Lupe, Johnny, and Doctor Who

Lupe, Johnny, and Doctor Who

Lupe, Johnny, and Doctor Who Lupe, Johnny and Doctor WhorepairIII

Lupe and the Story (Essay to follow soon)

repairII

Lupe and the Story Panel 2Lupe and the Story Panel 3Lupe and the Story Panel 4

Lupe and Jack: One Man’s Attempt To Distance Himself From the Furries

Lupe and Jack/JohnnyLupe and Jack/Johnny Panel 2Lupe and Jack/Johnny Panel 3Lupe and Jack/Johnny Panel 4Lupe and Jack/Johnny Panel 5Lupe and Jack/Johnny Panel 6Lupe and Jack/Johnny Panel 7Lupe and Jack/Johnny Panel 8

Oftentimes, I think I have a great idea for an absolutely perfect blog posting, one that will make me famous throughout the Internet, one that will make people love me instantaneously, one that will make me beloved by women the world over, and that these women will spontaneously begin throwing their undergarments at me, through my computer screen. And oftentimes, my mother tells me that these ideas are absolutely terrible, and I am forced to start all over again.

This latest posting was one of those wonderful ideas. Specifically, I was going to write a review of David Hopkins’ Jack, possibly the definitive furry comic of our time, if by “definitive” you mean “perverted”, and in the case of furries this is definitely what you mean. According to Wikipedia, a furry is

“A member of the furry fandom—fans of artwork, stories, and related products (comics, movies, costumes, etc.) which feature anthropomorphic animals”.

And, naturally, anybody who has heard this story is laughing their asses off, because this is what hippies have said for years. If you hear about a hippie community, they always tell you that the hippies are “artists, artisans, intellectuals, New Age travelers, and explorers of a new kind of consciousness”. However, hippies are none of these. Hippies are people who live in Volkswagen buses and smoke illegal narcotics.

So whenever people hear about furries, they usually define them as

“People who have sex in animal costumes and draw kitties with sexy parts and start huge wars on the Internet over whether or not Krystal from Star Fox would have sex with them if they were the last nerd on Earth.”

Unfortunately, these two conflicting viewpoints on furries have reduced our beloved Internet into a giant morass of hatred and meanness, and this means that I fear retribution for Lupe. I know that many of you, when you see my adorable little wolf character and read my ridiculous postings on how I hug my little wolf dollies and write my little blog posts for my dog Sissy, just think “Oh, look at this bizarre weirdo posting his bizarro weirdo thoughts on the Internet! I should show my husband/wife/sister this unusually funny basket case of human failure!”

But unfortunately, this is not always the case. There are many people who look at Lupe, and, because they are armed with a knowledge of the Internet, think “Oh, look at this bizarre weirdo furry faggot posting his furfaggotry on the Internet! This is disgusting and I should troll him!”

And so, I came to the conclusion that I should write a review of the furries, to show the people of the Internet that I am normal, in spite of clearly liking wolves far more than the average human ever should. I fear retribution. My wolf dolls currently show no fear. In fact, they are sitting next to me as I write this.

Edit: They are so calm, they’re not even breathing.

So I decided to read Jack. It is 1135-pages long, and it usually involves the Grim Reaper and at least two other characters, and at least one of these characters has done something bad and is sent to Hell in typical Touched By an Angel fashion, except with lots more cursing and random violence and sex between animals.

And, after reading this 1135-page long comic, I decided that I would write a review on it. I thought to myself, “Surely this will show the Internet people that I am not a furry! Look at me! I am writing a five-page hateful review on a piece of furry porn! Woot!”

This was my thinking as I wrote this. And in the end, I looked at this wonderful review, and I laughed uncontrollably. I was thrilled. I had used lots of bad words that you couldn’t say in church, and I showed lots of very creepy-looking pictures from the comic that showed all kinds of violence and sex and violent sex and random death, and I thought, “This is a good thing I have written here.” And I went to sleep, and I was going to show my mother what I wrote when I woke up, and then I’d post it and I would be happy. I was going to show the Internet. I am no furry! Look at my wolf character! He is making fun of furries! See, guys? NOT A FURRY HONEST!!

And when I read this off to my mother, she seemed concerned.

“What is the matter, mom?” I asked.

And, as usual, she RUINED MY PLANS. She told me how fearful I should be, because just judging randomly from the comic I had chosen for my plans I could not tell who this man is or whether or not he was “one taco short of a combination plate” as the saying goes, and he could sic his followers on me and make my poor Lupe engage in bizarre sexual acts with his own comic characters, which would be decidedly unfunny for me and Lupe.

“Are you sure you want to post this?” she asked me. At this point, I was becoming uncertain of whether this was a good idea or not. Quite clearly, my article was funny, as it mentioned furries, and furries are always funny. Yet I did not want to go on the Internet one day and find poor Lupe wearing a French maid’s outfit or anything like that.

And so it was necessary to think for a while, which was difficult for me, as I was recovering from my dreams of posting my review and being greeted by ticker-tape parades in the streets. But I thought, and I finally decided that I would write something funny, as usual, something that nobody would ever notice, and just go back to being mild-mannered, and hope that nobody looks at Lupe and believes that I wish to have sex with him.

And, naturally, I looked back at this unfinished draft and realized that everything I have yet written has been posted to my blog for the public to see, which has probably made this a bit worse.

I don’t think I’ll be going back to reviewing Jack; I think that my first review was enough. I will probably send it to another, much better site than my own, and hope against hope that my site is not rushed by Something Awful. And, as is usual with this website, draw more Lupe comics. No, really, I actually have a storyline and everything. Considering the fact that my inspiration for Lupe came from the fur people, I think that this is quite something, French maid costume or not.

And, as is typical with this site, it is time to recite our motto:

Over Hill

Over dale

O’er the pretty, dusty trail

NOT A FURRY HONEST

Honestly, guys.

Lupe and Jack: One Man’s Attempt To Distance Himself From the Furries

Lupe and Jack/JohnnyLupe and Jack/Johnny Panel 3repairILupe and Jack/Johnny Panel 5Lupe and Jack/Johnny Panel 6Lupe and Jack/Johnny Panel 7Lupe and Jack/Johnny Panel 8

Oftentimes, I think I have a great idea for an absolutely perfect blog posting, one that will make me famous throughout the Internet, one that will make people love me instantaneously, one that will make me beloved by women the world over, and that these women will spontaneously begin throwing their undergarments at me, through my computer screen. And oftentimes, my mother tells me that these ideas are absolutely terrible, and I am forced to start all over again.

This latest posting was one of those wonderful ideas. Specifically, I was going to write a review of David Hopkins’ Jack, possibly the definitive furry comic of our time, if by “definitive” you mean “perverted”, and in the case of furries this is definitely what you mean. According to Wikipedia, a furry is

“A member of the furry fandom—fans of artwork, stories, and related products (comics, movies, costumes, etc.) which feature anthropomorphic animals”.

And, naturally, anybody who has heard this story is laughing their asses off, because this is what hippies have said for years. If you hear about a hippie community, they always tell you that the hippies are “artists, artisans, intellectuals, New Age travelers, and explorers of a new kind of consciousness”. However, hippies are none of these. Hippies are people who live in Volkswagen buses and smoke illegal narcotics.

So whenever people hear about furries, they usually define them as

“People who have sex in animal costumes and draw kitties with sexy parts and start huge wars on the Internet over whether or not Krystal from Star Fox would have sex with them if they were the last nerd on Earth.”

Unfortunately, these two conflicting viewpoints on furries have reduced our beloved Internet into a giant morass of hatred and meanness, and this means that I fear retribution for Lupe. I know that many of you, when you see my adorable little wolf character and read my ridiculous postings on how I hug my little wolf dollies and write my little blog posts for my dog Sissy, just think “Oh, look at this bizarre weirdo posting his bizarro weirdo thoughts on the Internet! I should show my husband/wife/sister this unusually funny basket case of human failure!”

But unfortunately, this is not always the case. There are many people who look at Lupe, and, because they are armed with a knowledge of the Internet, think “Oh, look at this bizarre weirdo furry faggot posting his furfaggotry on the Internet! This is disgusting and I should troll him!”

And so, I came to the conclusion that I should write a review of the furries, to show the people of the Internet that I am normal, in spite of clearly liking wolves far more than the average human ever should. I fear retribution. My wolf dolls currently show no fear. In fact, they are sitting next to me as I write this.

Edit: They are so calm, they’re not even breathing.

So I decided to read Jack. It is 1135-pages long, and it usually involves the Grim Reaper and at least two other characters, and at least one of these characters has done something bad and is sent to Hell in typical Touched By an Angel fashion, except with lots more cursing and random violence and sex between animals.

And, after reading this 1135-page long comic, I decided that I would write a review on it. I thought to myself, “Surely this will show the Internet people that I am not a furry! Look at me! I am writing a five-page hateful review on a piece of furry porn! Woot!”

This was my thinking as I wrote this. And in the end, I looked at this wonderful review, and I laughed uncontrollably. I was thrilled. I had used lots of bad words that you couldn’t say in church, and I showed lots of very creepy-looking pictures from the comic that showed all kinds of violence and sex and violent sex and random death, and I thought, “This is a good thing I have written here.” And I went to sleep, and I was going to show my mother what I wrote when I woke up, and then I’d post it and I would be happy. I was going to show the Internet. I am no furry! Look at my wolf character! He is making fun of furries! See, guys? NOT A FURRY HONEST!!

And when I read this off to my mother, she seemed concerned.

“What is the matter, mom?” I asked.

And, as usual, she RUINED MY PLANS. She told me how fearful I should be, because just judging randomly from the comic I had chosen for my plans I could not tell who this man is or whether or not he was “one taco short of a combination plate” as the saying goes, and he could sic his followers on me and make my poor Lupe engage in bizarre sexual acts with his own comic characters, which would be decidedly unfunny for me and Lupe.

“Are you sure you want to post this?” she asked me. At this point, I was becoming uncertain of whether this was a good idea or not. Quite clearly, my article was funny, as it mentioned furries, and furries are always funny. Yet I did not want to go on the Internet one day and find poor Lupe wearing a French maid’s outfit or anything like that.

And so it was necessary to think for a while, which was difficult for me, as I was recovering from my dreams of posting my review and being greeted by ticker-tape parades in the streets. But I thought, and I finally decided that I would write something funny, as usual, something that nobody would ever notice, and just go back to being mild-mannered, and hope that nobody looks at Lupe and believes that I wish to have sex with him.

And, naturally, I looked back at this unfinished draft and realized that everything I have yet written has been posted to my blog for the public to see, which has probably made this a bit worse.

I don’t think I’ll be going back to reviewing Jack; I think that my first review was enough. I will probably send it to another, much better site than my own, and hope against hope that my site is not rushed by Something Awful. And, as is usual with this website, draw more Lupe comics. No, really, I actually have a storyline and everything. Considering the fact that my inspiration for Lupe came from the fur people, I think that this is quite something, French maid costume or not.

And, as is typical with this site, it is time to recite our motto:

Over Hill

Over dale

O’er the pretty, dusty trail

NOT A FURRY HONEST

Honestly, guys.

New Horizons and New Wolf Dolls: The Joys of Santa Jesus

Lupe and Jack 1st Panel Lupe and Jack 2nd Panel Lupe and Jack 3rd Panel Lupe and Jack 4th Panel

The holiday season is a time of love, a time of caring, a time for our Lord and Savior Santa Jesus, and, most importantly, an excellent time for one to scare the shit out of himself.

Perhaps you think that I’m crazy. Maybe you think, as you’ve thought so many times before, that Old Uncle Lupe who Thinks He’s a Wolf-Person has “went off the deep end” again, and that he’s proposing crazy ideas.

You would be wrong. An important factor in making a New Years Resolution inherently involves scaring the shit out of oneself come Christmastime. A New Years’ Resolution typically involves self-purification. In order to purify yourself, you have to get rid of the impurities in your body, i.e. through shitting. And in order to shit, especially during these constipated times, it is often necessary to confront yourself with something truly scary, such as Michael Jackson (the artist formerly known as Wacko Jacko).

Thus, it was my mission this holiday season to scare myself until I was finally able to go to the bathroom again. This process was delayed for a very long while, because of Thanksgiving turkey.

But I was finally able to go to the bathroom, thanks in no small part to David Hopkins, whose grim-reaper character Jack is featured in the last panel above. I will do a review on Hopkins’ magnum opus next week, and you should thank me, really, because I spared you the agony of reading it.

All right, then, but you ask, “How did your Christmas go, Lupe the Lobo or Justin or whatever the hell you call yourself?” And I say, quite swimmingly. Let’s go to the board, shall we? “Lupe/Justin’s Board of Christmassyness”, we shall call it.

  1. I get off school until late January. If you are currently in high school or are working a full-time job, I am laughing at you right now, through your computer screen.
  2. I haven’t found evidence that David Hopkins is not in an insane asylum.
  3. You don’t know who he is.
  4. This is for your own good.
  5. The fact that you don’t know who I am is probably a good thing, too.
  6. I got a new wolf doll. (Update 12/27/07 12:12 AM MST: I am hugging him right now, along with my other wolf dolls Aurora and Amarook, and my Corgi doll Ein.)
  7. As usual, I have slacked in my LEGO orders, which should be finished by the time Easter is finished, and these orders shall transform my city of dead plastic people into an even larger city of dead plastic people with more plastic crap attached.
  8. I got a remote controlled helicopter that doesn’t work.

In addition to all of this, I got fishing gear which I cannot use, new underwear, and hopefully a girlfriend by New Years’. I know that that last present is a bit farfetched, but I figure, with all the outsourcing to China our nation is doing, I should be able to get a girlfriend, even if I have to pay first class mail to get her.

My mother has found a man. It has been her personal dream, for many years, to finally find her “Mr. Right”, and during Christmas dinner, she announced that she found him. There is this man made of coffee cans in our front room, you see, and as I stooped over to get away from the table after dinner, I hit this tin man with my head, and, being the kindhearted individual she is, my mother told me not to “hit her man”. I think I hear wedding bells in the distance, although that could just be the clanking of the coffee cans.

So anyway, I’m looking forward to writing yet another comic post, and my review will be forthcoming. In the meantime, be rest assured that I do not care about your sexuality, race, gender, creed or religion. Your personality and facial features are almost assuredly enough to make me hate you.

Lupe the Vampire-WerewolfLupe the Vampire-WerewolfLupe the Vampire-WerewolfrepairIV

Giving Shari Some Vampire Love

Lupe and the FacebookLupe and the FacebookLupe and the FacebookLupe and the Facebook
A lot of guys don’t understand the meaning of true love. True love involves doing anything for the person you’re in love with, even if they have a boyfriend and he wants to kill you.

That, naturally, involves getting a Facebook account at least 90% of the time. Now in my case, the person who convinced me to get the account, Shari, is just a friend; our relationship is “true love” in the same way that my dog is a coyote. True, my dog Sissy is pretty like a coyote, and they both have fur, but one is capable of eating large quadripeds while the other is primarily capable of eating bones made of compressed carbon matter.

Aside from quibbling details, I got a Facebook account. This is primarily because I hate Myspace, an equivalent “social network” service notable for having Tila “that ugly Asian bitch” Tequila as one of its most famous members. I also glossed over Something Awful, because they would permaban me after one look at my wolf drawings. I know I have no proof of this, but you’re just going to have to trust me on this one. Lowtax would look at poor Lupe and vomit uncontrollably.

The first thing I notice on Facebook is this:

Shari the Vampire

Naturally, being a typical depressive 18-year-old male with no romantic interests whatsoever, the notion of “Vampire love” is one which I take with a grain of salt, because I know deep down inside that vampires can never love me. I am a werewolf deep down inside, as far as my allergy medication goes anyway, and so we would be at a crossroads, especially whenever she or he or whatever a vampire is wants to turn into a bat. Sure, bats create less pollution when they go to the bathroom, but think of the consequences! I’m sure you can think of some while I finish writing my next paragraph.

Nevertheless, it tells me to click, and so I click. It tells me to install some kind of “application” to my account, and so, in the hopes of finding some kind of “vampire love”, I install it. Next, I get:

Justin the Vampire

I realize that I have been duped into some kind of horrible vampire-making cartel. Imagine, an entire company, making plug-ins for a social networking site, all with the sole intention of creating undead blood-sucking creatures! The idea makes me vibrate violently as we speak for no reason in particular.

I try my best to understand what kind of terrifying creature I have become. A vampire? Would that make me a vampire werewolf whenever I take my Benadryl? What does this mean for my future? How do I eat? I mean, a werewolf eats people. A vampire sucks their blood. What do I do, kind of rip apart the person and then suck the blood out of their meatiness? And then eat the meatiness after I’ve sucked the blood out of it? The very idea is enough to boggle the mind.

Facebook tells me that I am a “rockstar vampire”, which I’m guessing is some kind of code word for my mission. It has a little status counter telling me how many points I have gotten and how many “chumps” I have “infected”, which is at zero and will probably remain so for a very long time. I have gotten many infections in my life, and I figure this will just be similar to them, only with more blood-sucking. And guessing from my title, more rock music. As similar as this sounds to Queen of the Damned, a classic movie starring such greats of the silver screen as Aaliyah (notable for her name sounding like the noise I make when I have the stomach flu), I have decided not to commit suicide.

Yet.