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