These past few days, I’ve been so bothered about my genealogy, I’ve been gorging on raspberries. These have yielded some unusual turds to say the least. Yesterday, it all started with one that was loose and full of seeds, sort of like raspberry jam. This morning, I woke up and excreted a pile of small dry nuggets. Later in the afternoon as I was laying a log, I happened to read in the newspaper that they were casting dancing bears for the circus.
Needless to say, I jumped at the opportunity and hightailed it to Hoboken. I waited for hours in a tent with other bears from all over the world. There were some seasoned pros, let me tell you. Most of the bears had managers and agents and lawyers and dieticians and spiritual advisors. All I had was my God-given talent and some gumption.
The audition piece they called was a personal favorite: the Macarena!
I danced it like I had never danced before. My big furry paws seemed to move as if guided by a divine force. And when it came to the part where I shook my hips, I really let ‘em fly. It was about that time when it became evident that I had been slowly leaking a sticky seed-filled substance down the backs of my legs.
For some reason, I didn’t get the job – the judges must have had shit for brains.
Saturday, June 30, 2007
Tuesday, June 26, 2007
6.27.07 - Can't see the forest for the family trees
It’s not often that I seek advice, but when I do, I can always rely on good ol’ Ralph the Raccoon to offer some sage words. After all, he knows everything – he’s omnivorous.
I had become romantically entangled with a certain Ms. Mary Bear, but got to thinking one night and realized that we share the same last name. This presented an obvious problem.
“Hey man, if you go back far enough, everyone was incestuous,” replied Ralph. “Sometimes, it’s not even that far. My parents, Rudolph and Rae, were uncle and niece. I’m not sure where that puts me.”
At which point I interjected, “You’re a good guy, and that’s all that matters.” But really, I was not satisfied with his answer.
He continued, “Hell, every bear I’ve met in this forest has the same surname: Jerry Bear, Terry Bear, Gary Bear, Larry Bear, Queer Bear, Claire Bear, and of course the cute mentally challenged one, Teddy Bear.”
On that note, I left Ralph to take a long walk and contemplate everything I thought I knew. My world had become so complex. Was Paddington Bear, a British chap with a terrible sense of direction, really related to the Berenstien Bears, a nice Jewish family? And what about Corduroy Bear with his impeccable fashion sense? Could he really be related to that mangy toker Smokey the Bear?
I had become romantically entangled with a certain Ms. Mary Bear, but got to thinking one night and realized that we share the same last name. This presented an obvious problem.
“Hey man, if you go back far enough, everyone was incestuous,” replied Ralph. “Sometimes, it’s not even that far. My parents, Rudolph and Rae, were uncle and niece. I’m not sure where that puts me.”
At which point I interjected, “You’re a good guy, and that’s all that matters.” But really, I was not satisfied with his answer.
He continued, “Hell, every bear I’ve met in this forest has the same surname: Jerry Bear, Terry Bear, Gary Bear, Larry Bear, Queer Bear, Claire Bear, and of course the cute mentally challenged one, Teddy Bear.”
On that note, I left Ralph to take a long walk and contemplate everything I thought I knew. My world had become so complex. Was Paddington Bear, a British chap with a terrible sense of direction, really related to the Berenstien Bears, a nice Jewish family? And what about Corduroy Bear with his impeccable fashion sense? Could he really be related to that mangy toker Smokey the Bear?
Saturday, June 23, 2007
6.24.07 - Falling in Love
I don’t know about you, but every so often, I get an urge to climb a tree. I found a big oak near the Delaware River that suited my purposes. About two-thirds the way up, the weight of my foot compromised a branch with a loud crack.
Suddenly, I was a cub again in the thick of bear season. Bullets whistled past my head as I galloped toward the den. I felt a sharp sting in my back right leg.
When I woke up, I was lying facedown on the forest floor under the care of Dr. Mary Bear. During my flashback, I had spun around to swipe at the hunters and lick at my wound. In doing this, I lost my balance and fell 20 feet to the ground.
Mary was a beautiful bear, with thick, hairy legs – the kind I wouldn’t mind hibernating with. Her front bear paws were callused and torn. Her mouth was full of jagged, gnarly teeth, and a slow steady stream of drool graced the right side of her angelic countenance. In short, she was perfect.
She ran her paws down my back to check my alignment. Next she inspected my dipstick and deemed it necessary to give me an oil change… but I don’t kiss and tell.
Suddenly, I was a cub again in the thick of bear season. Bullets whistled past my head as I galloped toward the den. I felt a sharp sting in my back right leg.
When I woke up, I was lying facedown on the forest floor under the care of Dr. Mary Bear. During my flashback, I had spun around to swipe at the hunters and lick at my wound. In doing this, I lost my balance and fell 20 feet to the ground.
Mary was a beautiful bear, with thick, hairy legs – the kind I wouldn’t mind hibernating with. Her front bear paws were callused and torn. Her mouth was full of jagged, gnarly teeth, and a slow steady stream of drool graced the right side of her angelic countenance. In short, she was perfect.
She ran her paws down my back to check my alignment. Next she inspected my dipstick and deemed it necessary to give me an oil change… but I don’t kiss and tell.
Thursday, June 21, 2007
6.21.07
I ran into Ralph the Raccoon today by the creek. He and I happened to show up at the same time to get a drink. We both had the usual.
After a good many slurps of water, we were sufficiently lubricated that we got to talking. I asked him about his two black eyes, and he explained that he’d had gotten into trouble with some money-lending boxing bears. After much questioning, he admitted that he had borrowed money to fuel his gambling habit – he’s wild about the snail races. Well, as it happened the snail he had put all his money on was charged with a salt.
After a couple more rounds, I coaxed out of Ralph the names of the brutal bookie bears. I knew both of them well: Perry Bear puts on airs to peddle his wears: expensive bottled water. And Weary Bear is narcoleptic.
Ralph had gone to meet with them about some late payments. Weary Bear sat behind his desk with a big cigar in his mouth while Perry did the talking. Every couple of minutes, Weary’s head would drop to his chest, only to spring up again, shocked by the pain of the burning cigar in his fur. After a heated interchange, Perry lost it and clocked Ralph across the face with a big green bottle.
After a good many slurps of water, we were sufficiently lubricated that we got to talking. I asked him about his two black eyes, and he explained that he’d had gotten into trouble with some money-lending boxing bears. After much questioning, he admitted that he had borrowed money to fuel his gambling habit – he’s wild about the snail races. Well, as it happened the snail he had put all his money on was charged with a salt.
After a couple more rounds, I coaxed out of Ralph the names of the brutal bookie bears. I knew both of them well: Perry Bear puts on airs to peddle his wears: expensive bottled water. And Weary Bear is narcoleptic.
Ralph had gone to meet with them about some late payments. Weary Bear sat behind his desk with a big cigar in his mouth while Perry did the talking. Every couple of minutes, Weary’s head would drop to his chest, only to spring up again, shocked by the pain of the burning cigar in his fur. After a heated interchange, Perry lost it and clocked Ralph across the face with a big green bottle.
Monday, June 18, 2007
6.18.07
I was walking around in the forest this morning, whistling some happy tunes to myself, as black bears often do. First “Tiptoe Through the Tulips,” followed by a rousing rendition of “My Blue Heaven.” I’m known throughout the forests Warren County, New Jersey for this. Also for my ability to eat a whole tree when I set my mind to it.
You can do anything if you set your mind to it. My friend Ralph the Raccoon once stood in the path of a semi on route 80 and didn’t become road kill because he was meditating on not getting squished. That’s what he told me, and damn it, I believe him. He also told me his cousin is the Rocky Raccoon of Beatles fame. Ralph is the coolest guy I know. Bar none. But I digress.
I came upon some hikers. They had their big backpacks on, filled with granola bars and bear spray and all the usual accoutrements. Like usual, I went into this vivid fantasy where I get up on my back feet with my front paws stretched out so that I can put them on the fellow’s shoulders, and crush him into a quivering heap on the ground. Then I put my canines through his scull and let his warm salty blood flow down my tongue. I hear his companions scream like a bunch of little girls, and satisfied that the first hiker is incapacitated, I run after them, and with a swipe or two of my claws, bring them to the ground. They’re gasping for breath, but I just eat their stomachs whole. And damn, it feels good.
But I snapped out of it when they started ringing their bells in my face. I can’t stand those bells, so I ran away, and puked my guts out because I was so repulsed by what I had imagined. At the same time, I was ashamed of myself. Why couldn’t I eat a tourist? Just once. Of course I was hungry after the ordeal, so I walked toward town to find some garbage cans.
There’s one old couple that always shows me a fun time. They live in a little ranch house built on a slant so that the back deck is accessible by a staircase in the yard. I like climbing up on the deck just to see looks in the eyes of these geezers. Today they were banging on their windows and yelping and making fools of themselves... so I ate their bird feeder.
They were howling and making a fuss, so I took pity on them and wandered across the street and knocked over a garbage can. The contents spilled on the asphalt, among them an unopened bag of half-frozen pierogies. My kind of garbage can. I was clawing open the bag when the game warden came down the street in his big truck, at which point I took my leave.
You can do anything if you set your mind to it. My friend Ralph the Raccoon once stood in the path of a semi on route 80 and didn’t become road kill because he was meditating on not getting squished. That’s what he told me, and damn it, I believe him. He also told me his cousin is the Rocky Raccoon of Beatles fame. Ralph is the coolest guy I know. Bar none. But I digress.
I came upon some hikers. They had their big backpacks on, filled with granola bars and bear spray and all the usual accoutrements. Like usual, I went into this vivid fantasy where I get up on my back feet with my front paws stretched out so that I can put them on the fellow’s shoulders, and crush him into a quivering heap on the ground. Then I put my canines through his scull and let his warm salty blood flow down my tongue. I hear his companions scream like a bunch of little girls, and satisfied that the first hiker is incapacitated, I run after them, and with a swipe or two of my claws, bring them to the ground. They’re gasping for breath, but I just eat their stomachs whole. And damn, it feels good.
But I snapped out of it when they started ringing their bells in my face. I can’t stand those bells, so I ran away, and puked my guts out because I was so repulsed by what I had imagined. At the same time, I was ashamed of myself. Why couldn’t I eat a tourist? Just once. Of course I was hungry after the ordeal, so I walked toward town to find some garbage cans.
There’s one old couple that always shows me a fun time. They live in a little ranch house built on a slant so that the back deck is accessible by a staircase in the yard. I like climbing up on the deck just to see looks in the eyes of these geezers. Today they were banging on their windows and yelping and making fools of themselves... so I ate their bird feeder.
They were howling and making a fuss, so I took pity on them and wandered across the street and knocked over a garbage can. The contents spilled on the asphalt, among them an unopened bag of half-frozen pierogies. My kind of garbage can. I was clawing open the bag when the game warden came down the street in his big truck, at which point I took my leave.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
