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.
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