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

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

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

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

Badger and Wolf Battle Dolphin....Together?

There are occasions when even the most vicious of battles are halted in the name of dignity and understanding. Times when extenuating circumstances trump the brutality of warfare. Most readers are probably familiar with the tale of German and French soldiers laying down their arms on that fateful Christmas in 1914. They sang songs, played soccer, and shared in yuletide revelry for one day before returning to the trenches and resuming battle. Well Christmas came early in the ongoing conflict between the Badger and the Wolf. And as chance would have it, it took the form of a dead dolphin.

Few things smell worse than rotting flesh. Those who have experienced this olfactory nightmare know that even men and women with ironclad constitutions can be brought to their knees by this most putrid of stenches. It is thus that when the Wolf approached the Tejon and asked for assistance in removing a particularly malodorous dead dolphin from the beach in front of his house, the Badger had no choice but to help.

For the Tejon may be many things, but he is not heartless. He does not revel in the unnecessary suffering of others. His operations against the Lobo are not malicious in nature. They are merely a series of wartime calculations designed to bring a rapid end to an unpleasant conflict.

In addition, on this day the Wolf's parents happened to be visiting from Chicago. And the Badger, ever cognizant of the shifting complexities of battle, saw the potential to win some hearts and minds in Camp Lobo.

The series of photos and videos below depicts this brief détente. If there are those amongst you who think that perhaps the Tejon has lost some of his edge, fear not. For just as the French and German soldiers returned to combat after their brief respite, the Badger has already laid plans for a renewed offensive.

The Wolf Bearing Implements of Destruction

An Uneasy Alliance

Badger Intimidates with Display of Brute Strength

Wolf Offering Assistance

Wolf Thinking Better of It

Help From a Trusted Ally

The Wolf's Parents: A Potential Fifth Column?

One for the Ego

Crips and Bloods? No, Badger and Wolf

A Final Reflection on the Nature of Peace

Badger Battles.....A Mighty Thirst

The strains and pressures of battle are hard on every man. Covert conflicts are perhaps the most taxing because they require personal and close quartered contact with the enemy. Strict attention must be paid to each action undertaken and every word uttered. A single mistimed operation or misplaced sentence can jeopardize the entire campaign.

Such constant vigilance can tear at the very fabric of sanity. Without the occasional release that fabric can begin to fray. And if the stress upon it is ignored altogether it will inevitably be torn asunder by the sheer brutality of the forces acting upon it.

The Badger is well aware of these forces. And as has been documented in the past, he makes ample use of his hammock as a means of exorcising the lingering effects of sabotage and deception. There are instances, however, when the maniacal depths of the Lobo's insanity bear within the Tejon an agitation that cannot be wiped away by the gentle swaying of the hammock or the sweet release of malted barley and hops. There are times when the Badger seeks something stronger. Something capable of burning the Wolf's insidious dysfunction from the depths of his soul.

For these instances the Tejon turns to the languid fire of tequila. Not only is it the spirit most extensively available, but it also offers an intangible asset in the Badger's ongoing conflict with the Wolf. For if there is one thing the Lobo fears more than God's wrath, it is the incursion of anything Mexican into the vicinity of his Mexican compound.

With this knowledge fresh in his mind, the Tejon has developed a fiendishly inventive system for procuring his tequila. Sure, it is one thing to go to the local bottle shop and purchase a ration of the amber elixir. This might afford the Badger a vehicle for his release and perhaps at best disturb his enemy with the knowledge that someone close to him is under the influence of a foreign intoxicant.

It is quite another, however, to don the traditional garb of the jimador and distill the liquor yards from the Lobo's doorstep. In the photos below we see the Tejon engaged in the centuries old process of crafting tequila. We can only imagine the existential dread experienced by the Wolf as he watches the dexterity with which the Badger prepares the agave. We can only wonder at his distress as the acrid smell of the distillation process fills his house. And we can only marvel at the devastating potential of seeing the Tejon's most trusted ally (also donning tradtional garb) prepared for a wild and lavish fiesta.

Wielding the Tools of Cultural Contamination

Having Sampled the Fruit of his Labor...

Enemy at the Gates

Wolf Battles Internet

The internet has, for all intents and purposes, been thoroughly adopted by the global community. While Iranian protestors organize via Twitter and Chinese hackers attack servers in the United States, vast communities of American octogenarians share inane photos of kittens eating cheeseburgers. You may ask, whose left? The answer is one man.

At the same time that complete digital saturation stands at the threshold of massive cultural acceptance, there remains a lone voice of dissent. Most astute readers have probably already guessed that this voice belongs to the man who refers to himself as Lobo.

Yes, the Wolf hates using the internet. Make no mistake though, the Lobo is no luddite. This is a man who intimately understands the mechanical advantages of wedges, screws, pulleys, and levers. This is a man who excels at constructing marble clad edifices. This is a man who can, from two plastic folding tables, create a stunning kitchen countertop. And yet this is a man who dreads nothing more than operating a computer.

The Gmail and the Google give the Wolf the most problems.

Below is a video surreptitiously captured by a trusted ally of the Badger. It opens with the Lobo struggling to access his Gmail account. We see the Badger offering advice (misinformation no doubt) before he leaves the Lobo to his own devices. This is when the true technological frailty of the Wolf becomes completely apparent. Watch as the Lobo shifts from what is known as the "hunt and peck" method of typing to a confused and halting search for the proper key. Watch as his brow furrows in frustration. Watch as his smoke (probably illicit) bounces between his lips. And perhaps most importantly, watch as the mighty Wolf attempts and fails to conquer the internet (the Badger is snickering off-camera).

Jobo Battles God: Death of a Refrigerator

Though it may be hard to believe, the Wolf is a deeply spiritual man. Over the course of his life he has developed a unique and compelling collection of beliefs. At the heart of this theology lies the certainty that God is a bitter and spiteful deity singularly concerned with making his life more difficult than it should be.

Though he is uncertain about exactly what he did to incur God's wrath (the Badger isn't), he believes that this anger manifests itself in the seemingly endless string of electronic and mechanical failures that afflict his household appliances. The Lobo's propensity to bemoan these trials and tribulations has prompted some of his associates (once again, the Badger) to refer to him as Jobo, a reference to the suffering endured by the biblical character Job. It is thus to the Badger's great and profound satisfaction that I introduce the beginning of a series that will document the Wolf's daily struggles with God's will.

The first post of this series will address Lobo's refrigerator. Understand though, that this is no ordinary refrigerator. No, he brought this refrigerator to Mexico from the United States. Not only does it accommodate all of his cooling and freezing needs, but it also smartly compliments the icy sterility of his kitchen's aesthetic. There is not another refrigerator in the whole country that could possibly replace it. And then God decided to punish the Lobo by breaking it.

An Ode to Culinary Magnificence, Rendered Useless

That in itself is not such a pressing matter. The Wolf has long grown accustomed to dealing with God's vengeful hand reaching down and smiting his appliances. He faces these scenarios with a sort of fatalistic acceptance. In the event of a failing object he will simply call his most trusted Mexican mechanic and arrange for a spare to be delivered while the primary unit is being repaired. In especially trying situations he might even smile and shake his fist in the direction of the heavens.

But today there is no smiling. For in this specific instance God seems determined to repeatedly break the refrigerator just when the mechanic believes it is fixed. Three times the Badger has watched smugly as the repaired refrigerator is delivered to Lobo's home. Three times he has seen them return it to its spot in the kitchen and take the spare unit away. And three times he has laughed as the mechanic arrived the next day to pick up the already malfunctioning machine.

Hardly a Worthy Substitute

On this, the refrigerator's fourth trip back to the house, the Lobo has had enough. For it is one thing to rankle the Wolf with petty inconveniences, but it is another to deprive him completely of the ability to cool food in a setting unmarred by the aesthetic incongruence of a spare refrigerator. Remember, this is a man who likes his salads cold and his chocolate milk colder. And perhaps most importantly this is a man sick and tired of swapping an immaculate stainless steel refrigerator for a rusty white one.

God Wants This Bounty to Spoil

Yet Lobo knows that all of this is well removed from his sphere of influence. His relationship with God is not a complicated one. What the Lobo fixeth, the Lord taketh away. Even if the refrigerator works today, there is no certainty that it will tomorrow. He thus can only prepare for the eventuality that it will once again fail him.

But in the meantime there is always hope. There exists the eternal dream that God might one day tire of raining malfunction and misfortune down upon the Lobo. That there will be a day in the future when the Wolf won't be forced to wonder if a crisp head of lettuce or a bowl of ice cream will be his last (Future posts will most likely dash this dream for all but the most optimistic readers). Until that day though, he'll keep the spare fridge running in his gym.

Wolf Battles Dead Burt: A Lesson in Revenge

It is understandable that many of you may be curious as to why the Badger goes to such great lengths to ensure that his feud with the Wolf remains undeclared. Why wouldn't he just come out and face his adversary in an open field of battle? The answers to this question are numerous and complex. For one, a cold conflict affords him unrestricted access to the Lobo's operational hub. Another is the tactical advantage he gains through his knowledge of Lobo's habits and routines. But there is also an additional, more mysterious reason. This tale from the Lobo's past may begin to at least explain some of those circumstances. A hint for the impatient reader: It involves Bad Mojo.

Long before the birth of the Tejon, before even the arrival of the man who begat him, there existed within this jungle paradise a conflict between two mighty forces. On one side was the Lobo, builder of mausoleum inspired dwellings. On the other was Dead Burt, known then simply as Albert the German.

The roots of this struggle can be traced to the day when Lobo, ever sensitive to the vast stores of electricity needed to run his home, attempted to surreptitiously extend Albert's high voltage power line another mile to his house. There was nothing overtly deceptive or criminal in this act. Lobo had no plans to siphon off or steal electricity from his German neighbor. No, he simply desired to join the line Albert had previously erected. He supplied the nineteen poles, cable, and labor. He made arrangements for the installation of another meter so that no mistake could be made as to who consumed what.

But this action roused within Albert a great anger. Certain Teutonic elements of his character that had laid dormant perhaps for generations poured forth. He decided at that moment that he would crush the Lobo with all the efficient brutality his German disposition could muster.

For we must understand that Albert had a vision. Already a minor celebrity in the world of resort development, he had descended upon the Mexican jungle from the mountains of Canada. He brought with him vast experience and formidable resources. Smartly clad in linen pants and flowing blouses, he set about transforming an empty tropical beach into a vast and sprawling resort complex. That Lobo already inhabited a small corner of this beach was of little concern to Albert. He had a vision.

Dead Burt's Canadian Vision

It turns out that nineteen extra power poles were not a part of Albert's vision. And when he saw them shooting jauntily from the ground he swore that not a single volt of electricity would ever pass through their outstretched arms. Using one of his liaisons in the Mexican power company, he put just enough money into just the right hands to ensure that Lobo would never see the completion of his project.

Dead Burt's Mexican Vision

When Lobo discovered what had happened he was also quite angry. Though it is true that he erected those nineteen posts without speaking to Albert, it is also true that he had really not done anything wrong. Seeking to pursue a diplomatic solution, Lobo approached Albert and offered his side of the story. For his part though, Albert was intractable. He informed Lobo that as long as he inhabited his earthily body and perhaps even after, no electricity would flow from his poles to Lobo's house.

The Sad Tale of a Pole Without Power

At this point relations between the two men eroded rapidly. What had once been a coexistence based upon reluctant respect and a mutual love of outlandish fashion became a communion of seething hatred. The man of the daisy dukes and hiking boots and the German dandy of a million blouses found themselves bitter enemies.

Each man brought a specific set of skills to the conflict. Albert had deep pockets and powerful connections. Lobo relied on vast reservoirs of insanity and determination. The confluence of these tactics created a crushing stalemate. Albert continued with his development and Lobo remained without power.

Lobo did have another tool, however. A tool that most would believe to be a function of his insanity, but a tool nonetheless. He began to hurl bad mojo in Albert's direction. He opened a voodoo faucet and for a year and a half, whether Albert was in Canada or Mexico, let flow a torrent of acid and malignancy. To be sure, it was a slow moving process. But just as we know the glacier will continue to inch unflaggingly forward, Lobo felt in his bones the sweet satisfaction of impending success.

In the end Albert died of a heart attack. That he was eighty-five could have been a contributing factor. It's hard to say. But it really makes no difference to the Lobo. It sealed within his consciousness a sense of true power. He had through sheer force of will vanquished a formidable adversary. The crafty German brutality of his enemy was no match for bad mojo. Albert the German came to be known simply as Dead Burt. The jungle slowly began to reclaim what would have been a sprawling development. And Lobo danced a quick jig on his grave.

Dead Burt's Mexican Vision Overrun by Jungle and Graffiti

Make no mistake, the gravity of this story weighs heavily on the Badger's psyche. Though he is a skeptic, he is also a relatively young man. The potential that bad mojo might bring about his early demise is a risk he is understandably not willing to chance. A secret feud, at least in his eyes, remains the best option. Besides, I think we can all agree that Voodoo is creepy.

P.S. Lobo still doesn't have power.