I could kick a wolf's ass.

In a lot of bad movies, there will be a scene in which the protagonist is lost in the woods. (Editor's note: it is Wintertime. There are no exceptions.) During this frenzied search for their car, their log cabin, town, or something similar, they will come across a wolf. This sends the character into a full-fledged hysteria.

Stop the tape. This is stupid! Now, a pack of wolves, I get. You're surrounded, they have sharp things, they have a lot of practice laying the smack-down on unsuspecting forest-dwellers...that's a scary situation. A bear, forget about it. Those things weigh a ton and have paws the size of my thigh. You're toast. Any of the big cats (Lions, Tigers, Cheetahs, Mountain Lions, Panthers, Jaguars, etc) will rip your throat out and use it for wiffle ball. Don't fuck around with these bad boys. But a wolf?!?! A wolf is a yellow lab with a bad attitude. Stop it.

In the movie, the character will freeze (as in stop moving...has nothing to do with the inevitable winter.) They will slowly backtrack as the wolf makes a menacing face and probably slobbers everywhere. Then they will run. This is stupid. Wolves are fast as shit and now you're invoking their predatory response.

According to the highest pillar of academia, Wikipedia, wolves generally range from 44 to 150 pounds. That's nearly a range of 100, so for our purposes we'll call it 95. So I'm face to face with this 95 pound wolf. I'm closing in on 190. I like my odds. First of all, if I can grab a tree branch or something (there will always be one available in the movie...real life could possibly be different), I could poke and jab this surly beast and maintain a safe distance.

In the event there's no stick, I'm still cool. I'd probably charge the motherfucker to let him know that his snarling drool totally isn't working on me. At this point, I would probably entertain the thought that the wolf was rabid, before continuing on unfazed. Taking special notice to protect my throat, stomach, and man-tools, I am now heading in for the Shawn Michaels' Sweet Chin Music face-kick.

Any wolf with half a brain is now running for the hills, knowing that I could eat its bitch-ass with some hot sauce and ask for seconds. But if it was particularly brazen, I'd have to finish it off. Riding an adrenaline rush, I'd keep kicking the savage bastard like Jackie Chan, while eyeing the opportunity for the pin. Once I pounce on the wolf, it's game over. I deflect its desperate attempts to bite/claw at me, and either snap its neck, or crack its skull with my fists of fury. It's game over. I stand over my victim briefly, possibly engaging in some sort of moral dilemma, and then move on.

It's a failsafe plan. Please. Don't be afraid of a wolf. That's just what Hollywood wants from you. Commie bastards.


Who could be afwaid of a wittle face wike that? Awwwww.