Wolfer Woman

[During the interrogation session, my girlfriend admitted that she is the infamous Wolfer Woman. What follows is her official, signed confession.]

Now that my brain has been washed and rewired, I freely confess that I am the one who is known as Wolfer Woman. Yes, all the rumors are true. I never lap milk from a saucer like a kitty cat; I only drink acid rain. Behold, I am covered in hair — aren’t you shocked and appalled? Just check your records and you’ll find that I recently had your favorite celebrity Mariah Carey arrested for heavily petting me. Rarr, I’ll scratch anything I can reach. Don’t approach when my claws are out. My eyes look just like a goat’s, and my ears are pointy. I have an appetite for high cuisine. But it’s hard for me to French-kiss women, because my fangs get in the way, although I never let that stop me. What’s more, I can perform a triple-bypass surgery in twenty minutes flat. (This same procedure normally takes surgeons from three to six hours.) And I’m still technically a teen wolf, when you convert my age from human years; but I’m growing up quickly. Oh, and you mentioned wanting to know how I arrived at my stage name: Have you ever heard of Superman? Well I just took the masculine aspect from that title and replaced it with a trait from my spirit animal. That’s why I look so attractive smoking cigarettes on the big screen.