Just a little bedtime story my friend Teresa picked up at the alt.drunken.bastards newsgroup. Enjoy...
Once upon a time . . . in a large forest, close to a village, stood the cottage where the Teddy Bear family lived. They were not really proper Teddy Bears - it was simply that they were Bears and their family name was "Teddy". Father Bear was very big, Mother Bear was middling in size, and only Baby Bear could be described as a Small Teddy Bear. And of course, Real Teddy Bears are only stuffed toys, and not capable of cognition, speech or ambulatory movement. These Bears on the other hand were of the fictional variety, fully capable of human-like behaviour, including talking mindlessly about the weather and, of course, drinking beer.
Each bear had its own size of couch, upon which it would sit to watch pro-sports on Cable and drink copious amounts of beer - for even Baby Bear was given to prodigious beer swilling.
Father Bear's couch was large and nice and comfy, as befitting a bear somewhat rounder about the middle than Mother Nature had intended a bear of his quasi-species to be. Father Bear tended mainly to drink mass-produced American beer, which didn't have too high a percentage of alcohol, offset by his tendency to drink in excess of twenty-four cans at a time.
Mother Bear's couch was middling in size, with a nice floral pattern, only partly spoiled by numerous beer and mustard stains. Mother Bear favoured Stout, with a particular fondness for Guinness - and although Mother Bear rarely drank more than ten pints of the black stuff at a time, she followed each and every one with a Bushmills chaser.
Baby Bear had a fine little cherry-wood and blue cotton couch that Father Bear had ordered from a couple of beaver friends, and Baby Bear preferred reasonably exotic imported lagers such as Sapporo or Kingfisher - sometimes as many as sixteen tins in an evening.
At the start of a given evening, there would be three beer mugs sitting on the coffee table, which would eventually be found strewn on the floor the next morning. A large one for Father Bear, a smaller one for Mother Bear, and a little mug for Baby Bear.
The neighbours were all very respectful to Father Bear, at least in part due to his tendency to fly into uncontrollable drunken rages if ever anyone were to annoy him in his local bar, "The Tasty Human", and people raised their hats when he went by. Father Bear liked that and for the most part, he politely replied to their greetings, unless of course he'd been drinking tequila, when he was a rude bastard to one and all.
Mother Bear had lots of friends and afternoon drinking companions. She visited them to exchange good advice and recipes for home- made hooch and bottled beer.
Baby Bear, however, had hardly any friends. This was partly because he was rather a bully and liked to win games and arguments by use of force. He was a pest too and always getting into mischief, particularly when tanked-up on Heineken and a couple of E tabs.
Not far away, lived a fair-haired little girl who had a similar nature to Baby Bear, only she was haughty and stuck-up as well, and though Baby Bear often asked her to come and play at his house, she always said no.
One day, Mother Bear finished a batch of home-brew beer. It was a wholesome new recipe, with blueberries and other crushed berries. Her friends told her it was delicious. When it was ready to be bottled, she said to the family:
"It has to be left to cool now, otherwise it won't taste nice. That will take at least an hour. Why don't we go and visit the Beavers' new baby? Mummy Beaver will be pleased to see us."
Father Bear and Baby Bear would much rather have tucked into the beer, warm or not, but they knew better than to cross Mother Bear since she'd been drinking Gin and popping tomazapan jellies since before breakfast.
'We must wear our best clothes, even for such a short visit. Everyone at the Beavers' will be very busy now, and we must not stay too long!" And so they set off along the pathway towards the river bank. A short time later, the stuck-up little girl, whose name was Goldilocks, passed by the Bears? house as she picked flowers and magic mushrooms.
"Oh, what an ugly house the Bears have!" said Goldilocks to herself as she went down the hill. "I'm going to peep inside! It won't be beautiful like my house, but I'm dying to see where Baby Bear lives, and there's always the prospect of stealing the contents of their drinks cabinet!? Knock! Knock! The little girl tapped on the door. Knock! Knock! Not a sound...
"Surely one of the useless drunken bastards will hear me knocking," Goldilocks said herself, impatiently. "Anyone at home?" she called, peering round the door. Then she went into the empty house and started to explore the kitchen, her beady eye on the look-out for strong liquor and illicit drugs.
"Home-brew Beer!" she cried, dipping her finger into the suds Mother Bear had left to cool. "Quite nice!" she murmured, drinking it from Baby Bear's mug. In a twinkling, the mug lay empty on a messy table.
Having drunk from the small mug, Goldilocks had developed quite a taste for the home-brew beer, and promptly sank the contents of Mother Bear's mug too. By this stage, the rather strong home-brew had begun to work it's magic, and somewhat intoxicated, Goldilocks decided that it would be a good idea to drink the beer in Father Bear's mug as well, which she promptly did - though not in one gulp, since after all it was rather a large mug. With a full tummy, Goldilocks went on exploring.
"Now then, this must be Father Bear's couch, this will be Mother Bear's, and this one . . . must belong to my friend, Baby Bear. I'll just sit on it a while!" With these words, Goldilocks sat herself down onto the little couch which, quite unused to such a sudden weight (for Goldilocks had become somewhat of a porker since her amphetamine connection had been busted), promptly broke a leg. Goldilocks crashed to the floor, but the home-brew had made her reckless and, not in the least dismayed by the damage she had done, she went upstairs.
There was no mistaking which was Baby Bear's bed.
"Mm! Quite comfy!" she said, bouncing on it. "Not as nice as mine, but nearly! Then she yawned. I think I'll lie down, only for a minute . . . just to try the bed." But all that home-brew had made Goldilocks sleepy, and in next to no time, Goldilocks lay fast asleep in Baby Bear's bed. In the meantime, the Bears were on their way home.
"Wasn't the new Beaver baby ever so small?" said Baby Bear to his mother. "Was I as tiny as that when I was born?"
"No," came the reply, "you're a bear, and everyone knows bears are bigger than beavers".
From a distance, Father Bear noticed the door was ajar. "Hurry!" he cried. "Someone is in our house . . ." Was Father Bear unusually thirsty or did a thought strike him? Anyway, he dashed into the kitchen. "I knew it! Some drunken bastard has gobbled up our home-brew..."
"Someone has been jumping up and down on my couch!" complained Mother Bear.
". . . and somebody's broken my couch!" wailed Baby Bear.
Where could the culprit be? They all ran upstairs and tiptoed in amazement over to Baby Bear's bed. In it lay Goldilocks, sound asleep. Baby Bear prodded her toe with his now sadly empty beer mug...
"Who's that? Where am I?" shrieked the little girl, waking with a start. Taking fright at the scowling faces bending over her, she clutched the bedclothes up to her chin. Then she jumped out of bed and fled down the stairs, with the nimbleness of the newly-rumbled.
"Get away! Away from that house!" she told herself as she ran, forgetful of all the trouble she had so unkindly caused. But Baby Bear called from the door, waving his arm:
"Don't run away! Come back! I forgive you... come and play with me!"
Still somewhat drunk from the home-brew beer, Goldilocks was foolishly convinced by Baby Bear's words. She stopped running, and walked sheepishly back to the Bear's house, where Father Bear promptly killed and dismembered her, and Mother Bear made her remains into a scrumptious pie which they all ate for their dinner, along with what was left of the home-brew.
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