Oh thank god, Bear sobered up some after a nap and got a hold on his passions. Then he explained to me that he didn’t obtain a license to kill. He had gotten a license to THRILL by watching Micheal Jackson’s Moonwalker on the IMAX screen at Darien Lake. Whew! Close call!
Oh God! Bear got a license to kill today. He showed it to me, staggering and slurring his words. I said Bear where the hell do you get a license to kill? He slurred something about an internet chat room and staggered off swearing at me.
I’m so mad at Bear I could scream! While we were in Branson Bear decided that he had to go to the Build-a-Bear workshop where he spent his time sitting very still amongst the other bears. And then when a little kid came to pick him up, he would rush at them suddenly and bite them viciously about the ankles. Of course this got us kicked out of the store and the sheriff suggested in no uncertain terms that we leave Branson and not come back. This happened BEFORE we got to go to Tamblynwood! God, sometimes I just don’t know where I get the patience. And you know what? I don’t think Bear even cares!
So Bear has been nominated for a Juno award for his performance as Kirkland in the summer blockbuster Mr. Tibbs. It’s kinda odd because the Juno award is a Canadian award and Bear is not Canadian. I suspect that some lies were told when Bear entered the country. Meanwhile at hacienda de Dave, I was out in my yard the other day pruning my grape vine when I just happened to look over and see a little animal’s tail, sans little animal. By the little tail on the ground were two little feet and part of a head. I think it was either a small squirrel or a large chipmunk before it was consumed. I asked Bear about it but he denied any involvement in eating the neighborhood animals although several are missing and he’s put on about 7 pounds in two days.
Regardless Bear and I have been packing our bags to head out on a two part vacation. On the first leg of the vacation Bear and I will be visiting a Dude Airport where he and I will spend a week running the control tower at a real Arkansas airport. And while that seems exciting the second leg of the trip will be even more spectacular. We are going to Branson!!! And we’re going to Tamblynwood! That’s the new theme park dedicated to super actress Amber Tamblyn! Bear and I are ecstatic! Well, I’m ecstatic and Bear… well I think he’s just a little drunk on the blood of the neighborhood creatures. Some times I wonder if I could mail him to Abu Dhabi. I’m sure I could lure him into a box using some Swedish Fish. Well, I can dream can’t I?
It was Friday, but not a Friday like all the other Friday’s, this one came at the end of the week. It had been a long week, not like other weeks, this week had been a full seven days long. The summer had pitter-pattered its stocking feet down the temperature stairwell and was cooling off from its long heating up. Fall was in the air, floating about dodging Zephyrs waiting its turn to take over. The days were shortening and the nights were longening. And me? I was still, the one they called Uncle Otto.
It was falsely believed at one point that I had been killed by a homicidal truck. This could not be further from the truth, except that it was very nearly true. Well, at least I wanted the truck to believe that I was dead. After a few weeks of laying very still under the truck, the truck lost interest and decided to go elsewhere. Unfortunately trucks are rarely self-motivated and so he really didn’t go anywhere at all. He just sat there on my head solving Suduko puzzles. After several years the homicidal truck eventually rusted away and I was free of him.
I must admit that at this point I was a bit peckish. Also, after several years under a truck I also had become not a little insane, and thought myself to be a fox version of Woodrow Wilson. I was the finest dressed, top hat wearing fox in all the land! Also, I had 14 points, none of which I could remember. I quickly located a chicken coop and ate my fill of plump delicious poullets. As I picked my teeth with a rib bone, my mind returned to my 14 points (none of which I could remember).
These 14 points, should make the world a better place, I reasoned. And since they would be making the world a better place, I just had to go in search of them. Tying a couple of poullets to a stick for later I set out on my mission of world improvement. After about three miles my stomach began to cramp up from all the raw chicken. The cramps had me doubled over in pain, my top hat fallen into the mud. Eventually I succumbed and passed out.
In the darkness of my incapacitation the specter of Madame Chiang Kai-sheck floated before me. Well, to be truthful, it was the head of Madam Chiang attached to the body of a 1952 Buick, but I digress. “Uncle Otto.” “Uncle Ottttoooo!” She called to me as from a great distance. A river came into view. Suddenly I was seated in a small boat bobbing in the river. Madame Chiang was on a distant bank, barely visible through the misty fog swirling round. “Vroom, vroom!” She called to me, but the more I paddled my skiff toward her, the further away she drifted, as the river carried me away.
**
“Ananda, I never date my Sels, well I did once but it didn’t work out.”
Kirkland raised his arm, straight as an arrow. The 957 was just an extension of his hand pointing accusingly at the bar. A moment passed and he lowered his arm.
“Well, at least you have a Sel, for that matter more than one. Most people are happy if the Index goes up, and then they are even happier when it goes down, because someone else lost more money than they did.”
“True,” replied Kirkland.
“Kirkland?”
“Yeah?”
“Are you going to shoot that thing?”
“Oh… yeah… I was just thinking.”
In one quick motion he brought the 957 to shoulder height and fired. A two foot muzzle flash ignited in the air in an instant, the gun kicked his wrist up, a three inch hole smashed through the bar ejecting dark oak splinters. An upturned bar stool crashed off the sticky, filthy bar and rolled lazily on the floor, once, twice and rested.
“Nice.”
Somewhere in the back an electronic machine babbled away to the empty bar. The sound mixed with the cold smell of sour beer. The day was cold, the sky was a battleship. Cold had crept in to take a seat at the bar, and gave no indication of abandoning his seat any time soon.
“Did you get him?”
“Not sure.” Kirkland moved his head first to one side, then to the other, peeking through the hole in the bar.
“Hey, maybe we should hang out here a while and see if anyone heard the noise.”
“Sure we can do that.” Kirkland knew there was no one to hear the sound, but Ananda was still young enough to have a childlike faith that they were not alone. “Let’s see what’s on tap, there has to be something left.” He rounded the bar and flipped up the galvanized lid on what had been a cooler. Inside where several dozen beers of various kinds, floating in some scummy looking water. He carefully fished out five bottles, as if he were careful enough he could get the bottles out of their watery graves in a sanitary condition.
Me: Bear if you come out I promise we can sue Al Roker for not crediting you with the invention of weather forecasting.
Bear (hiding under the sofa): Grrrr, snarl… GROWL!
Bear rushes out from under the sofa to dive head first into a bag of Swedish fish. Grabbing a huge mouthful he rushes back under the sofa. Horrible sounds emanate, sounds of Bear salivating and foaming at the mouth, and decimating the poor fish.
Me: Bear, you do realize that Al Roker doesn’t even claim to have invented weather forcasting don’t you?
Bear: Grrr!
Me: Well that’s what I get for feeding a drunken tiny bear Swedish fish. I’ll never get his attention back till all the fish are gone!
Bear has decided that he must sue the writer of the Berenstain Bears for stealing his life’s story. He is also considering suing Buddha, who he says is based on him. In a whispered confession he revealed to me that he will eventually sue my friend Al Roker because Bear invented the concept of predicting the weather. And while Bear is very litigious with everyone who may have ripped him off, he sees absolutely nothing wrong with the fact that he is based on someone name Pooh. Hmm, well what can I say, he is a very silly bear.
Unfortunately we learned that Bear cannot run for congress, or for president of the United States because he is not a U. S. citizen. In fact he may not even be in this country legally. He promises me that he will beat this limitation along with the help of Arnold and 30 million Mexican nationals. Regardless, we did take Bear for his eye exams today. He was hoping to get some medicine for his non-existent glaucoma but all they did was run some tests. We did learn that Bear is slightly color-blind, he can’t see red though he can tell the difference between blue and green, and he can tell that neither of those colors are close to hazelnut or peppermint. He also has trouble telling white from eggshell.
Ha Ha! Made you look!
Why am I so cruel and good looking?
