Becoming a werewolf, on the other hand, is trickier. You have to be bitten or scratched, but not deeply enough to kill you. When you’re dealing with two hundred pounds or so of pure shit that wants to kill you, you begin to realise how much more difficult this is than getting a pussy little bite from some slutty undead reproduction machine, dipping its wick in the giant walking gash that is now your existence. If vampires are the girls-who-have-sex-to-get-love of the monster world, werewolves are more like the discerning dominatrix: she’ll beat any pervert’s ass bloody if the payoff’s right, but the guys she removes the leather gloves for and makes skin-to-skin contact with during a spanking – well, those guys don’t come along every day, and those that do make it will be forever changed by the experience.
http://goo.gl/WnkAC Believe it or not, this guy is metaphorically all sexed out.
This was supposed to be a rant about how were werewolves are better than vampires. Ignoring the reality that I’ve spent much of it sucking Joss Whedon’s dick despite the fact that Angel with a soul was duller than ditchwater, the point still stands.