“Why the hell are we here?” asked the squirrel.

            “I told you in the car, this is our annual fucking meeting… Jesus fucking Christ… do you never pay any attention?” said the talking bear.
            The small circle of woodland animals and housepets looked awkwardly at the floor of the forest clearing. It took several long minutes for a kitten to raise its hand slowly in the air.

            “Dude… I’m really not sure you should be saying ‘fuck’ or blaspheming… The talking animal genre isn’t generally linked with such language…”
The kitten quickly lowered its paw as the talking bear span round, claws extended.

            “That’s what makes this funny… you write basically a children’s story but you add the words ‘fuck’, ‘cunt’, ‘fuckcunt’, ‘cuntfuck’ and so on and throw in some ejaculation… It’s ironic and post-modern… Oh yeah, and some graphic violence…”
            The animals murmured amongst themselves.
            “Yes, we see what you’re intending… but really… isn’t it setting the bar kind of low? I mean, sure, you get a few people who like it… but the rest… You’re never going to get the mass-market appeal…” said a penguin nervously.
            The bear turned slowly towards him. It turned back to face the rest clutching the penguin’s severed head.
            “See… funny” said the bear and inserted his penis into the penguin’s windpipe. “Look… I’m skullfucking the penguin…” He pointed down. “Comedy gold.”

            “Look, we’ve been talking about this via email…” said the talking squirrel. “We figured it would be best to discuss this before we faced you.”
            Spunk gushed from the penguin’s gaping, lifeless beak.

            “I guess he doesn’t love me” said the bear and slapped his thigh.
            There was silence.
            “Oh fuck you people… Anyway, what were you saying?” the bear said angrily.
            “Well, we wanted to tell you that it’s time to grow up… We wanted to maybe do something low key… more accessible…” said the squirrel.

            “Go on…” said the bear, ripping apart a passing small child who had the misfortune to have mistaken him for a Teddy.

            “Oh god… why… why did you do that?” asked the kitten in horror.

            “It’s a child… they’re expendable… remember? Our very limited demographic is mainly people in their mid-twenties who have trouble forming functional relationships… thus… this makes them feel better.”
            The bear squatted and began to urinate on the child.

            “Look, that’s the flipping market we should be aiming for that you’ve just killed…” said the kitten in exasperation. “We’re already probably banned in several repressive regimes because of our previous adventures… And really… wouldn’t it be just as good… perhaps even better… if we hadn’t just casually used the c-word?”

            “Cunt” said the bear.
            “Yes, that’s the word.”
            “I wasn’t answering your question” said the bear.
            “Look, I’m just saying, let’s broaden the appeal… let’s perhaps aim for being intellectually witty… or perhaps cheerfully playful… maybe even write something that might encourage more than four people to follow our adventures…”

            The bear frowned.
            “I bet it’s more than four” said the bear.
            “You don’t know do you… The statistics page broke months ago and you never bothered to email the people to fix it.”

            “I’m a bear… I can’t email…” said the bear unconvincingly.
            “That’s a load of shit… You sent me and email telling me to ‘insert my flipping dancing dog video up my flipping Virginia and squeeze my thighs together until it burst and went septic” piped up the squirrel.
            “That’s not true” said the bear. “I didn’t say flipping or Virginia. I said fucking and cunt.”
            “EVERYONE GUESSED THAT” screamed the squirrel and sagged.

            “Look, perhaps we could all just agree that some very easy steps would make our adventures much more acceptable… and maybe even one day profitable…” suggested an otter.
            “Fuckshitcuntmotherfucker” said the bear and beat the otter to death with a spade.
            A horrified silence.
            “It’s only a fucking otter” said the bear.

            “Great… wonderful… you just killed a very popular animal for a reference that’s only going to be spotted by four people who watched British children’s films in the 1970s… which I believe makes up exactly none of your audience.”
            The bear dropped the shovel.
            “FINE… god… you’re all such cunts. I tell you what… how about we all go on a child friendly adventure… You want that don’t you? You want us to all crawl back inside our mother’s vaginas and pretend we never fucked and ate our sisters. FINE. Let’s waste an hour of our lives.”
            There was a long and awkward silence.

            “See… isn’t this fun?” said the squirrel as the gang frolicked in a meadow in a consenting and non-sexual fashion.

            “Yes…” said the bear, an unsettling smile on his face.
            “Look… Wise old Mister Owl is flying towards us.”

            “Yes, yes he is.”
            “Isn’t being family-friendly fun?” laughed a vole as he skipped and played hoop and stick.

            “Yes. I promise you that from now on we shall only have fun in a classic children’s story way” said the bear and patted the vole on the head.
            “Hooray!” laughed the vole and gave him a kiss.
            Mister Owl snatched the laughing vole up in his talons and carried him into a tree.

He began to tear chunks of flesh from its stomach. Every so often Mister Owl would tilt his head back and gulp down mouthfuls of flesh and entrails.

            “Bear…” said the kitten in shock, “you said this would be family friendly…”
            The bear smiled and held up a book. He tapped the cover.
            “Classic children’s book…”
            “But bear… that… that’s Watership Down…” said the kitten slowly.

            “Is it a classic?” asked the bear.
            “Well… yes… but…”
            “Is it a children’s book?” asked the bear.
            “Well… yes… kinda…”
            “Briiiiiiiightttt eyyyyyyyyeeeees” sung the bear.
            “Oh… oh fuck no…” said the kitten slowly backing away in horror.
            “OH FUCK YES” screamed the bear delightedly as the kitten backed into the middle of the road and was crushed by a truck.

            “But… bear… I thought…” stammered a stunned beaver.
            “You said children’s book… you didn’t say which generation’s children’s book… I got you fucker” laughed bear.
            “You can’t say ‘fuck’ in a children’s book.”
            The bear held up a copy of Catcher In The Rye and tapped the cover.
            “That’s really more of a Young Adult book” said the beaver.
            “Did they call things Young Adult back then?”
            “No…” said the beaver as he grew increasingly apprehensive.
            “Then you’re very, very fucked” smiled the bear.
            The bear impaled the beaver with a cutlass.

            “Treasure Island in your face bitch.”
            The bear slowly turned and addressed the stunned survivors.
            “Now, which one of you motherfuckers has read The Miracle Worker?”
            The bear held up a red hot poker.

           
            And they all lived blindly ever after.
Especially when they were being raped by the bear. At one point he got his head caught in a honeypot. Yes, at least euphemisms still thrived in Happy Bunny Wood.
           
           

back to duck.