Weredog Tart (14)

   
   "Weredog Tart (14)"
   
Lance was full of hiraeth, wishing Mom were around,
Knowing his birth was a miracle by an Ivy League physician found;
Regardless, at home with an angry father,
The patriarch considering his son Lance Bantha fodder;
Thus, calling him a scrawny gimp with no brains or a Staubach arm--
He swung on his son, causing corporeal harm;
Specifically, a tooth knocked out and an eye black and blue--
It was ineffable, sticking on father and son like eternal glue;
As a result of this epoch not easily deleted,
Lance could do nothing save run; indeed, he retreated,
Sprinting the approximate ten miles to where Siria did reside,
In the suburbs next to Pittsburgh's illuminated side.
When he gave true testimony of what had happened,
Her fangs sprouted, and the depth of the truth she fathomed;
Hence, made him a seat on the sofa next to her drunken yet loving Dad;
Next, paid a visit to Lance's house, and his father, of her, was not glad,
Calling her an enabler of a soul destined for defeat;
Therefore, she sunk her incisors into his face, making him drop to his feet.
"Oh my Lord!  Oh my Lord!  Did I kill him?"
She cried and wailed, phobic concerning the wages of sin.

Weredog Tart (13)

   
   "Weredog Tart (13)"
   
   Siria and Lance were in the school's cafeteria, the obese yet friendly lunch lady scooping them a meatloaf gelled together by some type of possibly ectoplasmic mix, or so it seemed; plus, there were some greasy green beans and neon-lime jello to further fill the belly, all funded by the benevolent government, making sure the public school system had yummy stuff to further calcify the pineal glands of youth, shrinking the pea sized glands to a microscopic size--all so we don't know the rotten tomatoes of truth.   
   Lance played with his food, not eating save the mini carton of milk; however, Siria gobbled up her meatloaf, a supernatural digestive tract allowing for absorption of only the sublime ingredients, like the bread crumbs with a dash of herb for the service of man.
   After burping her consumption and a weird giggle of sorts, Lance looked at her oddly, until noticing those arctic-blue eyes that showcased the Otherworld, and she reached across the table and grasped his hand, feeling his suffering from a father putting too much pressure on his slow motion brain, due to incubation, and being fed by a tube through the brain, a mother to never hold him for over a month, and now lost, driven off by the same diabolical father that blamed him for it all.
   Out of nowhere she blurted:  "You should get a dog.  Golden Retrievers are great, sometimes exuberant, and if bred aggressively, they can show aggression, especially if they have brown noses."
   Lance, head down, said:  "My Dad wouldn't allow it."
   Siria offered:  "I'll be your dog; your best friend."
   Lance continued:  "You're no dog Siria.  You're freaking beautiful."
   Siria with:  "The world is bigger than most people know."  Then, she winked an arctic-blue at him, lashes so long and lovely.   

Weredog Tart (12)

   
   "Weredog Tart (12)"
   
   Siria, a little melancholy after hearing Lance's demonic dilemma of having a cruel patriarch, let out her anguished steam by gobbling up a rabbit on the ten mile trek homewards.  Once back to her suburban habitat, she waited for the Full "Buck" Moon to fade, but before it did, pooped out the hopping bunny, as if her system was working miracles within.  She looked to the heavens, sincerely saying:  "Saint Francis forgive me, but that little critter was yummy."
   As the daystar ignited, Siria shifted back into human form, running naked into her house, past a father closing his eyes, yelling:  "What the hell!?!"
   Siria got in some cut-off shorts, a fancy t-shirt that showcased the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, and a pair of sneakers with no socks.  She marveled at her pulsating, meta-human energy; next, went downstairs, offering no explanation for her incoming nudity, and her father didn't probe her about it.  
   After a glass of milk, she got her backpack, went to the bus stop, and headed back to summer school.  Upon arrival, she noticed Lance walking her way, head down, wearing a crown of frowns, and felt a great empathy towards him; thus, she put a loving arm around his neck, kissed him on the cheek, and smiled some rabbit meat still in her glistening teeth.  He asked:  "What was that for?"
   She stated:  "I figured you could use a friend today."
   Him back with:  "Yeah, yeah I could."
   Hand in hand--they strutted into the steamy torture of summer school.  

Full "Buck" Moon: July 19th, 2016

   "Full "Buck" Moon:  July 19th, 2016"

   The Full "Buck" Moon will awesomely illuminate the skies this July 19th; on the other hand, sometimes known as the Full "Thunder" Moon due to thunderstorms being prone this time of year in the Americas.  

   And the Full "Buck" Moon refers to deer sprouting their antlers this time of year, offering protection and spiritual sanctuary for some by way of the Nordic Rune Algiz.  Algiz graces many with protection, if you are in the white elk's graces.  Elk and deer having much in common as cousins; however, elk are heavier, yet both have four-chambered stomachs filled with potent bacteria to digest the vegetation upon which they feed.

   So enjoy the Full "Buck" Moon or look for Pikachu or whatever the hell you are doing, wending further into the cyborg nation; moreover, I have nothing against cyborgs, for my biological father was one, totally.  

   

Weredog Tart (11)

   
   "Weredog Tart (11)"
   
   To the Colonial Americans, it was dubbed the Full Summer Moon, so full and with effulgent brilliance, lighting up the night sky along with the stars above glittering, offering further nighttime illumination; anyway, Siria intrinsically knew what was going to happen--could feel it in her bones; thus, dashed past Dad sleeping on the couch, making sure to take the Iron City beer out of his sleeping hand and set it on the local rag next to him.
   Next, she stripped down to her nakedness, went out into the backyard, and as Luna burst completely full--she was ignited into a hairy, golden-hued weredog, tail aimed high and happy, her further full of glee, smelling everything around, and while wanting to squat and piss on a great number of things, she remained cognizant in a human sense, and thought:  LANCE McGEE!
   She knew he lived about 10 miles from her central Pittsburgh location, in the low populated borough of Wilmerding, southeast of her exact location, but she was up for a long sprint.
   As if running with unearthly power, Siria, tongue hanging out like the great Michael Jordan, sniffed out Lance's little house, and paced out front, her sensitive ears picking up the verbal action inside.  A fatherly voice scolding his son, yelling:  "You dumb shit!  Summer school!  And your skinny ass is only playing second string, actually third, cause you're too stupid to remember the playbook.  Why can't you be a bad ass like the Pirates' Gerrit Cole!?!"
   Lance voiced:  "That's baseball Dad."
   His Dad commanded:  "You're still a dumb ass.  Do you want to end up a coal truck-driver like me?"
   Lance said:  "I was thinking about becoming a welder."
   His Dad laughed:  "Like the movie Flashdance.  You're such a pussy son."
   Siria couldn't help but growl, loudly.  Next, she dropped her canine head and humbly went back home, knowing it sucked to be truly human and without the gifts of charity and love from supposed family.  Tough love works not on the mentally challenged, unless you want to drive them to suicide.  

Weredog Tart (10)

   
   "Weredog Tart (10)"
    
   Justice is a dish best served cold, so Siria figured, and she liked a piece of spiced, refrigerated beef jerky, or a cold meatloaf sandwich with hot mustard; still, she figured to let it go--the pseudo-gifts of care-taking ignoring her matriarch's needs, her own back torn to pieces, but now as a weredog, put back together again, and there goes the myth of Humpty Dumpty, but he had high cholesterol and large amounts of glucose running through his egg-like veins.
   Siria was just happy to be watching the Cubs play, even though the Pirates whooped them a few days ago, and of course, born in Pittsburgh, she had that sense of neon nepotism, getting schooled and adored by the supernatural in Steel City.  Her father moving down from southern sour mash to Iron City brew, and her always sneaking a few.
   Plus, there was Lance McGee and his emerald-green eyes focusing in on her dreams, not enchanted or besmirched by her beauty, but taking it seriously, ready to let her off the leash, for she would always stay close, and never run away from true love.  Was it?  Yup.  She knew in her fast-beating heart that a guy with such glacial history would only adore her, frigid to the nonsense of Internet porn and girls with vaginal cavities the size of buckets, soon to be in need of tans-vaginal mesh due to all the coitus-craving partying and nonsense of not having a spiritual life.
   Next, Siria kissed her Dad on the forehead, and by instinct, buried a piece of beef liver in the backyard, keeping it blessed by Terra's regenerating tomb.  

Weredog Tart (9)

   
   "Weredog Tart (9)"
   
   The bus ride was quaint and yet so cool.  Lance smelling of a spicy aftershave with a Captain Hook type of roll on deodorant, allowing him the spice of man under his blonde though hairy pits--heck, his eyebrows were yellow gold; thus, it had to be so in other places, as his khaki shorts displayed blonde-like curls as well, highlighted by a pair of year round moccasins.  
   Lance was glued to Siria as they exited the bus, him following her symmetrical tail, it being lead by the scents and smells of downtown Pittsburgh, so many delicious yet stank snorts of glee for Siria as she probed the eateries until hungrily approaching a chili dog swine-house, where they served kosher meats--no swine to be filled with demonic, suicidal activity--at least for them pigs known by the Christ, assisting in their launch downwards.
   So, Lance and Siria sat politely on a picnic-type of table, the daystar shining downwards, yet not melting Siria's arctic-blue eyes, those frosty entrances to a singular soul haunted by a weredog--and Lance and his shamrock-green stare were sincerely made sweet and subservient, making sure to wipe her canine mouth with dozens of napkin strokes.