Super Wolf

(Warning: Language) My name is Brinley Easton and I'm a werewolf.

That's right. Half human, half canine. I burst into a big fluffy ball of fur when something sets me over the edge. I can smell nearly five-hundred scents at a time, and identify each source without even batting an eye. I can see the painfully obviously details of your face, like the tiny pores Candi Wilson (or as I affectionatley called her, Candi Mc-my-virginity-is-lost-somewhere-with-my-non-existant-self-respect) tried to fill in with heavy foundation about three shades darker than her real skin tone. I can run three times faster than any racecar in Nascar, and I can do it with more agility and grace. I can hear the little whispers the crowds of the pathetic humans in my highschool from across the cafeteria--- though I try not to listen. The gossip humans spread is so unintellgible just the sound of it would probably lower my IQ.

So, in short, I wasn't joking when I said I was awesome. I bet you agree with me now, eh?

And even if you don't think I'm awesome (and you'd be terribly wrong), I can confidently say there are hundreds of grateful people that do. Now, now. I'm not the most personable werewolf around, and definatley not the most tolerable. I can go Hulk when you piss me off. And no, that's not a warning. Its a promise.

Speaking of 'Hulk,' here comes my personal favorite part of being me.

I'm a self-proclaimed mother-effing superhero.