The Gonzo Wolf

I’ve been keeping secrets from everyone, but for a good reason.

It was none of your business, and I wanted to make absolutely sure I was experiencing what I believed to be experiencing. She’s holding up her end of the bargain.

The above photo is a g-spot joke, in case you found it funny. Most have never found it anything.

You see, a few months back, my lifelong bestie and high school sweetheart passed on from cancer. We hadn’t been in contact for the past seven years – save a stray oops text from her every year or so. I couldn’t bring myself to attend her funeral. That’s not how I chose to remember her.

I’m not so sure I had any control over that.

It was always an agreement that she’d do everything within her power to find a way to haunt me. Typically, as she began to fade, the public perception was that she got closer to the Christian god. Everyone says that at every American funeral I’ve attended since day one; it’s in the Reptilian instruction manual, I think. I’ve since been informed that information is inaccurate. I don’t say this to offend anyone but, if offense finds you, I apologize in advance.

She lived in a conservative black-hole portion of Texas, as did I for most my life. The last thing you’d want to do, especially when you know you’ll be depending on the graciousness of others in your final days, is piss off a bunch of Texas Christians. Loved one or not, they will burn you at the stake; even in 2026. I still have the scars from 2005. No amount of mayonnaise will clear that up. That was a thing, right? Butter on burns; mayonnaise on scars?

Who else misses Grandma’s?

Well-deserved digression warning in three, two, one…

Literary speed bump. Secretly?

I’ve since been informed she was obsessed with the paranormal in her final year. Her daily YouTube ingestion consisted of remote viewers, ghost sightings, and extraterrestrials. I knew there was a reason I loved this chick as a teenager.

Since her passing, I’ve experienced oddities on a near-daily basis, but none of them as specific to our past as what happened in the wee hours of the morning. This morning. There was nothing else it could’ve been. This is where it starts.

The dust is blown off what little equipment I have from ten years of research. Basic things: digital voice recorders, cameras, and EMF meters; nothing modern or fancy. It all worked for me back then, and I don’t think ghosts were universally upgraded to avoid detection via old gear.

Trust me; if I find something, you’ll be the first to know. This will be quite the public adventure, regardless of mine and her insistence on privacy. In the time of Trump, I think folks need something to believe in other than the bomb.

Church won’t cut it since that tubby cuck invaded all those as well. I’m going to give you something you can see, hear, or possibly feel. Besides, she told me the only reason she’d contact me was if we all had it wrong.

Take a moment.

I’ve had the discussion.

My terms up front: no flights of fancy; hard data and back-story filler as necessary.

Do not involve the child in any way whatsoever, but meet his own experiences – if any; hopefully none – with understanding. It is not my right as a being on this planet to influence the beliefs of another. Acceptance or FO. Allow others to form their own opinions; accept with understanding and interest; stand firm in your own.

As before – before the dark times of failed fiction author fantasies and hotel living – I won’t be seeking fame. I’m journaling my findings, failures, and faux pas to be both entertaining and informative.

You no likie? you no read.

The dream to be Stephen King was never mine, but I love everything I wrote. Feel free to enjoy those in support of my research, but I don’t plan on charging anyone to take this ride.

Also. Fucking aliens and shit, right?

Preach truths, toke jokes, and shoplift Amazon. What a way to go out. Blaze of glory type shit encased in carbonite and licked by Lita Ford. Let’s do this.

“Here we go again…” – C3PO