused the Wolf to finally cross the threshold from an already profound insanity into the maniacal depths he now inhabits remains unknown. Perhaps he could no longer muster the strength to confine the Caligulan gaiety he enjoys within the marble clad privacy of his home. Maybe the voodoo faucet he opened in his battle with Dead Burt finally consumed him. Whatever the reason, his latest outburst of madness has had the (unintended?) effect of dissuading Angela from any further efforts to keep him from securing a steady supply of electricity.

The comforts of home seem to finally be within the Lobo's grasp. For the sake of humanity in general, let us hope that by the time the project is complete the Wolf hasn't developed a taste for something more exotic than cranberry juice (blood of virgins?).

Markings of a Madman

Victims of Depraved Pagan Bloodlust

At This Point the Badger Decides to Remain in the Car

Wolf Battles Mildew and Mold With Marble

Maintaining a house in a tropic environ is not an easy task. Various forces of nature seek to destroy anything foreign. Termites devour cupboards, cabinets, and doors. The heavy saline air coats surfaces with a salt grime that also attacks the innards of household appliances. And perhaps most pervasive is the tendency for mildew and mold to thrive in the hot and humid fecundity of the surrounding jungle.

Battling these insidious fungal usurpers is best conducted with ironclad vigilance and liberal dispersals of chlorine bleach. Hot spots need to be identified quickly and removed immediately. There is also something to be said for incorporating within the design of the home certain elements that impede the proliferation of mold and mildew. Sufficient ventilation and building supplies that resist moisture are the most common examples of this practice.

In the construction of his home, however, the Wolf decided to create a new paradigm. Yes, he would erect a structure impervious to the threat of fungal invasion using materials most would deem to be counterintuitive to his goals. The result was a striking marble edifice with very little cross ventilation and interior walls covered in a cloth reminiscent of burlap.

But alas, the jungle once again failed to bend to the Lobo's will and mildew rapidly spread over much of the brown fabric adorning the living spaces. As usual the Wolf's response was quick and decisive. The burlap had to go. But what to use in its place? A lesser man would have settled for walls of painted plaster. Yet the Lobo doesn't believe himself to be a lesser man (the Badger does). He is a man that rules over his domain. And so he turned to the past and sought architectural inspiration from those who governed with the moxie and panache that he brings to every day life.

It was only natural that he would settle upon the Roman Emperor Caligula. For whose legacy is more closely linked to both the austere nobility of marble clad structures and the frivolous gaiety that takes place within them? It is hard to imagine a historical figure that more completely envelopes the Wolf's worldview.

And thus the Lobo set about transforming his moldy jungle abode into a stunning architectural tribute to his lifestyle guru. The Badger was there to document the undertaking as it unfolded. As a result of the project he has become convinced that just as Rome teetered on the edge of collapse under Caligula's rule, the jungle reign of the Lobo is precipitously close to implosion. And when the marble dust of depraved insanity settles the Tejon will be poised to grasp the scepter of victory.

The Lobo's Minions Undertake Their Master's Bidding

Roman Bath From Floor to Ceiling

Attention to Detail Even Caligula Would Approve Of

Don Quixote Wishing the Wolf Were a Windmill

Badger Battles Unlawful Incarceration

For the Badger, the bonds of brotherhood run deep. Even in those moments when the fury of battle might threaten to consume all avenues of his consciousness, he retains a constant filial connection with those similarly struggling against tyranny and injustice. That the situations of his oppressed brethren have no bearing on his own conflict with the Wolf is not enough to divorce the Tejon from their struggles. No, the Badger rallies to the needs of his comrades. And today we find him valiantly rushing to the aid of a group of imprisoned tejones.

Brothers in Arms, Held Against Their Will

The details behind their confinement are largely unimportant (they have been locked up to attract the almighty tourist peso). What rankles the Tejon is that they have been placed behind bars at all. For he feels a deep spiritual connection with badgers of all shapes and sizes and to discover that even a small fragment of his brood has been incarcerated for the viewing enjoyment of Mexican toddlers is emotionally crushing.

Badger and Badgers

To ease their suffering and perhaps offer even the faintest glimpse of hope the Tejon poses as a common tourist and slips behind the prison walls. Once there he sets about comforting his long-tailed comrades. The effect of his presence is instantly visible. Watch below as the Badger's gentle words of encouragement transform a despondent tejon into a plucky ball of raccoon annoyance.

In the Face of Great Adversity, A Badger Defies the Forces of Oppression

Having Drunk From the Eternal Spring of Tejon Optomism

Badger Eats Crow: The Wolf Scores a Victory

To begin, I have to confess a certain bias towards the Badger. Though I like to think of myself as impartial, the ongoing saga that comprises this battle has skewed my normally neutral disposition against the Wolf. For this I can hardly be blamed.

There is no doubt that neither party is immune from criticism. And yet, it is difficult to avoid a certain bonhomie with the otherwise congenial character of the Tejon. After all, he didn't ask to take on the Lobo. He didn't set out to stumble across an enemy capable of drawing his deepest ire. No, he simply found himself in a situation where to refuse to take up arms would spell eventual insanity.

So he fought back. And I have been in the position to document the overwhelming success of his campaign. But today I must report a staggering setback. The string of battlefield successes that has typified the Tejon's conflict with the Wolf has been interrupted by a tidal wave of urine and feces.

That's right, the Lobo's plan to sprinkle chalk at the foot of his gate in the hopes that those who might seek to use his property as a toilet would be dissuaded by the belief that it was poison proved successful. The Badger's skepticism of such a tactic has left him with the daunting task of removing the bodily emissions of a week's worth of Semana Santa revelry from his only path to the beach.

The olfactory repercussions of this defeat are one thing. But perhaps more stinging is the Wolf's regular gloating over the success of his idea. It remains to be seen how the Badger will respond to the bitter taste this turn of events has left in his mouth. For the sake of his sanity and perhaps humanity in general we can only hope that he will respond quickly and decisively. The possibility that the Lobo might use this shift in momentum to further his interests is something no one on this planet should be subjected to.

The Badger Faces a Mine Laden Walk Home

Empty Toilet Paper Roll or Semana Santa Party Favor?

A Proud Warrior, Humbled by Latrine Detail

Now This is Just Too Much

Badger Battles Abject Dejection

Badger Battles.....Coconuts

The image of coconut palms bent against a sparkling ocean backdrop has largely become synonymous with a carefree coastal existence. To the uninitiated, few things more readily conjure dreams of isolated tropical bliss. And for this reason the iconography of the palm has been used to great effect by advertising and marketing agencies pushing illusions of leisure and escape.

To be certain, the roots of this connection make sense. Palms (though usually not the coconut variety) are often ubiquitous fixtures in resorts and other recreational destinations. And the tree itself is aesthetically pleasing, while also bearing fruit of flesh and milk. In Mexico the coconut is so closely related to a day at the beach that no one would even entertain the idea of heading home without having consumed at least one.

And yet for the Badger, the coconut serves as little more than a reminder of the fragility of his own existence. To many this association may seem odd. For how could a pensioner who gazes upon the prominently placed coconut palm in a beer advert and immediately calls to mind leisure understand the destructive potential hanging precariously beneath those outstretched fronds?

Unlike the Tejon, those who primarily engage coconut palms through marketing campaigns or at extensively manicured vacation destinations have never experienced the dread that accompanies the sudden thump of the fruit unexpectedly hitting the ground next to them. They have never been forced to lie in bed listening to the sporadic sounds of coconuts falling from trees and wonder which will be the one that eventually catches them on the head.

Now make no mistake, the Badger is not afraid of the coconut itself. He is a warrior. Not only does he maintain a constant campaign against the Wolf, but he has also engaged all manners of snakes and horses and scorpions. No, he is concerned about his legacy. For what would the history books say about a man who fought so bravely against such a brutal host of enemies, only to be felled by an errant piece of falling fruit? Would he be remembered for his valor or simply as one the hundreds each year who meet their ends at the locus of head and coconut?

These are the concerns that keep the Tejon up at night.

To minimize the likelihood of such a demise, the Badger has enlisted the Wolf's manservant to periodically arrange for the coconuts to be harvested. In this they have struck upon a mutually beneficial relationship. Dario is able to sell the harvested fruit and the Tejon is able to sleep that much more peaceably. The photographs below depict this process.

Boldly Going Where the Badger Won't

Perfect Pods of Death and Dismemberment

Get Those Things Out of Here

The Badger Cements His Legacy

Wolf Battles Common Sense Revisited: A Visit From Dead Burt's Daughter

When we last checked in on the Wolf's senseless drive to extend a high voltage power line to his home, he had just danced a quick jig on Dead Burt's grave and was proceeding unabated with his plan. Things were going swimmingly and by his own estimates he was a mere days from consuming electricity with reckless abandon.

Well it shouldn't come as a shock to most that extenuating circumstances have once again impeded the Lobo's forward progress. This time he has been thwarted by the intervention of Dead Burt's daughter.

It seems that Dead Burt's daughter, known locally as Angela, inherited much of her father's teutonic disposition. For she has assumed the mantle forfeited by Dead Burt's death and resumed the bitter battle her father waged against the Wolf with a terrifying vengeance.

Her first order of business has been to halt any further action regarding the Lobo's desire to acquire electricity. In this endeavor she has shown remarkable tenacity. For in one fell swoop she has succeeded in striking a deep fear into the hearts of the contractors charged with completing the project.

Armed with only a camera she descended upon the worksite and threatened to take photographs of what she claimed was illegal construction. Fearing the implications of having their images set to film, the workmen fled. When the Lobo inquired about what had transpired he was told that the contractors sensed "aggression and anger," and that they were made to experience "feelings of intimidation." They have subsequently refused to proceed.

Shortly Before They Were Set Upon by a Camera Wielding Kraut

A Lone Man Quivers High Above the Jungle Floor

And thus the Wolf once again finds himself at an electrical impasse. Perhaps worse, his enemy is uncomfortably familiar. The effects of this latest setback have worn heavily on his psyche. He isn't sure that he still posses the fortitude to repeat the voodoo onslaught that defeated Albert, and yet he is absolutely certain that his life cannot continue without electricity. It is an existential crisis of staggering proportions.

For his part the Badger has remained on the periphery. He knows that fighting a two front war will likely overwhelm the Lobo. And thus he waits patiently for the moment when the Wolf is at his most vulnerable. Perhaps a moment in which his cranberry juice is too warm for the delicate nature of his palate, or maybe on an evening in which he is forced to forgo the History Channel. Rest assured that at that moment, the Badger will be there.

Wolf Battles Errant Defecation

The week preceding Easter heralds a unique phenomenon in the Wolf's little corner of the world. Known as Semana Santa, it functions as a universal imperative that every person in Mexico drop what they are doing and rush blindly to the nearest beach for a week of fun in the sun.

In most coastal areas the influx of revelry is staggering. Usually depressed local economies are suddenly awash in tourism. Hotels and restaurants that remain empty all year spring to life. The shelves of local markets become empty. Shrimp and fish and oysters and beer are consumed voraciously. And then after a week it is over. The visitors stumble in the direction of home and Semana Pascua begins (a week long national hangover).

The isolated beach that houses both the Badger and the Wolf is not immune to this pandemonium. Hundreds of campers from local villages and far flung cities alike descend upon this normally tranquil environ. They eat and drink and frolic in the surf. Families play soccer and volleyball. For the most part it is a festive and congenial affair.

There is, however, the problem of infrastructure. There are no permanent services in place to accommodate campers. There is no water or electricity. To address this issue, a few villagers annually erect a tent store that offers rudimentary groceries. Ice cream, fruit, and snack vendors trek out each day to hock their wares. And a beer kiosk is established to ensure that no one goes thirsty.

But there is an issue that each year goes unresolved. What to do with the excrement of 800 men, women, and children gorging themselves on ceviche and coconuts. The possible solutions are myriad. The ocean seems like a natural receptacle, but there is the issue of privacy. The jungle makes sense, but it is filled with all manners of things that sting and bite. Instead a seemingly universal yet largely unspoken accord is inevitably reached. The natural agreement is to defecate in front of the Lobo's gate.

Now this causes the Wolf all kinds of anger and consternation. He understands each act of defecation to be a personal affront. An unsanitary and disgusting attack on his character. Over the years he has struggled to prevent the proliferation of this activity. He has pleaded with the local village council to establish some kind sanitation plan. Of his own volition, he has dug conveniently placed latrines. These actions rarely elicit an effect. One year he even placed politely worded signs around his property asking that would-be poopers find another location. This plan was foiled by a plucky jokester who showed his disapproval by defecating on the Lobo's gate lock before using one of the signs as toilet paper.

This year, however, with Semana Santa at our doorstep the Wolf has struck upon an ingenious plan. In another moment of otherworldly inspiration, he has decided to sprinkle a mixture of white, blue, and red chalk in front of his gate. His hope is that anyone who might entertain the thought of using his property as a toilet will see the powder and assume it is poison. The mind boggles at the depths of such profundity.

The Badger is dubious that such a plan holds any promise. But if the Wolf is anything, he is eternally hopeful. The Tejon remains poised to shatter that hope.

Sanitation Through Crafty Deception

A Toilet No More?

A Brutal Act of Psychological Warfare

Badger Goes to Bootcamp

The tapestry of peace is a collection of the most delicate threads. Though elaborate and ornate, its fabric is woven from the ephemeral and fleeting nature of patience and understanding. In the presence of a few gifted diplomats, the strength of peace can seem natural and enduring. But the strains on such a fragile construct are immense. And without constant attention on the part of the peacemaker, the roots of conflict inevitably find their way to the surface. If unchecked, these seedlings can tear asunder the tranquil fabric of disarmament.

The tapestry that held together the month long detente in the Badger's ongoing battle with the Wolf has finally lost its most important weavers. The Lobo's parents are departing the field of battle and returning to their home in the Great White North. In their wake they leave a tenuous peace. A peace nurtured by the goodwill of shared briskets and sausage casseroles.

Peace Weavers

The Tejon knew that this day would inevitably arrive. Though content with the brief respite from battle, he long understood that the nights filled with laughter and slow cooked kosher meats were temporary. An uncertain future awaits. And the Badger reasons that if he is that much better prepared for the looming resumption of aggression, he might once and for all take the upper hand in this conflict.

With this in mind he has thrown himself into a rigorous training regimen. His goal is to return his mental and physical faculties to the steely tenacity they enjoyed before the arrival of the Lobo's parents.

First was the ceremonial shedding of the locks. Just as a recent recruit into the armed services is forced to undergo a hasty and humiliating shaving of the head, the Tejon directed his most trusted ally to spare no abuse in quickly disposing of his long hair. Though this element of bootcamp can be unpleasant, it instills within the initiate a sense possibility and rebirth. This was certainly true in the case of the Badger.

Stung by the Abuse of an Ally

The Point of No Return (Unless You're Canadian)

Having Realized He'll Need to Apply Sunblock to His Ears

Next he began the physical half of his training. The photos below depict the Tejon engaging in the battle tested practices of one-armed push ups and abdominal crunches. Though his smile may make them look easy, rest assured they most certainly are anything but.

Badger Battles Gravity

Putting Jean-Claude Van Damme to Shame

What the future may hold for the Badger and the Wolf remains a mystery. There is no doubt, however, that while the Lobo wiles away his days thinking fondly of his last brisket, the Tejon has accepted the mantle of battle. The next move belongs to the Wolf.

Wolf Battles Common Sense: The Quest for Electricity

Most are probably aware of the debate over the specific qualities that transform a house into a home. Though banal in nature it is nearly universal in remedial academic experience. Often formulated as a freshman English essay prompt or a conversation starter in foreign language courses, this topic is designed to get people thinking in a way that is neither especially provocative or insightful. Like the age old dilemmas of dogs vs. cats or brothers vs. sisters, it is a simply a pedagogical device that most people quickly forget.

For whatever reason, however, it is a topic the Wolf has taken much interest in. Maybe it's because he just happened to be paying attention in English class on the day it came up. Maybe it was one of the few assignments that afforded him a passing grade. The root of his interest is unknown. But what is known is that the Lobo has devoted much of his adult life to divining some sort of universal truth from the heart of this quandary.

And to be certain, after a lifetime of meditation his views on the subject are better developed than even the brightest pubescent or most clever linguist might imagine. For the Wolf has transcended the typically inane conclusions that homes be filled with things like family or love. He scoffs at the idea that a house can be transformed into a home simply by the presence of a few intangibles. That is sophist mumbo jumbo. What the Lobo has discovered is that a home requires four very tangible things: an abundance of marble tiling, a conspicuously large flat screen television, industrial stainless steel kitchen appliances, and extremely dim lighting.

All the Trappings of a Happy Home

Now traditionalists may hesitate at this conclusion. They might see little value in a house filled with nothing but inanimate objects. For his part the Wolf would mock them as bourgeois sentimentalists. What do they know about modern life? Do they expect familial love to stylishly cool his cranberry juice? Do they think a sense of place can entertain him more efficiently than the History Channel?

Where individual readers might fall in this debate varies widely. It is probably safe to assume though that most don't give it a whole lot of thought. This is natural. They probably see these types of questions for what they are. Nothing more than educational tools to develop faculties for cogent thought and logical thinking.

Unfortunately for the Lobo, this connection has eluded him. Instead silly questions take precedent over cogent thought. The ability to approach situations logically has been replaced by a deep preoccupation with irrelevant details.

And thus we find a man in the jungles of Mexico profoundly certain that his home must contain a very specific set of modern comforts, yet without the electricity to power them.

Make no mistake, the electrical draw of the marble tiling and dim lighting is negligible. Here he was quite reasonable in his calculations. It's the television and host of stainless steel appliances that really consume more electricity than he can provide with his solar system.

Now it would be a mistake to believe that the Wolf was ignorant of the challenges inherent in his plan before he built the house. Every qualified solar technician in the United States warned him that it was absolute folly to plug a flat screen television and electric refrigerator into a solar system. The Lobo listened to this advice judiciously, yet ever confident in his own abilities proceeded undeterred.

Even With all This, Microwave Popcorn is out of the Question

The failure of numerous battery banks, a refrigerator, a microwave, two televisions, and countless satellite boxes has finally caused him to rethink his plan. Though he is certain that none of these malfunctions have anything to do with a miscalculation on his part (God is responsible for those), it is also clear that without these appliances his house would cease to be a home. The thought of living without them is not a viable option.

The only solution then is to bring electricity to his property by way of high voltage power lines. Regular readers certainly remember that Dead Burt put an end to this plan years ago. But Dead Burt is dead. The Wolf has danced a jig on his grave and is now ready to proceed. The series of photos below depicts the latest incarnation of the Lobo's nonsensical drive for boundless electricity. Behold the lengths to which a man will push himself for icy salads and Chuck Norris westerns.

The Jungle Bends to Lobo's Will

An Argument Against Freshman English

From House to Home

A Final Pole Erected

Let The Dim Lighting Pour Forth