Somedays you eat the bear. Somedays the bear eats you. Somedays the bear doesn't even slick down your ears first, he just swallows you whole.

Sometimes, you and the bear go out to dinner, but it's always a hassle because you always have to pay. The bear doesn't have credit cards or even cash. It's got no pockets to carry that stuff. Plus, they don't tip properly because they can't do math worth a shit.

On the other hand, choosing a restaurant is simple, because the bear will eat just about anything, including that gigantic vat of margarine they kept in the kitchen of that barbaecue joint where you went last time.

Of course, the bear scares the customers and runs off the staff unless you warn them ahead of time. Sometimes, the cops come but they usually wait for the Department of Natural Resources to show up with a tranquilizer gun, unless the bear gets rowdy, in which case they shoot it about 60 times in its ass and that puts the kibosh on dessert every time. That's a real shame, because the bear will usually take a good nap after eating five gallons of French Vanilla, and then everything's copacetic.

Uber is kinda pissy about letting the bear ride home, but, damn, it's asleep, you know. The only problem you have then is getting it onto the backseat. Most restaurants keep at least one sturdy dolly around, so...

It was still funny the second time I read it.


The only pep talk I have is one my dad might have given me, go to work, make money. He'd be right IMO. It's nice if you can really like what you do but it isn't necessary that you do, you just have to earn a living. I've got 33 years in at the same place and I enjoy my job. The people I work with not so much.

What's really a hoot is when I post something like that and forget about it and then run across the post a couple of years later. Then, I get to laugh at my own material.