Tag Archives: Bears

Poetic Bumble

A couple of quick things today, dudes. I’ve got a poem and a cute bumble bee.

No, seriously. The bumble bee is really very cute, especially for what it does.

You know what? Let’s just go to the video and let you decide for yourself.

See? I told you it was cute. I mean, how often do we get to see a bee give some guy’s finger the high-five?

Now for something a little more. . . somber. It’s a touching poem by a dude named Raul Gutierrez, who has a 3-year-old child. Lately, Raul has been keeping track of some of the more. . . wobbly bits he’s been telling the little dude. It’s a wonderful little piece that ends with an amazing stinger, one worthy of a high-fiving bee.

Get ready to feel your sensawonda get kicked up a notch or three and then get kicked in the nads. Just a warning. Watch out for that last line. Still, a very moving poem.

Lies I’ve told my 3 year old recently

Trees talk to each other at night.

All fish are named either Lorna or Jack.

Before your eyeballs fall out from watching too much TV, they get very loose.

Tiny bears live in drain pipes.

If you are very very quiet you can hear the clouds rub against the sky.

The moon and the sun had a fight a long time ago.

Everyone knows at least one secret language.

When nobody is looking, I can fly.

We are all held together by invisible threads.

Books get lonely too.

Sadness can be eaten.

I will always be there.

Yeah. See what I mean?

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Crab Mallet

by Richard

We were in Alaska for a cruise a couple of years ago. Part of the extended family was off enjoying . . . I don’t know, something or other like a native activity watered down and distorted through the lens of a cruise ship excursion.

Zippy the Monkey Boy, Sarcasmo and I had just returned from going on a bear-watching expedition, which was great. There was only one problem, though. We didn’t get to watch any bears. It was a wonderful drive through the woods, ending up in a wonderful walk down a wooden walkway and a wonderful viewing platform that offered a wonderful unobstructed view of the tundra stretching away forever. Unobstructed because there were no bears wandring around to obstruct the view. So, that was a fail then.

Anyway, we got back to the rally point and the young dudes didn’t want to go on the tender back to the cruise ship. So we decided to go get something to eat at a “local” restaurant. While there, we created a perfect visual for a self-defeating behavior.

Allow me to share it with you now. So you can remember it the next time you sabotage yourself.

So, yeah. . . How's that self-improvement thing working out for you?

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A Word Of Caution

by Richard

For years, Hyper Lad has been drooling after one thing and one thing only: He saw a five-pound Gummi Bear on a television show a while back and he’s wanted one ever since.

Gummi Bears are a kind of candy, sort of a hard jelly shaped like the traditional iconic image of a teddy bear. Personally, I can’t stand the little things. They’re just plain awful. But that’s me.

To Hyper Lad and a lot of other people, Gummi Bears are their go-to candy. Poor, poor people.

Anyway, Hyper Lad saw a five-pound Gummi Bear on television and, ever since that exact instant, it has been his Holy Grail, his Nirvana, His goal. The one thing he’s wanted in life more than any other thing.

And, yesterday, he basically got it.

Hyper Lad and his mom were wandering around in historic downtown St. Augustine, FL, and checking out this and that. Until they wandered into a candy store on St. George St.

“He had that thing out of its shelf and to the counter and was paying for it before I even turned around,” said my wife, known to Hyper Lad as She Who Must Be An Angel Because She Let’s Me Buy Stuff.

The “thing” to which she referred was a one-pound orange Gummi Bear. Seriously. One solid pound of hardened orange Jell-o, shaped like a teddy bear and encased in plastic. You’d think the young dude had found his heaven.

Right up until the time he actually took a bite out of the Gummi Bear’s ear.

He chewed and then chewed some more, with a nice confused look on his face. Then you could see him force the swallow down his throat.

Hyper Lad carefully put the Gummi Bear back down on the table and distinctly push it away.

“That,” he said, “tastes like solid cough medicine.”

And so, dudes, the lesson we’ve learned from this is . . . Gummi Bears taste like cough medicine?

No. Um, how about One-pound Gummi Bears taste like five miles of bad road?

No, what about. . . I got it! Be careful what you wish for. You just might get it.

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