Windsurfing Nation

My baby didn’t want any of this. There it stood before us; a goliath of shit-your-pants fear. I was not prepared for this! I was raised on TV! No amount of flickering, above-the-shoulders people compared to this bear. I was never scared of the Discovery Channel. I don’t think I like this.

Her, she! Oh my better half was better off being incomplete. She was a Prisoner of War and this did not compare. No sir, this was far worse. This was dire. Her face was painted in shock and the paint was still wet. Her face twitched and dropped; her facial muscles tightened and relaxed. Was she having a stroke? “Honey?” I said. Big mistake! Winnie-the-fucking-Pooh lit up like a Roman Candle. He was going to rip us apart until he found his honey. His unwarranted aggression would dissolve us like an atom bomb. Good god, his hands are like dinner plates and he has no life insurance! What kind of man was he? Not one at all; he had nothing to live for; he was a complete bezerker.

My legs jittered; they were possessed with fear and the need to swing themselves back and forth very quickly. This furry beast should be fighting on the shores of Normandy or be made into a rug, not threatening us witless campers!

His teeth were barred; they shone like yellow diamonds, just ready to be soaked in blood. His beady eyes were maniacal. They spoke to me like those of a drunkard I once knew; he was ready for ANYTHING. Like a lumbering boozebag, he wanted nothing more than to roam through the downtown streets at night and reclaim them as his own. He wanted to vicerate anybody in his way, and it was one hell of a deterrent, too. He had a mean streak as long as his bar tab, or about the length of this bear’s arms. He’d do it, too, the drunk, but he’s a humanist. What a curse! I prayed and hoped that the bear was one too.

I did not want to be the next vacationer inside this bear’s stomach. Already inside was a plethora of picnic enthusiasts, boyscouts, ships, small animals and parasites. That is no place for an organ donor and his wife! Good God, strike this heathen down!

But wait, why should we both die in vain? There’s simply no need! I must do what is right and save myself! She will understand; I’m much more successful. I turn to my sugar-pie to explain the situation to find that she has disappeared.

By God, how could this be? My one true love; a coward in the face of fear! Great bear, just devour me now, for I am truly unloved. Sky above and hell below; I do not want to live in on earth where I am discarded like the butt of a cigarette. Just eat me now!

Ah, but then there’s that book I was reading that was quite good, and I’d rather like to finish it. I’d also like to see the entire Godfather trilogy. Maybe I should carry on, if only long enough to finish up a few things.

In the face of this towering column, what is a good man to do?

He stared at me with those eyes. Why hasn’t it eaten me up? By now, I expected his stainless-steel claws to be poking around in my small intestine. I expected his cutting edge teeth to be gnawing into my cerebellum. For Christsake, I’d expected his children to be feasting on my spinal cord while the mother chased my poor wife and understood her insides to be a buffet. Come on, you great oaf! Some of us have places to be, and I know you must have some homeless people to chew on! This is simply anti-climactic! I’ve had it up to here!

I poked him in the chest

Then…then…nothing.

“Honey, leave the stuffed bear alone.”