Valencia or bust...

The bears are hard taskmasters. Within minutes of our van departure, a truck appeared in the distance. Snaking across the desert, it arrived in front of us, stopping in the midday sun. A fat man in a vest got out of the driver's seat, rushing to the back, and pressing some buttons on a panel.
 The side of the truck opened, sliding up onto the roof. Inside, a tropical paradise revealed itself. A man in safari outfit sat behind a camp table, in the middle of a lush jungle that seemed to stretch for miles, even though it was about 20-foot deep. Exotic birds flew from the jungle, exploring the desert and exploding into flames occasionally. The man, around 6-foot and with a small blond moustache, rose from his seat and offered a white gloved hand.
 "Sir Nigel Farnsworth-Holmes." He stated. I assumed it was his name, as gloves generally don't have doubled-barreled surnames.
 "And you must be the, ah ha, willing building crew!"
I looked around. This, even for me, was rather strange.
 "Gentlemen" - and here he addressed the bears - "You've brought the supplies?"
 The first bear nodded the affirmative, taking some sort of device from his pocket, and pressing a button. It was then I noticed a second truck had arrived silently behind us. As the bear pressed the button, the back of the truck opened, and teams of workmen began to bring building materials onto the sand.
 We watched for a few minutes. They brought out bricks, wooden trusses, cement, even paint.
 "You have your materials," Sir Nigel began, "And your unskilled day-labourers"
 I looked at the Mexican family. The father mouthed to me that he had a doctorate in Sociology.
 "So you can begin work immediately. I will return in one week, and expect to be able to buy fresh oranges at my convenience"
 With that, the truck closed up and departed. The bears and the supply truck did likewise. Approaching the building materials, I found a case full of papers. Amongst them, I found blueprints for a small building, and a pamphlet entitled "How to build and run your own Orange Empire - In the DESERT!"
 Resigning myself to my fate, I set the Mexicans to work. Prising open a crate, we found many oranges, and did eat heartily. Afterwords, we built the orange shop, and waited for customers. It was not long before they began to, I lie, flood in.

Eternal sunlight on the spotless bear.

The van doors opened. In fact, they opened in a fashion far more dramatic way than I can convey with words. But I'll try anyway:
 Springing open like caged rabbits eager for fresh lettuce, the metal doors of our confinement stood at attention. Sunlight bathed us like the care-worker of an elderly man, stroking itself softly across my wrinkled, fully clothed genitals. Terrified, we recoiled, fear snaking around our hearts, as if our very entrails would crush the life from us. Fearful, the Mexicans recoiled, mumbling and crying out in a manner cliched enough to be called racist.
 Outside, the bears. Now we were away from civilisation and their need for disguises, they were dressed in leathers. Leather biker coats, leather caps and large sunglasses. They looked a little like that one member of the village people, but without moustaches. Also, they were giant killing machines. The first one held the keys for the van, the second appeared to be clutching a submachine gun. Modified for his bear-fingers, of course.
 Gesturing sharply, the first bear ordered us out of the van. Stepping onto the desert outside, I felt like the first human to set foot on Mars. Although hopefully, that achievement won't be overshadowed by bear kidnap. The Mexican family followed me out, huddling together near the van. I stretched and looked around. Nothing for miles, red sand stretching to the horizons, and no signs of life beyond the trail from the van stretching towards the sunset.
 This probably wasn't good. Still, it's my birthday in October, and maybe someone's planning an elaborate surprise. One should never give up hope...

With a shudder...

...the van stopped. Shudderingly.
 The back, where I was held captive, was deceptively large. At first it had been to dark to see, but I'd quickly adjusted and grown accustomed to my surroundings. I was not in a small van, as I first thought: actually, it was a large van. Not huge, but a decent size. In the front corner - that which was nearest van's driver, presumably - huddled a Mexican family. I could tell they were Mexican from their costumes: stereotypes on the verge of being offensive, with large sombreros and ponchos over paunches. What I assumed to be the father stood uneasily, his chins shaking under his moustache, and offered me his hand.
 "Greeting Senior" He began. Addressing me in broken English, he told me that two days ago, two bears came to his house disguised as his aunt. Knocking him out, then his family, they had bundled them into this van and headed for wherever.
 So we return to present. The van, shudderingly, had shuddered to a stop. I can hear the bears coming towards the door. I don't know what horrors await me outside, but I sure wish I'd fashioned a shiv out of something... Those Mexicans look pretty pointy...

Bear naked.

I took another look at the two figures on my doorstep. They were obviously bears - probably the same bears that usually terrorise me, they all look the same - but, over their hulking form and hairy bodies, they had donned disguises. Well, not good disguises: I couldn't tell, but I think they were meant to be Chuck Norris. Or maybe Hermione Norris. They were pretty ambiguous disguises.
 I stood looking at them. They didn't look back, instead shuffling their feet and looking at the sky or the ground. After a while, I asked what they wanted. The larger of the two looked at, taking a swipe at me with his claw. When I woke up, I was in the back of a truck, driving across bumpy terrain. Or flat terrain, covered in the elderly. Whichever it was, it didn't make for a comfortable journey.
 I don't know where they're taking me. I just hope it's not Italy. I can't go back there, the Mafia are after me.

It's been a few days...

I'm sorry I haven't blogged for some time, but I've been trapped in the bowels of a Martian Spaceship. There, they carried out horrific tests on me, such as making me write essays on the history of European tourism...
 However, orchestrating a cunning distraction using a funnel and a bag of grass clippings, I escaped from the ship and fell all the way to safety. It would appear I'm indestructible. I intent to push my luck by wrestling fire-spewing bears for a living.

Happy April fools

I have played a trick on you all. Just wait, its coming at any moment.
 I lied. I'm sorry, I just wanted to be the big man.

So, safe in the knowledge a trick isn't being played on you, why not go look in your closets? There certainly isn't a fire-spewing bear in there!

None power...

The power was down, my outer defenses penetrated and my guard bears distracted by bees and honey and other such strange things. Without power, of course, the electric fence didn't work. Worse still, without power, the electric doorbell didn't work. By this, I do not mean the electricity made the doorbell ding, I instead mean the electricity ensured a high current of power flowing over the doorbell, electrocuting would-be ringers. Now, though, it would not. As such, I could now hear the ominous chimes of said bell, chimes that I had grown to fear and long-term readers had began to hate as a clunky literary tool.
 So, it was with terror, and a little interest, I went to see what kind of salesman would brave what I had thought to be my impenetrable defenses.
 On my doorstep, two nuns. One was short, fat and jolly looking, and the other taller and carrying a suitcase. While they were not altogether repulsive, they were clearly real nuns, not those sexy ones you see taking their clothes off at parties, or on the Internet.
 The nuns talked for several minutes. Apparently, they were selling candy door-to-door to make money, so their convent could afford a trip to Lourdes. The candy, held in the tall nun's case, looked rather good, so I bought some and bid them good day. I returned to my sofa, nibbling on the candy and musing on how the nuns had bypassed my extensive security. After a few minutes, I began to wonder if I actually had any extensive security. It's entirely possible I imagined it on one of my acid trips. I'm not even sure if the nuns were real.
 The candy tastes and looks a lot like lego...

I took another look at the bone. Bones, I'll be honest, are not something I generally look at. Well, not human bones. Not human bones protruding from someone's elbow.
 "Run it past me again."
 "Well," Max began, "I was trying to fix the lamp. There were some bears, I think."
Max always said there were bears, and there seldom were. Frankly, as you regulars will know, I'd grown weary of Max's stupid antics long ago. I know that he's necessary - the comic sidekick; the light relief in this otherwise serious and depressing read - but for several days, I'd been trying to kill him. Not seriously, it was more like a cry for help. Mainly, I'd been putting bees in his house - I'd filled a wardrobe in his spare room with them, and hidden some in his favourite cereal. So far, I'd had little success. Apparently, bees can't survive well in the cold, and Max's heating had broken the other day. But I digress...
 "Well, let's have a look then."
I took a look at his arm... Slowly, an idea formed.
 "It needs an X-ray, I think. You know on t.v, when someone gets an electric shock?" (Max nodded that he did indeed know of this.) "Well, we can do the same thing with a toaster. That'll let us get a look at that bone."
Max nodded enthusiastically, and headed off to wash his hands and get a knife. I smiled diabolically to myself.

The bear took another swig of beer. I tried to check my watch subtly, wondering exactly how late it was. Whatever time, it was far too late to be listening to a drunken bear. Frankly, I regretted ever going to an animal bar, but friends had told me it was exciting.
 It was not.
 "And... And alcohol, is a great provoker of three things..." He mumbled drunkenly.
 "Oh..." I replied. I really didn't care, but he went on anyway.
 "What does it provoke?" He asked himself. Then, believing I had asked the question, he continued: "Marry, sir, nose-painting, sleep, and urine. Lechery, sir, it provokes, and unprovokes;it provokes the desire, but it takes away the performance: therefore, much drink may be said to be an equivocator with lechery: it makes him, and it mars him; it sets him on, and it takes him off; it persuades him, disheartens him; makes him stand to, and not stand to; in conclusion, equivocates him in a sleep, and, giving him the lie, leaves him."
 I looked at him in shock for a few moments. I had been willing to set aside the fact that bears can't speak for the evening, but now he was quoting Shakespeare. Even for me, this was particularly weird. After a few minutes, the bear collapsed drunkenly, destroying the table. The bartender glared at me angrily from behind his ill-tended bar, and I smiled apologetically. The bartender, obviously not placated by this, pulled a shotgun from behind the bar, and I ran for it.
 He'll probably shoot the bear and stuff him. I know I should care, but that seems like a lot of work. Besides, if I go 'round rescuing everyone who quotes Shakespeare, it'll go to his head. And no-one wants big-headed zombie Shakespeares, do they?

A touch of reality

Hi, its me. The real me, not that fictional me who gets up to all sorts of crazy high-jinx and the like. I'm shorter and more boring, although I occasionally start fires. I though, since this is a blog, I should trot out some mundane observations about whats going on around me and act as if they're profound. See, I did it there already - looked down on bloggers. What a hypocrite I am. I should be stoned for this. If I was, this would probably be a more exciting read, anyway. But I digress, as I am wont to.
 So, what's in the news this week?
There's been a lot of snow here in Scotland. I've had a foot or so at my house, which is more than usual. Pretty exciting, huh? The weather... Earlier, I watched a pheasant walk across an area we'd cleared, before slipping and face-planting a pile of snow. It was tragic, yet hilarious, like an old person slowly reversing into a midget: His cries of alarm not heard by the deaf octogenarian, his tiny, bobbled head not visible in the mirrors. (Don't worry, he's fine. In fact, they become friends after the incident. Unfortunately, they bond over their white supremacist theories, and the world would have been better off with one more dead midget and imprisoned grandfather)
 A foot of snow... Seems a lot to me. Down in England, they've got less and have ground to a standstill, I hear. Of course, the Scot is quick to seize on this. "Bah!" He shouts, "4 inches? That's nothing. This morning, it came up my ankles! Why, I'll have to snorkel the cat before he goes out to do his business!"
 Yes, we have it far worse than the mockable Englishman, and thus have a right to boast. Of course, there're countries in the world with far more snow, far more of the time, which cope much better, but they don't count. I remember a Canadian friend telling me how, in worse conditions, he nearly cut his arm off with a chainsaw, and was chased by a bear.
 But we have it worse.
 I should probably start a facebook group, they can sum up my emotions far better than I can.

I knew my TV dinner would get cold, but I couldn't bring myself to go back to the living room. Not while he was there. I was just too... tedious...
I shall explain the backstory to this incident. In fact, you will probably wonder why I didn't start with the backstory, and thus recall events chronologically, thus avoiding confusion. The answer is because it's a literary thing, and I'm not.
3 days ago, I had heard a knock at the door. Answering it, I found a large bear in a suit. After some smalltalk, ("Arrgh, a bear!") it turned out he was new to the area, and wondered if I could direct him to a hotel (for some reason, my neighbours have fled the street, which is why - I assume - he came to me.) Since I hadn't had any zany adventures for a while, I invited him to stay with me for a few days. I assumed it would be interesting. I was wrong.
Now, he was sitting in my living room, shouting abuse at horse racing. This abusive, angry, animated bear in my living room was as far removed from his normal personality as possible. Normally, he would sit in my favourite chair, unmoving, saying nothing. When pushed, I could get a few moments of conversation about rainfall out of him, but nothing more.
I must return though. He's been in that chair for some time, and I still know what he does in the woods.

“Brian! Brian Simmons, is that you?”
Brian turned, taking in the figure that was rapidly approaching him. Similatiously, he tried to hide the tin of supersaver beans he had been studying.
“Yes… It’s…”
“John! John Booth – we were in the Co-op together – remember: you worked there for a week back in ’99, stacking shelves! I had a smaller moustache back then though!”
Brian looked slowly up and down the little man in front of him… yes, the moustache was familiar, and so was the excitable figure it was attached to.
“Oh yes, you were acting manager that week, weren’t you... That was supposed to be your ‘big break’. [Here Brian laughed nervously] So, how’d that work out for you anyway?
“Oh…” John replied, “Well, remember June? There were allegations. I lost the sexual harassment case.”
“Ah… yes, that would be bad.
“Anyway, how’s the family? I remember you talking about your kids – Tom and... and Lucy, wasn’t it?”
“Yes, that was them. Caroline got custody after the divorce. I haven’t seen them since she moved to Carlyle. Of course, I tried to get joint custody, but it’s hard when you live in a Ford Escort.”
“Yes, I can imagine” Brian muttered. For a moment, all he could think to ask was ‘what model of Ford Escort?’ but suddenly, a memory surface:
“How are your parents then? I remember them picking you up one day in that old camper van! Always looked like it was about to explode.”
“They’re dead, I’m afraid.”
“Oh… what happened?”
“The camper van exploded. Dad survived, but he didn’t make it through the year.”
“Ah, that’s often the way, I suppose.” Brain attempted to reassure him, “broken heart, was it?”
“No… not really. He was savaged by bears.”
“Oh.”
Brian tried to think of something to say, but he couldn't think of any words of sympathy that seemed appropriate. Smiling politely, he began to back away slowly until he was first out of the store, then by his car. He got in, and reversed out of the car park. By the time he was backing onto the main road, all he could see was a moustache, sadly watching him through a pair of automatic doors.

I knew it had been foolish to leave the door open - there had been reports of bears in the area all week. Now, however, it was too late for regrets. I had to deal with this.
First, I'd tried ignoring the bear. Sitting rigid at the table, I'd made a point of reading my whole newspaper. However, when I finished, he was still sitting opposite, staring intently across the table at me. It was no good, I had to acknowledge him.
I tried to act casually. I smiled at him in what I hoped was a friendly manner. Spotting his opportunity, he leaned across the table.
"Have you heard about our Lord and Saviour, Jesus Christ?" He asked.
I looked at him in confusion. After a moment, he realised I wasn't going to reply. Reaching for the floor, he picked up a briefcase and started to rummage around inside it.
"I have some pamphlets here, you might like to look at them."
I politely declined. He looked rather deflated, and there is nothing more depressing than a sad bear. I made awkward smalltalk for a few minutes, then he left to catch a bus.

I met Doctor Dolittle today. He tells me he is glad that no-one else can talk to animals. We wouldn't like what the bears have to say.
He's probably right. What they do in the woods in bad enough.

It was around 7,

and I was not expecting visitors. However - and whoever they were - they were insistently hammering my door. I decided it would be best to find out what they wanted.
Upon opening the door, I was greeted by an unfamiliar site. I looked closely, and found it was several fish of different sizes, in an old-fashioned diving costume full of water. They nodded curtly as one, handed me an official looking envelope, and barged into the house. Before I had a chance to open the letter, a team of deer pulling a wheelbarrow of rubbish came arrived. I followed them into my living room, where they had already ripped up the carpet. As I watched, the emptied the rubbish into my floorboards, before replacing the carpet over it.
I mounted the small, carpeted mound in the middle of my room, noting sadly that it would obscure my vision of the television when I was sitting on the sofa. Now that things were calmer, I opened the letter. Apparently, nature had decided to clean up.
I didn't get any further before I became aware of running water. Rushing to the bathroom, I found the fish had flooded the room, and were frolicking happily. I left the house, and headed down the street. First, I would get a new toaster, then I'd sort them out...

Behind, two bears revered a truck up to the wall, and proceeded to dump a load of nuclear waste through my kitchen window.

Remember kids, don't fuck with nature.

4 down...

I returned from the shops at last. It was quite an ordeal, but I won't go into that. Opening the door, my (they're still fictitious) wife greeted me somewhat sternly:
"4 days you've been gone. God, you were only getting a copy of The Pianist and some cat food." She tutted somewhat, then continued: "And you have neither, did you eat the DVD again?"
"No." I replied, "There were Tictacs in the car. But I was away a long time... You know how you always wanted a diamond necklace? Well, I got you a bear!"
Tragically, it mauled my other half and she left me shortly afterwards. The bear fell in love with my neighbour Jonas, and moved in with him. I still see them from time to time, even though they moved to Dublin.

That's around 4 now, methinks. Can't be bothered checking...