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Today on my conversations with ‬Erez I made two hypotheses. My first hypothesis is that a stray werewolf gene is present in my body and is regularly effecting my daily schedule. Werewolf is someone who gets socially unacceptably hairy on full moons and becomes a wolf. I believe the stray werewolf gene got expressed in a different and far stranger way in my case. Every morning, about an hour after sunrise – and now is the moment when I expose the shame to the public – I become a Werebed. The reasonable and civilized human I was in the evening, who planned to get up early and start the day with physical exercise, with a serious shake to the waist and with a yummy vegetable shake, wakes up something that isn’t exactly human, something that like the werewolf, the hybrid between a man and a wolf, is also a strange hybrid – a hybrid between a man and a bed. While the werewolf becomes violent and scary, the Werebed becomes passive and pathetic, and he forgets all his plans from the evening before, as if his brain was pulled out of the skull during the exposure to the sunrise and replaced with another brain, and he lacks any real awareness that would allow him to step out of his enchanted situation and make decisions a cultured man would make if he were in his place. This is the first hypothesis. A stray werewolf gene. The second hypothesis has to do with one of reasons one would really want to escape civilization, and that is the fax machine. Erez had to send a fax and again the question arose why the hell in the age of email and smartphone one still has to send a fax. I thought and thought, pondered and pondered, hypothesized and hypothesized, and I think I reached the answer. We have to send a fax. I don’t know to which number, probably no one in the world knows to which number, and probably, if to ignore the fact that no one could be bothered to send a fax, that is the only reason we still have to send faxes. I think once we find out about the wandering fax number and send the fax “Dear Sir Madam, we’re sick and tired of the fax, that’s it, it’s over, yours sincerely, Sir Madam Humanity” no werebewolfperson would ever have to send a fax again. Just imagine. One last despicable fax stands between us and the reasonable world.

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