So, you've been bitten by a werewolf. What now? Do you run wildly through the hills three nights a month, gleefully slaughtering whatever comes into your path? Do you nobly sacrifice your life before the full moon can transform you into a rabid beast? Hardly. The Werewolf's Guide to Life, by Ritch Duncan and Bob Powers, advocates safe, responsible lycanthropy and offers a thorough guide to keeping yourself, your loved ones, and the neighbors' pets safe during your hairy times of the month.

You see, being a werewolf is a lot of work.

Duncan and Powers take you through all the basics in obsessive detail, from surviving your first transformation (a moving truck and several dozen pounds of drugged raw meat will do in a pinch) to setting up your safe room (S&M experts are great at building custom rigs and not asking too many questions). They also delve into the long-term lifestyle changes that come with your new condition. Should you tell your spouse? Can you still maintain your religious faith (Remember, werewolves can't keep Kosher)? What kinds of jobs are ideal for werewolves? What do you do if you accidentally get loose and kill someone?

The Werewolf's Guide to Life is likely a must-have for fans of fur and fangs, but you don't need to be obsessed with werewolves to be charmed by its impressive thoroughness and oddball humor. It charts out the "Wolf Moons," the three days each month when werewolves transform and assigns dietary points to various foodstuffs (dog food, raw steaks, live cattle) to ensure you get enough calories and don't try to break free. There are strange little sidetrips into werewolf lore, complete with margin notes on famous werewolves (Did you know Rosa Parks became a werewolf at the end of her life?). And that's all before we get to dealing with "Fur Chasers," people who want to be attacked by werewolves in hopes of becoming werewolves themselves. The humor is usually droll, and a bit macabre (at one point, you're advised to check your stool for the remains of any potential victims), but sometimes slides into silly (a chapter on dealing with vampires bears the subtitle "Navigating Your Interactions with the Smug, Effeminate Undead).

The Werewolf's Guide to Life is a worthy successor to fantastical manuals like The Zombie Survival Guide and How to Survive a Robot Uprising. And hey, if you know someone who has recently been bitten by a large animal during a full moon, you might want to slip them a copy, too. It could just save their life.

In celebration of this weekend's toyetic toy epic, the website of literary magazine McSweeney's has given Keith Pille's Journal of a New Cobra Recruit the spotlight of its front page again, allowing a new generation of cynical reader the chance to glimpse behind the scenes of what it takes to turn a man into an unstoppable faceless (non-)killing machine:

June 16, 1986
First day of boot camp was a bear. All of the other boots seem like nice guys. Don't know what any of them look like because the first thing they did when we got here was give us blue helmets with black hankies to cover up our faces. I'm getting pretty good at recognizing people's eyebrows though.

Figured we'd do a lot of exercise today, but we didn't do as much as I thought. Mostly just running out of a door and yelling "COBRA!" at the top of our lungs. I got pretty good at it. Now I can sound awful scary when I yell "COBRA!" You wouldn't think it would wear you down, but boy, am I pooped.

If that's not enough, you can also revisit Pille's Journal of a Seasoned Cobra Veteran:

June 10, 1987

My first day on duty at the Terrordrome! What an experience! It was like being on a Hollywood red carpet, I saw so many heavy hitters! I'd barely walked in the door when I saw this beautiful woman in the tightest uniform I've ever seen. I was checking her out when I realized it was the Baroness! Live and in the flesh! That lady really knows how to make the COBRA emblem look good. (I shouldn't say that. The Baroness is a valued leader in the COBRA organization, and it's not right for me to objectify her.)

By the time you're done, you too will want Pille to write the next Joe movie.

Artist Sydney Padua has been posting The Thrilling Adventures of Lovelace and Babbage on her comics site 2D Googles. The premise holds that proto-programmer (and sole legitimate child of Lord Byron) Ada Lovelace did not die at age 36, but instead helped inventor Charles Babbage develop the first computer — a fully functional Analytical Engine — after which they retired to battle crime using the power of mathematics (and rayguns).

So far, Padua has pitted the pair against the economic Panic of 1837 as well as subterranean salamander people, but the most priceless of the series is ,Ada Lovelace: The Origin, in which we learn the true force of Lovelace's prescience:

[2D Goggles]

The Green Light Anti-Zombie Squad offers lectures and demonstrations to help you and your loved ones survive an army of the undead with your brains (and sanity intact). To ensure you'll make it through the zombie apocalypse, heed their simple tips.

1. Clear the Room: There's nothing worse than stepping into a room only to be set upon by a horde of brain-hungry zombies. A team of four armed shooters can easily clear a room if they all stand against the nearest wall: one body in each corner and two in the middle. This position proves optimal for quickly dispatching of a room full of the reanimated.

2. Never Turn Your Back on the Enemy: Shambling isn't just for zombies. Three live humans can stand with their backs together and carefully rotate through the room, ensuring that all eyes are facing outward and no one falls victim to a surprise attack.

3. The Fine Line: For those lucky enough to amass a relatively large army of live humans, the Fine Line is the best way to fend off roving zombie hordes. Simply form two lines of armed persons, one line in front of the other. Have the front line shoot while the back line holds. When the front line runs out of ammo, the back line steps in while the front line reloads. Tragically, the Squad's training zombie, Billy the Hunter, died while the Squad demonstrated this technique.

4. Zombies Are the Least of Your Worries: It's bad enough that you have to deal with the zombified masses, who are tireless, feel no pain, and greatly outnumber healthy human beings. But perhaps even more deadly are the humans who simply can't cope with the new world order. It's best if you keep a psychologist on hand who can identify and subdue such persons before they embark on a murderous rampage that makes the zombies look as ferocious as fluffy kittens.

5. Choose Your Weapons Wisely: Not all weapons work for all people, and the trendiest zombie-fighting armaments aren't always the best. When in doubt, melee weapons are a fine tool against the undead, but think twice before picking up that giant hammer. As satisfying as squishing zombie skull may be, swinging the hammer creates a sizable arc that gives zombies plenty of time to nibble at your armpits. GLAZS advises that you invest in a machete, which is cheap, lightweight, and neatly separates a zombie's head from its bodies. As for ranged weapons, you may want to reconsider that sawed-off shotgun you're so fond of. Bolt action rifles are both powerful and accurate, without the ammunition restrictions of the close-range shotgun.

6. Windows Are Not Your Friend: Zombies have a nasty habit of crashing through glass windows, so it's best to choose a hideout with as few ground level windows as possible. Steer clear of malls, coffee shops, and boutique outlets in favor of Costco, BJs, Sam's Club, or any other large warehouse. If you find yourself trapped in your house, it's best to hightail it up to the attic, which the uncoordinated zombies will have trouble reaching. Basements, even windowless ones, spell trouble.

7. No Brains for Oil: If you're traveling with a group, you may consider fleeing by minivan or SUV, but be warned that the gas mileage and rollover rates might be a literal killer. If you're traveling alone, it's best to take a high miles per gallon vehicle, like a dirt bike, or, better yet, grab a bicycle and escape the zombies under your own replenishable power.

8. Fight World War Z with TNT: Using dynamite around the undead is a tricky proposition; the right amount of explosives can blow them to bits, but you might get cremated yourself. It's better to stave off those desiccated corpse with a controlled burn. But, GLASZ's demolitions expert warns, make sure it's a fire you can contain. A raging wildfire could prove far more deadly than the zombies themselves.

9. Animals: Friend or Foe? Animals can be invaluable allies at the end of the world, but the zombie infection could render them more hazard than help. If the zombie plague is viral, it can infect any living cells, causing even the most inhuman animals to exhibit flesh-craving symptoms. GLASZ members ask: Would you rather fight off a zombie human — or a zombie lion?

10. Suit Up: Perhaps the best way to prepare for the day the dead rise from their graves is to assemble the perfect zombie-fighting attire. Avoid brain spray-back by wearing goggles and covering your face with a non-porous material. Use plate mail or leather to create a bite-proof body suit. Kevlar gloves (provided to some food industry workers) can be worn as is or refashioned into impenetrable sleeves, allowing you to fend off zombie bites by holding up your forearms. Riot shields also add an extra layer of protection and make the zombie head squishing that much easier.

[Green Light Anti-Zombie Squad]

Ever thought about having gamma-ray vision? The power of in-flight flight (pictured)? An immunity to the thirteenth bullet? Well, it's time to explore the possibilities of these alternate abilities — the more useless side of superpowers, if you will. Superuseless Superpowers is paving the way through this ironic discussion, inventing talents such as psychic amnesia:

This superuseless superhero foresees the future while instantly forgetting anything he has just foreseen. Known in some circles as Untotal Recall.

The brains behind Superuseless Superpowers are an imaginative bunch. Maybe you'll never be able to move objects with your mind, but don't lose hope! You might one day be able to achieve 99% opacity.

[Superuseless Superpowers]

The situation has already become dire. You lose track of people for a few months, and the next thing you know, they've become dongles. One Scranton, PA man was turned into a laser printer for a mad supercomputer. A recent study* said that people are now 29 percent more likely to lose their humanity than their innocence. That means there are potentially millions of posthumans running around who believe that it's not them, it's you.

The thing about humanity is, it's like pregnancy. You're either human, or you're not. There's no middle ground, no half-and-half — bite me, Mr. Spock! — and you don't get to straddle. Pick a side!

I recognize that some of you are fine with being no longer human. It's a valid lifestyle, and I fully support your species-traitor agenda. (Freakazoid.) However, this article isn't aimed at you, but at the people who are still human or human-identified. (Or human-questioning.) Also — and it pains me to have to say this — you robots who want to be human? Go away. Ditto for you trolling cephalopods. It always goes the same way — somebody starts a helpful discussion for current and maybe-former humans, and some A.I. has to come on there and try and reverse-Turing-test everybody, in some perverse bid for human validation.

Seriously, Pinnochio-bots — leave now. This isn't for you. And no, I won't trade validation of your humanity for sex. I don't care how fully functional you are. I still have nano-crabs from the last time.

Okay, now that it's just us, let's get started.

What is humanity?

Countless philosophers and science fiction authors have devoted billions of words to debating this question, because they didn't ask me. If they'd asked me, it would have taken five minutes, and they could have moved on to solving more pressing questions, like "Where is my Debbie Gibson comeback?" Or: "What happens if someone accidentally watches Moulin Rouge without being on the movie's recommended dose of Ativan?"

It's pretty simple: humanity is a mood disorder. It's a chemical imbalance that makes people manic-depressive, needy, passive-aggressive, sexually compulsive and epileptic-bulimic-lactose-intolerant and sponge-throwy. There, we're done.

The creator of humanity, as a concept, was 16th century thinker and fish-thrower Michel de Montaigne. The inventor of bling (see picture at right), Montaigne shaved his head and coated it with a special substance which converted it into a massive lint roll. Thus armed, he would rub his bald head over everyone he met, while shouting, "Que Sais-je?!" which is French for, "Is that a pubic hair stuck to my head? Is it? Is it?" If you heard someone shout "Que sais-je?" you had about five seconds to dodge, before a megacephalic bald head charged you and coated your clothes with head-glue. Sometimes Montaigne would enlist the aid of two specially bred hairless llamas, Pepe and Marino. He also had a belt with a large number of flasks, each containing an adhesive puffer fish, which he could throw with uncanny accuracy at a distance of up to 50 centimes.

Anyway, Montaigne needed a theory to explain to his llamas why he couldn't keep gluing his head to theirs at night, a practice which made the llamas happy but which gave Montaigne terrible neck cramps. He needed to explain what separated him from the the llamas, other than walking upright. Thus was born his theory of ennui-fu, which converted our uniquely human boredom and disaffection into a martial art that could snap your spine in three places. To be human, Montaigne said, one must be able to kill, not just in cold blood, but even in tepid saliva.

Some easy methods to determine whether you are still human:

Okay, so enough theory. Here's the practice. Test yourself to find out if you've lost your humanity, or might be in imminent danger of misplacing it. Answer the following questions:

You have mistakenly eaten a piece of fruit belonging to an archbishop. A mango, say. Do you
A) Hide the iniquitous pit and claim innocence?
B) Confess your error in an elaborate Latin-esque verse?
C) Conceal yourself inside a giant chasuble and pretend to be made out of incense thanks to the judicious application of dry ice?

You face a complex ethical dilemma. What do you do?

What do you mean, you need more info? It's an ethical dilemma. It's complex. Okay, okay. It's an ethical dilemma with at least seven separate aspects. And you have to choose who lives, and who dies. What do you do?

What are you wearing?

What percentage of your body is covered in glowing bubble wrap and/or little bits of electronics? Has your chest/nose/kneecap/genitalia/hair/brain/toenail started behaving outside of your control? Is the sensation that usually tells you when you're no longer hungry now saying that you no longer need to breathe?

When was your last bowel movement? Was it made out of metal?

How about now? What are you wearing now?

How to get your humanity back:

This is the part where it really helps to have watched a lot of science fiction, and possibly have listened to some German industrial music as well. There are clues, there are roadmaps. Many science fiction novels are the work of people who later transformed almost entirely into bubble wrap, as you can see by looking at photo albums from WorldCon. (Every time I'm in the same room as John Shirley, I have to sit on my hands to keep from popping bits of him.)

From my intensive immersion in SF, I know that it helps to freak out. If you even suspect that you are approaching a non-human event, start screaming and breaking stuff. Especially in public, or in front of your coworkers. This can actually help to reverse the dehumanizing effects of vaccines and gadgets just by itself. But it also lets everybody know that you're SERIOUS about staying human. If you remain calm or take the time to think stuff through, you're already sunk.

Don't fall into the trap of going back to nature — it is most likely the inhuman babble of voices inside your head, trying to trick you into infecting the natural world with your contagion.

Don't go macrobiotic. That's usually the last thing people try before they succumb completely, and it never works. Worst of all, it's tantamount to admitting you're about to become a machine-creature, or just a regular creature. Also: If you hear someone saying they've gone macrobiotic, avoid avoid avoid. They are probably half-slug already. Vegans, also highly suspect.

Self-mutiliation works, if only you remove the right parts. Trouble is, people invariably get confused and remove their last vestiges of humanity, which they then sculpt into hortatory figurines, for the remaining "temporarily human" people to gaze upon in horror.

Don't join any groups. Or associations. Don't go to anyone's clubhouse, or "tea room," or especially not basement.

Really, the only surefire vaccine and cure for post-humanity is patriotism. It terrifies and horrifies the agents of cyborgity and mutatedness, because it's beyond their comprehension. Bonus points if you're patriotic for some place you've never actually been, like Tonga. March around shouting slogans and singing anthems, and possibly also hurling insults upon people whom you supect of being from Niue, that inferior land.

It's almost, but not quite, too late. If you don't do something right now, this could be you. Or possibly your boyfriend:

* There's no study. I made it up.

Not content with guest-starring in an upcoming episode of Battlestar Galactica, Hodgman is also reinventing our fund of knowledge about the universe, including settling the crucial question: are mole men the new hoboes? He has a whole section of the book dealing with crypto-zoology, addressing all the weird creatures that you might or might not encounter out there. The "Hidden World" chapter also has a very handy guide to alien-spotting, including Hodgman's own personal experiences looking for flying saucers.

After reading this book, I am seeing the world in a whole new, somewhat puce-colored, light. Apparently, if you went to Yale, you are supposed to exchange a whole greeting formula in which you reference the Ancient Supercomputer at the bottom of the world (the one which you operate with the golden punch-cards). And Yale grads who belong to a particular secret society watch over this time-lost Supercomputer until the end of time... which is coming. Also on the computer tip, Hodgman has some ideas about how to use his fantastic, unspeakable wealth to make computers no longer desire the destruction of the human race. (He also has some exciting new designs for the next generation of space station.)

Also, Hodgman explains how he assembled his fantastic wealth, and it apparently involved working with some of the best experts in every field and then surreptitiously collecting their DNA. "It's not legal to say 'genetic experimentation,' but let's just say within seven years, I had assembled a crack team of physically and mentally perfect assistants, NONE OF WHOM HAD ANY GENITALS."

What other author will have the courage to tell you the truth about Napoleon's conquest of the Moon in the late 1790s? What other author will explain how to tell the difference between a good spleen and an evil spleen? Science has been letting us down, which is probably the reason it got so fictional in the first place. Thank goodness we have an actual expert to sort us out.

John Hodgman image by Erik Charlton.

Here's the official plot synopsis:

When a $5 billion NASA probe disappears into an intergalactic wormhole, the agency recruits Ham III, the grandson of the first chimpanzee in space, to help retrieve the wayward craft. But Ham is a free-spirited circus performer, more interested in in zero gravity hijinks than living up to his illustrious heritage. The simian slacker becomes a reluctant hero and and learns the true meaning of courage as he and his crewmates, the fearless Lt. Luna and their uptight commander, Titan, risk everything in an effort to save the peaceful inhabitants of a distant planet from an evil dictator.