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.