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Caption this . . .
11 Comments to “Caption this . . .”
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To embellish this one a bit . . .
Baby Bear remembered what his father had told him before he left the house:
“Be careful out there, son. We know that Goldilocks is one mean bastard, and her house is sure to be guarded or even booby-trapped. She will have learned from our mistakes and will have taken steps to guard her porridge.”
He had approached the little house on the Wrong Side of the Tracks with caution, pretending to be a double-glazing salesbear so as not to arouse undue suspicion in the neighbourhood, and had been confident.
But now, as he gently opened the kitchen door, he knew, deep down, that he was out of his depth.
What if he couldn’t find the porridge?
What if it was booby-trapped?
What if she knew he was coming and had set up a decoy table with 3 bowls of Ready Brek ™ instead?
What if . . .?
What if . . .?It was all too much for a small poorly trained bear – but just as he turned to flee, porridgeless, he heard a noise . . .
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“Oi! Youse keep youse paaws awf that thur parridge – oi seed it furst!” said the glowering brown rat, standing on his kangaroo-proportioned hind legs. (Why he was speaking in a Geordie accent was anybody’s guess . . .)
Baby Bear couldn’t help but notice that his claws were painted pink.
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The sonsy rat dipped eez pink painted nails intee the porridge an’ ate furiously. When he’d finished, an’ inatween belches, he leukt at the Beeby Beor an’ said “You gan forget any ideas abyeut includin yoors truly in yor storyline. Neebody pushed the ‘like’ button on me hilarious condom video on SFTW, so yee gan git stuffed.”
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Baby Bear relaxed. This wasn’t the fearsome Geordie Rat that was the stuff of legend, but appeared to be some bitter weaselly thing with a ‘like’ dependency, a dodgy accent, and a complete inability to distinguish Ready Brek ™ from the genuine article.
“Eat shit, motherfucker!” snarled BB in his most menacing manner, as he forced the third and final bowl of Ready Brek ™ down the quivering rodent’s neck.
As the psuedo-Geordie rodent scuttled up Goldilocks’ back passage with his tail between his legs, whimpering about his cracked acrylic nails, a smug BB felt his confidence returning. Maybe, just maybe, he could pull this off and return home with the porridge after all .
However . . .
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. . . there was something missing – fruit !
Not old fruit, but something fresh, and juicy. BB thought for a while, considering what would best complement the creamy porridge: strawberries? grapes? banana? blueberries? None of them appealed at this moment. Then, it came to him – what he needed was . . .
A Kiwi . . .
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. . . a Kiwi, Baby Bear repeated. A Kiwi, yes, that’s what he needed, a Kiwi . . .
(chaps, let me have another try to contact him, in a way he can understand)
ᴉʍᴉʞ ɐ ‘pǝpǝǝu ǝɥ ʇɐɥʍ s,ʇɐɥʇ ‘sǝʎ ‘ᴉʍᴉʞ ∀ ˙pǝʇɐǝdǝɹ ɹɐǝq ʎqɐq ‘ᴉʍᴉʞ ɐ ˙ ˙ ˙
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Suddenly, there was a kiwi sitting on baby bear’s head. It wouldn’t get off. In fact the more baby bear tried to dislodge the fowl creature, the more it’s claws tightened their grip on his ears. Finally, it shat all over his nose before flying up to the roof where it perched and peered down at him with apparent studied insolence…
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