If you’re like me, than probably about 87% of your worrying involves werewolves and the job that those who protect us from them are doing.  I know, werewolves are sort of like fire and cholesterol, where really, the most of the work to be done is preventative, and may be accomplished through the judicious application of things like werewolf-retardant attic insulation, werewolf detectors with fresh batteries in every large room of the house, a regular exercise program, and a diet of foods low in werewolfoflavin.  After all that is said and done though, the task of protecting you and yours from werewolves comes down to professionals, like Oliver North, Green Lantern, and The Statue of Liberty.  At least they’re the ones you always hear about and see on TV doing all those sappy public service announcements about not taking candy from werewolves and never giving them your credit card number.  Above and beyond them all though, there is a man who probably does more to keep our great nation werewolf-free than even Batman, Skeletor, and avid Bowie combined: The Lone Ranger.

            Now, odds are that you haven’t heard of him, but doubt me not, for he is merely the behind the scenes sort of a werewolf hunter that shuns the spotlight of public fame and celebrity, but rather prefers to fight his werewolves in the inky and inchoate realm of undulating darkness and burbling chaos, New Jersey, where eldritch gibberings rend the ebon skies and the high priest Zurgaloth reigns upon a throne of chalcedony from a city carven from a single titanic piece of walrus ivory.  Because you know, werewolves are really into things like that.  But how did the Lone Ranger get into werewolf fighting in the first place?  That, my friends, is the tale which I am about to relate unto you this day.

            The Lone Ranger, you see, was originally part of a greater autonomous collective of rangers, one of whom may have been Chuck Norris’s mom, who all wandered around Texas shooting bandits and hogtying cattle wrestlers (these being men who wrestled with the cattle, rather than cattle who were simply in the business of body-slamming people, which was actually kind of encouraged there for a while back in the 30s).  One day however, one of his posse sold them all out to a gang of werewolves, who shot them all and left them for dead.  Fortunately, Tonto, who was all bummed out because his hunting grounds had been turned into a casino, found him, gave him a silly Indian nickname and nursed him back to health.  Upon recovering, the Lone Ranger discovered that not only had the werewolves killed all his homies, but they had also taken the little eye mask he used to wear when catching his afternoon nap and cut hole in it, thereby preventing him from ever again enjoying a siesta.  He swore to wear it forever after though, as a reminder to him that, like justice, he must never nap in his pursuit of evil.

            Now werewolves, as you may know, can only be killed by a silver bullet, and by happy coincidence, The Lone Ranger (who quickly discarded his original title of “The Really Popular Ranger) happened to find his old mentor, Mr. Miyagi, who lived in a haunted silver mine in the middle of the gumdrop forest.  He used the silver from the mine to make a magical flying unicorn for the Lone Ranger, and cast him all the silver bullets he needed, so that whenever the Lone Ranger shot someone, he could immediately tell if they were a werewolf (he originally experimented with the idea of having Mr. Miyagi cast him a silver mullet instead, but that looked really silly, weighed like, 173 pounds, and for it to be any good at all, he first had to chase down the werewolf in question and hit him in the face with it, which was not only grossly impractical, but difficult to accurately relate over the radio).  Thus attired, he then ran into young William Tell, who had been gored by a beefalo.  To him The Lone Ranger gave his surplus silver mullet, and out of gratitude to the masked man, William Tell composed for him an overture to play whenever he was out riding around after werewolves and needed to sound dashing and dramatic.

            Eventually, after killing off all of the werewolves in Texas, the Lone Ranger fell on hard times, and not long ago got into trouble for trying to shoot Chewbacca in a Houston 7-11.  In search of metaphorically greener pastures, he then departed for New Jersey, where owing to the large number toxic waste plants and the fact that the New Jersey Supreme Court recently allowed them to form civil unions, werewolves and flocking like sheep to a monster truck rally.  There he remains to this day, keeping to the shadows, shooting werewolves, and speaking of the pompatus of love, and occasionally accidentally busting a cap in an 80s hair band.  And remember, there's no "I" in team, but there is a "We" in werewolf.