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Rated: 18+ · Fiction · Adult · #2170277
The Big Bad Wolf speaks on what makes a hero, drug addiction and therapy.
The following is a bootlegged transcript from the Therapy Animal Connection, an organization that matches animals to humans transitioning through a crisis in their lives. The meeting took place in 13 July 2016 near the Kinzua Dam Reservoir, under a pine tree. It was recorded by two red squirrels and is attested to by three white tail deer and a carp named Fred.

The National Forest Service publicly denies any knowledge of such an event.

Hello, I'm the Big Bad Wolf and tonight I'll be addressing drug addiction, therapy and host of related topics from a relationship perspective. What motived me is the fact I came from a large pack of wolves and despite the fact I think I'm all that and a bag of potato chips, well I like people to think I'm all that and a bag of potato chips but, in reality, I'm just an everyday wolf that does wolf things. One of those things happens to be allowing you humans think I'm big and bad in a not so good way. Nonetheless my pack has similar problems to human packs.

My sister, Big Barker, her second whelp, my nephew is a drug addict. Now my sister has her issues I'll address those later. See, what kind of an uncle would I be if I pawed around and didn't do anything? Well you know what? There's little I can do against a pathology...Especially a pathology that's a co-morbid condition. What can I do when that primary pathology is a mental one I can't see and comes from poor breeding?

Well to begin with I can tell the truth. I can be responsible for not making it any worse. I can be responsible for doing the next right thing. See, the last time he nearly over dosed the wrong thing was done. I heard about from Big Barker's house cat a week later. They took him to the hospital, lied, fudged and buffaloed their way out of doing the right thing. They should've involuntarily committed him to the asylum and allowed his probation officer to sort him out.

That was the right answer.

That would've been my answer if I had something to say about it...Which is probably why her house cat told me. Instead they worried about their property, which there is none, their money, which they have none due to their spendthrift ways and their prestige which is existent only in their imagination.

The excuse is they didn't want him to go to jail and I'm a heartless son of a bitch...

No, I'm not a heartless son of a bitch, my mother inadvertently raised me better. I want my nephew to be held accountable for his actions or inactions that cause harm to himself or others.

I call it personal responsibility.

Learn it by following the example of other wolves or learn it the hard way. My nephew needs to learn it the hard way because of bad breeding.

Now for clarity I'm talking to you wolf to man. Understanding that humans are a confused anxiety prone variety that us wolves understand better than you do yourself so to avoid the leg-traps of politically correct thought, which some of you have, I'm speaking from the dog's perspective though it applies to bitches...Oh I mean the man's perspective and it applies to women too.

Now I know more than a few things about women. I have three sisters, two still alive, and three cousins who are like my sisters and they're all real bitches.

I'm not a sexist or a misogynist, I'm a wolf. I'm the Big Bad Wolf that calls it like I see it. That's how I got this bright idea.

You know what really causes humans to become drug addicts?

They want to be heroes and don't know how or can't.

That's the big problem with being a human male...Everyone tells you what to do. Man up! But nobody tells you how. When somebody tells you to man up, more often then not you are being played for a sucker.

I know all about playing people and confused geese, for suckers...I'm the Big Bad Wolf

What do I want as the Big, the Bad, the Wolf? I want to be a hero to my Alpha Bitch by killing an elk to impress her so I can whelp a litter of puppies. Analogous to humans is this colorful turn of phrases; His name, Sir Lancelot, he just wants to slay this fire breathing dragon with a hugeous pointy stick steal ill-gotten gains from a tax collector, buy a castle with a cesspool around it all to impress a Princess. Naturally, unlike wolf bitches, she'll grow her hair long use it as a rope to scurry down the castle wall, jump the cesspool and run off with a homosexualized musician named Lute leaving Sir Lancelot with a bad reputation.

I'm glad I'm a wolf...We mate for life.

So, this is what happens to my nephew. He wants to be a hero but nobody tells him how. In human terms he's told to be a man, but not how. This is intentional. It makes him a sucker. When he comes up short, as in get a good job, get a formal education so on and so forth...and there aren't any or more to the point, none that meet his preconceived notions of a good job he compensates. Nobody every told him that a university education is for a very few select men because very few can master their minds. Nobody ever told him that most people can learn a trade and anyone can pick up a shovel and dig a ditch. And mot saliently, nobody ever told him there is nothing wrong with being a ditch digger. He was always told to be something he wasn't, suckered with the phrase 'Be a man and take responsibility...'

That phrase there, is most often muttered by people who can't or will not do it.

Can't get the girl...buy masculinity with a big motorcycle. And when a human girl sees that...You're in like a greased pig. You're not a real man unless you smoke these cigarettes, you drink this whiskey to excess and get thrown in jail. Just like you were sort of told not to be. That gets the girl.

You know what the girl thinks when she see's a man buying confidence in a motorcycle?

Lust by the way is to surrender your higher self to your base passions in a degrading fashion, often sexually or sometimes for blood.

In this case, sucker works better.

As an anecdotal side note I was once picked up on by a bitch doing the same thing. Great tail, nice pointy ears and a kink artfully placed in her snout, her name was Erica and all that wouldn't quit I assure you. Beautiful late model as in last year's Harley Davidson. We chatted and I learned a few things about why most bitches don't buy their own motorcycles. Most of them are scared to drive it, some are too lazy to buy it and none of them want to look like a dyke on a bike.

Me? I don't care how finely groomed her paws are or how aquiline her beak is...I don't ride bitch seat for anyone. Unless my arm is broken and there's a bullet in my chest so she must drive me to the hospital...That be a different story.

Now, why would anyone accept a reject from a school for pole dancers? Well, if your single, people assume you're a musician named Lute. Worse, you're accused of avoiding responsibility something a 'man' doesn't do. Or even worse, you're a misogynist.

As an acerbically comical point of view to juxtapose the sheer absurdity of it all two words.

Divorce Court.

How many responsible socially acceptable 'men' have stood there and gotten what they deserved for being suckers wondering 'How did this happen to me? I did everything right?'


So back to my nephew. See, he's been sold a bill of lading that's totally bogus. He can't accept what a good job is, now because of laws he can't even have a shot at being a that kind of hero. In a misguided effort that relates to property, money and prestige when he falls somebody is there to make it all better. Even his assumed girlfriend...She's in on it.

Everything a druggie needs to die thinking he's a hero.

Take therapy for example. He ends up looking at a college educated pseudointellectual paper tiger who is just another drug dealer. Whose notions of this that and the other thing come from university funded research. Somebody who wasn't there, wouldn't be there and didn't do it anyway. Who often sees her client as a paycheck.

When most people realize that's therapy they lie their way out of it and go back to drugging or drinking. Because at least when you're high, you can pretend you're a hero. See, that's where he's at, he figures everyone's trying to sucker him and he's doing his way...He'll die feeling like he's a hero.
Okay humans? Boys and girls...What do you do to feel like a hero?

What is heroic?

Well, it must be something you can prepare for in general but the specifics hit you by surprise...Something uncommon. It must have seriously disastrous consequences...Like somebody gets killed or winds up in a wheelchair maybe end up doing twenty-five to life. Probably the most important, it finds you, you don't find it. Most of all you don't expect any pay for it, it's something you do because it's the right thing to do no matter what.

That's heroic. Its what volunteer fireman do when they run into a burning house and save the life of a total stranger they never met before...Just because.

Now how did I figure out all these pearls of wisdom? Let me tell you about me, the real and authentic Big Bad Wolf.

I'm a veteran, I had my brushes with the law, spent time in the Federal Stockade and the irony is the longest stretch I ever did was for something I didn't do...That came out in the wash. Let me tell you, when I worked for Uncle Sugar I wore a $1500 black suit and carried a gun with a matching suppressor and if you saw my face when I came for you it was the last face you'd see in this life. For the record I didn't volunteer for the position, I was ordered to. Disastrous consequences for telling Uncle Sugar 'No'. I didn't sign up for that kind of work...They made me.

I can really hate myself for that.

For decades I lived with my best friends Jack Daniel's No.7 Whiskey, and guilt.

I lost sight of what makes a hero. I got suckered myself.

When I was a young puppy about seven, my four-year-old sister took a nose dive into the Allegheny River due to parental neglect. Now I take to water the same way my buddy Kelly does and he's a trout. She's three feet tall and in four feet of water. I swam over there and got her. If I didn't she would've drowned. When it was over my Uncle Floyd smacked me on the back and said 'Good job!' and my dad Big Bad Sr. said that's what he expected me to do. Me? I felt alone in the world and helpless.

Fast forward thirteen years.

Now I'm a bigger Wolf in Poland, 1987. This was during the Cold War and Poland was enemy territory. I was there now with more sisters and a few cousins that were just like a sister. See, my cousin Big Baby doesn't have a brother but she had me. My sister Big Booty was in the rear...I never liked having all of us together in one spot. This way one round wouldn't kill the entire pack at once so she was in Wiesbaden. Well we had Russian Wolfhounds all over us like a bad smell.

Anyway, I'm walking through the woods after tossing my rifle for lack of ammunition. I had a custom-made weapon on me called generically a shank. A piece of square steel bar stock sharpened like a chisel on one end and a hand on the other about a foot long. It was a great counter to these new knives the wolfhounds carried, new alloy steel, holes drilled in this Gurkha blade with serrations on the bevel...I don't know if that's important or not...It was in my hand. Anyway, I come across this dead Wolfhound with a knife in his chest buried up to the hilt and on the ground about five yards/meters away are three bitches with their throats cut. Another dog is on the ground face up with his guts spilled out, he's dead, they're dead. Another dog is face down on the ground bleeding out, he barely has a pulse.

Now I find this bitch face down and I figured what a waste of a great tail and absently I go over grab her by the nape of her neck and look her in the face. She was beaten so bad I thought she was dead, she had a compound fracture of the left leg with her femur sticking out of it. As soon as I looked at her face I knew her.

She was and is my sister Bad Girl.

I based the next decision on what would let me sleep with myself. As I carried Bad Girl off she kept saying 'Take the other dog! Take the other dog! He's hurt worse that I am!' I carried her anyway four hundred yards/meters to a field hospital. A selfish decision and maybe a cowardly one. My sisters always comes first, period.

No matter what.
When I returned the other dog had bled out.

I don't know if that makes me a pussy or not. By rights I should've taken the dog first and returned for Bad Girl. I'm not that big a dog, like I'm letting my crippled sister lay there with wolfhounds running amok because of Army K-9 training? I don't know him from Adam's cat so too bad for him.

Death before dishonor.

I don't know if what I did was right or wrong but I did it.

But what I do know is what a hero looks like. She looks like my sister who despite having her face rebuilt went onto be a runway model and a legit dancer with a real Hollywood resume.

From these experiences and many more I know what drives men.

What have you done to be a hero lately? Chasing a feeling of being somebody? Snort a line and be somebody!

My nephew wants to be a hero too be somebody when you get past all the bullshit. He'll probably die thinking he's somebody he's not.

Today when I get in my gold plated straight-eight Duesenberg and blow the doors off a Ford while still in first gear, I do it because I want to. And furthermore, that thing about me eating a lost goose is a lie. She honked me off, of her own free will and yeah, I knew she was under age but so what. Yeah it gives me this reputation of being more than I am but whose responsible for that misconception?
That's what the Big Bad Wolf does, acts like a wolf.

My nephew thinks he's a wolf.

Point being human type of wolf, how do I as a Life Coach get past all that? How do I tell somebody most if all they've been taught is a straight out lie? That the rules of the road are an advertisement? For him it sounds more of the same.

I don't know. What I do know is how not to do it, and that is a talk for another day.

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