Congratulations on Contracting Lycanthropy!

You live like any other twenty-something in Brooklyn. You work a shit job most of the week and then you party your brains out over the weekend. Since you’re in Brooklyn, surrounded by other twenty-somethings, and since you wear giant “ironic” sunglasses some of them think you’re witty and end up coming home with you more often than not for a night of unsatisfactory sex.

Normally it works out okay. The two of you sometimes have to exchange pleasantries the next day, but you avoid that for the most part when they slink out while you pretend to sleep. Because most of these women are young college educated professionals who insist you use a condom there haven’t been too many STDs coming your way either, except for a brief bout with chlamydia which taught you a very important lesson about safe sex.

A lesson you forgot last night with Allison.

Alison seemed so different from all the other women you’d met. She was spontaneous, funny, intelligent, independent, and thought you were full of shit. She regarded you coldly as a “what the fuck fuck” like, “Here’s a guy I’m going to mention sleeping with in an offhand fashion as a cautionary tale. Worst case scenario I’ll enjoy it a little.” She was totally in control, which totally made you want her.

When she vanishes the next morning you'll feel stripped and powerless, even though her hastily scribbled note, saying only “Sorry,” will make you feel a little better. Devastated, you'll head to the bathroom for a quick shave to see if you can get some rebound poon that night to make yourself feel a little better.

You’ll be shocked when you gaze into the mirror and discover that you’ve grown a full beard in the last eight hours. It’ll seem impossible, but it’ll be there, pouring out of your face, ruining your indie cred.

You won’t even try to hack at it. You’ll just stare at it, puzzled, wondering how your electric razor could possible get through THAT, when the first wave of nausea will hit. It’ll throw you right over to the toilet and you’ll vomit up a combination of what appears to be mice and raw beef.

You’ll struggle to remember what happened between your fucking a laconic Allison in the bathroom of a Greenpoint bar last night and the two of you coming back to your apartment, but the whole thing will be a huge blur. While you try to rack your brain for the information you’ll have trouble thinking about anything other than how much you want raw beef. You’ll drool a little and growl while you think about it.

That’s when you’ll remember that you didn’t use a rubber last night, perched above the toilet, thrusting awkwardly into Allison while she laughed coldly. You didn’t even wash properly afterwards.

You’ll grab your most ironic hat, rush out the door and book it down the block too the nearest clinic, running freakishly fast with your newfound werewolf strength. Once there you’ll get the results in a matter of minutes and begin coming to terms with your new lifestyle and the new impossibility of a vegetarian diet.

Congratulations on Contracting Lycanthropy!