Tennessee

I realize I haven’t posted in nearly three years, but I’ve been a busy and beleaguered bear. I’ll offer no further excuses, just my story. When last I wrote, I had left the bikers, and rode into the sunset on my unicycle. I was Tennessee-bound to ensure my estranged right-wing father didn’t hurt anyone in his derangement. After days on the trail I rolled into the majestic forests of the Iron Mountains. Once I knew I was in the vicinity, I accosted a wise old owl – what other kind is there?

“Do you know John Birch Bear?”

“Who?”

“John Birch Bear. Do you know him?

“Who?”

“Well, you should ask, ‘whom?’ since he was the object of my question.”

“Who?”

At this point I realized I was dealing with an idiot, so I peddled on. Shortly, I came upon a diner that advertised fresh baked bear claws and took it as a sign. As I ordered at the counter, I noticed a possum eyeing me from across the room. The bear claw came out, and as I started eating, the little marsupial wandered up.

“You Birch Bear’s boy?” Before I could answer, he continued, “He’s been expecting you.”

Normally, when a rodent-like creature implores me to follow him, I have my reservations. I knew a British bear who followed a slick little mouse on the premise of visiting “the happiest place on earth.” I haven’t seen the bloke since, but the word is that he’s being held hostage for a few billion dollars worth of merchandising revenue.

Having no other option, however, I followed this toothy critter to my father.