Some Friday Fun Stuff!

Author's note: It is time for some Friday Fun Stuff! And do I have something fun here. I found a short story that I had written in my West Valley Community College Creative Writing class--way back in 1988! It is a short story--actually a satirical parody of a famous children's fairy tale. What is especially interesting is that this story was typed out on an IBM Selectric typewriter, rather than on the early IBM Writing Assistant word processor for my parent's IBM PC Junior computer at that time. So for the past 18 years, this single copy of a children's fairy tale has been sitting away within some of my old papers--until now. I thought it would be fun to pull this story out now, and publish it on my blog. So I hope you enjoy it.

This is the story of The Three Bears....

The Three Bears
By Eric A Hopp


Once upon a time, there were three bears. The Papa Bear:

“Good afternoon.”

The Mama Bear:

“Helloow.”

And little Junior Bear:

“Hey dude, what’s happening?”

And they all lived happily in a 3-bedroom, 2-bathroom home in the suburbs of Camelot. One day, while Papa Bear was working on his 1040 tax form, Mama Bear came into the study with a nice bowl of porridge. “Dear, why don’t you take a small break and have a nice bowl of porridge?”

“You know I have to complete this tax form before the April 17th deadline.”

“But the deadline isn’t until tomorrow. You have plenty of time to itemize those deductions. Besides,” Mama Bear smiled, "You didn’t eat any breakfast.”

“All right.” Papa Bear turned from his work to sip the porridge. “Ouch! This porridge is too hot! How long did you nuke this in the microwave?”

“Only 25 minutes—Oh dear, I’m sorry. Shall I pour some milk in it to cool it down?” Mama Bear reached for the porridge.

“No. I’ve got a better idea. Let’s take Junior out for a walk. I’ve been sitting too long and I need some exercise. Where is he?” Papa Bear looked around.

“He’s in his bedroom listing to his new record.”

“You mean that Cobra Killer group?” Papa Bear shook his head. “I don’t know how he can listen to the stuff.”

With your parents screaming,
And your girlfriend’s leaving,
You may just think that the world’s a bitch.
Well, we ain’t gonna put up with that shit!

You don’t have to be a stinking goat,
Feel the pleasure and snort that coke.
And when you’re high, then bang her well,
And you can tell the world to go to Hell!

Come on now world and rack my soul!
We’re gonna FUCKING ROCK AND ROLL!

“Junior? JUNIOR!” Papa Bear watched his son rotate his hips in his chair to the metal string noise.

“Hey Pop, what’s up?” Junior Bear turned down the stereo.

“Your mother and I want you to come take a walk with us while my porridge is cooling.”

“Ah, come on, Pop. Do I have to? You know how Mom likes to spend her time in those clothes shops on Seally Avenue. Yeach!”

“No. I thought we’d go north this time into Sherwood National Park.”

Junior’s eyes widened. “Yeah, I’ll come!” He turned off his stereo. “Just let me get my coat.”

“Don’t be too long.” Papa Bear left.

Junior grabbed his letterman’s jacket and a box of matches. He checked his inside pocked and smiled.

Mama Bear was waiting by the front door when Papa Bear came down. “Will Junior be coming?” From above the stairs, she heard a loud voice, “Here I come, Mom!”

Papa Bear opened the door. “Well then, let’s go.” The Bear family left the house.

As they walked down the sidewalk, they failed to notice a tan Ford sedan parked on the side of the street. Goldilocks stuffed the cigarette in the ashtray. She pulled out a radio. “All units stand by for my instructions.

Junior Bear left the path for the woods. “There’s got to be one around here.” He watched his parents stroll along the path, Mama Bear holding Papa Bear’s arm. A young jogger passed by. Junior’s eyes followed the jobber, staring at the tight pink shorts, and tank she wore. He felt excited. The young jogger disappeared from view. Junior continued his search. He noticed a rustling in some brush, and dove into it. “Gotcha!” He pulled a screeching cat out by its tail. “You’re prefect.”

Mama Bear looked into Papa Bear’s eyes. “What’s Junior doing?”

“I don’t know—whatever growing boys like to do.” Papa Bear smiled. Remember our first date? When we had the picnic here?”

Mama Bear closed her eyes and leaned against his shoulder. “That was the best picnic ever.”

“Hey Pop!”

Papa and Mama Bear looked up. Junior Bear came running out of the woods carrying a stray cat. “A product of that wonderful date,” Papa Bear said quietly, smiling to himself. “Yes son?” he asked.

“Can I stick a firecracker up this cat’s ass and set it off?”

Mama Bear turned to Papa Bear. “Now Ward, I don’t think it’s wise to have our son playing these strange pranks.”

“Oh, come on June. He’s a growing boy—full of curiosity. When I was his age, I participated in strange pranks as well. He’s only having some harmless fun.”

Mama Bear paused, “All right. But he must be careful.”

Papa Bear turned to Junior Bear. “Okay son, but your mother said you have to be careful.”

“Oh boy!” Junior Bear ran back into the woods.

Mama Bear frowned suspiciously at Papa Bear. “What do you mean you participated in some strange pranks?”

“Well….” Papa Bear shrugged. “When I was his age, I used to stick my father’s shotgun next to a mouse and fired at it.

“Ward!” Mama Bear stared at him in shock.

“It wasn’t much fun after seeing the second mouse explode. Of course, about that time I was beginning to enjoy flushing cockroaches down the toilet.” Papa Bear listened to the loud crack and continuous high pitched scream that followed.

Junior Bear came running out of the forest. “Boy, you should have seen it! A giant fireball erupted from that cat’s ass and then the cat went tearing into the forest like it was some kind of rocket or something. It was neat!”

Papa Bear smiled. “Growing boys have got to have something to do.”

Goldilocks walked up to the deserted house. She turned the doorknob. “Locked,” She grumbled. She pulled a bobby pin out of her hair. The blond hair spilled down to her shoulders. She inserted the pin in the knob, and then opened the door. I’m inside the house. Now closing the door,” she said in her radio. “Inform me immediately when the Bears are coming back.” She walked through the house. “Typical middle class,” She picked up a magazine off the coffee table, examined it, and then set it down. “Now where’s the study?” She walked into the study and then sat down at the desk. She crinkled her nose at the porridge, and then examined the tax papers on Papa Bear’s desk. “Perfect. Perfect.” She pulled out the radio. “I’ve discovered the Bear’s financial papers. Begin Operation Recovery. Unit One: Send in the van. Unit Six: Close down the bank and safety deposits. All other units converge for salvage operation.” She went to open the front door. Men wearing blue coveralls entered the Bear’s house. Several pulled out canvas bags, and stuffed the small, decorative objects inside. Others carried out dining room chairs, sofas, coffee tables, the television, the VCR, Junior Bear’s stereo—still with the Cobra Killer record on the turntable—out the door. A large, white truck backed into the driveway. Men spilled out to load the furniture in back of the truck. The garage door was opened. More men carried out Papa Bear’s tools, storage boxes and other knick knacks that accumulate in a garage, to be loaded into the truck. A tow truck pulled away with the Bear’s family car. Men bustled in and out of the front door like bees in a hive. The activity brought out the neighbors and spectators. Rumors started flying—what are they doing? It’s happening to the Bears now! I didn’t think it would happen here. I guess now it now can happen to any of us.

Goldilocks watched the activity, and nodded. Everything’s going as planned.” She motioned two men in double breasted suits to approach her. “All the Bear’s financial papers are in the study. I want them taken to the main office and analyzed.” The suits entered the house.

“Ward! What’s happening? Why are they taking our possessions?” Mama Bear started running towards the house.

“I don’t know June, but I’m going to get to the bottom of it.” Papa Bear stomped up to the front lawn. “What the Hell is going on here—Give me that!” He grabbed a lamp from one of the men. “Who’s in charge?”

“Mr. Bear?"

Papa Bear turned to the voice. A young woman with long, blond hair spilling to her shoulders flipped out a badge. “I’m Inspector Goldilocks from the Internal Revenue Service.” Two burly officers flanked her. “You don’t seem to understand the gravity of this situation.”

“What do you mean? Why are you taking our stuff?”

“Oh, it’s not your stuff anymore. It’s the King’s stuff now.” One of the officers gave Goldilocks a folder to which she pulled out a sheet of paper. “According to our computer records, you’ve been delinquent in paying your taxes for seven years. Now, taking into account the back taxes owed, the interest charged on the outstanding debt, the time period, and the $10,000 levied fine, we’ve calculated that the amount you owe is $563,824.45 dollars. Sign here please.” Goldilocks handed him a warrant. “If you have any problems over monarchial procedures, you may contact the IRS Bureau of Complaints. Goldilocks turned to a worker. “Is everything loaded up?”

The worker nodded, “We’re all set.”

“Then take it down to the Bureau of Sorting. We’ll have to examine it all for quality control before we can auction the stuff off tomorrow.” Goldilocks turned towards the white truck. “Move out!”

“Wait a minute. You’re not going to auction off our stuff tomorrow? I have my rights!”

“Good day Mr. Bear.” Goldilocks went to her sedan. The white truck pulled out of the driveway while a blue van stopped at the curve to pick up the workers. One worker place a large ‘AUCTION’ sign on the garage door of the Bear’s house. The van pulled away, leaving the Bears standing in disbelief on the sidewalk.

And so, ends the story of The Three Bears. And the moral of the story is….

Never go out for a walk without finishing your porridge.