Three Wolves

Many of you have already discovered the delightful items available for purchase on Amazon.com. If you have not, this is a good opportunity to enjoy some laughs, as well as think about buying some of the finer things in life. These include the three-wolf-and-moon shirt, the grizzly-ripping-through-shirt shirt, a gallon of tuscan whole milk, inflatable toast, and the list goes on.

Along with the good times of simply looking at these products (and coveting them, nonetheless), you can also read the funny customer reviews. I decided to write my own on the three-wolf shirt. Enjoy.

Oh the misleading information in the form of comments posted here about this spectacular, near pious three-wolf shirt. Those who have made this purchase have left misguided; malinformed.

Though the majority of what was elegantly said is true, i.e. honor, wisdom, power and beautiful women are indeed achieved instantaneously by donning this godlike article of clothing, there is a story that must be recounted in order that future consumers will be fully informed a priori as to the positive and negative, or mayhap detrimental, consequences this shirt will effect in their lives. Though godlike, though near pious, alas it is not piety. It is not a god itself.

It was a dark and foggy night, that fateful evening in North Phoenix. I had gone from Twin Falls, ID (where my three-wolf shirt has no equal) to visit some friends living in trailers, somewhat naturally parked in the back of Wal*Mart parking lot. After circling the store for an hour seeking a lady, much like a vulture circles it's prey, waiting for the precise moment to swoop down and attack when its foe is at its weakest, and having little to no luck, I decided something must be amiss. In Twin Falls, my three wolves and I barely make it 5 minutes in the local Wal*Mart without getting swarmed by hordes of beautiful women, all worthy of their own three-wolf-and-moon shirt. You see, I have to turn many away. Observe its power, its honor. Nonetheless, during the night of which I speak, its honor was replaced by feelings of shame; its power decrepit and deceased. I looked down, thinking "Perhaps I wore the wrong shirt." But there they were, howling up at the moon in all their glory, reassuring me that I was indeed sporting my three-wolf shirt. There must be another reason. I must find it.

And find it I did. Having left Wal*Mart still single, my wolves, the moon at which they so electrically howl, and I, accompanied by my buddies in their wussy tiger shirts, decided to go to a nightclub. Upon arriving at the door, I noticed the bouncer was cowered over in a corner, hardly able to speak, let alone attempt to impede my powerful three wolves from entering. The vibes inside were directed towards one thing: the burning crimson eyes of a grizzly bear ripping through some guy's shirt. He had yet to catch the scent of my now whimpering wolves when I hit the dance floor. Oh the shame! I began to dance, but my moves came out feminine. I tried to run; to digress. But it was too late. I felt his gaze. I felt my ego being chewed up from existence. Sure, I got a couple of good hits in, but nothing could compare to the pain I felt of losing all honor and power. My near pious ego was now completely shattered to bits.

So be warned, those who would purchase this shirt, of the age-old adage: There's always someone cooler than you.