Little Red Riding Hood And A Bear
Having had nothing specific to write for this here site, I thought I would just post this up, merely for the sake of it. 
*
I yawned as I stepped out into the vast forest of Death Woods. I’ve never actually understood the name as every afternoon you could walk out of your house and see small children playing that ring-a-ring-a-roses game where they all seem to celebrate having hay fever. Then you could waltz on down to Madame Pretzel’s bakery and pick yourself a nice plump roll that is oozing with blood red dear meat that isn’t well done but a succulent medium-rare. Then I would go and sit down on a nice park bench in a clearing somewhere to watch the butterflies drift aimlessly from flower to flower. It’s a beautiful wood really, just overshadowed somewhat by its name.
Ahhh yes, I suppose at this point it might make sense for me to say who I actually am as I seem to have delved into my memoirs without a thought as to who might be reading them. I am a bear, just a bear; the usual generic bear. One which you might find living in a hollowed out tree eating honey with it’s astronomically sized hands, clumsily wiping it all over it’s face. I am just a big unbelievably powerful cliché. Nobody understands me, I’m nice, really I am! I don’t maul people to death so that I can eat out their hearts, oh no, not me. Not since I’ve been taking medication for my ADHD.
Yes anyway, there are more important matters to attend to. I was reading Death Woods Daily this morning, (Out local newspaper to you) and after analysing the articles on page 3 in quite some depth (She was a beautiful specimen of a bear so I took a while) I turned back to the front cover and read about some unsavoury tales of old people being slashed to death with kitchen knives. I was somewhat disturbed by this, especially as I have a mother myself (sixty years ripe). As you might guess my worries were increased ten fold when I read that this case of murder was one of many, and to make matters worse the perpetrator had allegedly been stealing cookies from the victim. Now to you that might not be all that drastic, but I love cookies and my Mummy makes me lots and lots. With this in mind I quickly put on my coat and my custom made size 30 flip flops and ran out of the house without even locking it! What an idiot…
So there I was sprinting through the woods, probably hitting about 10mph or something. Yeah I was going fast. It felt good; the wind was thrashing at my big hairy frame. Then a big flash went off, it blinded me for a second so i slowed to a walk and then looked around. To my amusement up above me in the overgrown canopy I saw a speed camera. Ridiculous! So in my sudden fury I punched the entire tree down and after spending ten minutes scouring the floor for the camera I stomped on that too. I felt ever so slightly relieved afterwards.
With that minor set back dealt with I carried on walking down the track until I got in sight of my Mummy’s house. The door was ajar which was slightly disconcerting but I could hear her singing Shania Twain at the top of her voice. The lyrics “come on over, come on in†we ironically well in timing with my arrival to my hilarity. My laughter soon piped down when I saw a small red figure skipping merrily across then lawn towards the door. Oh look, I thought, it’s that little red riding person they all go on about at the bakery. It then clicked after I made that relatively stupid thought; Little Red likes cookies, she’s red and she where’s a hood. That meant one thing to me – she must be the assailant. She has to be heading towards the house because of that beautiful aromatic smell of cookies, she’s red because she’s got blood of her victims on her and she wears a hood so she’s categorically a chav (thus “blatently†beats on grannys for a laugh)! Therefore I must save Mummy from her certain fate!
With this I stampeded through Mummy’s threshold and confronted the little red villain.
“Oy you, ya li’l scruff!†I proclaimed. “Whatcha doin’ in ‘ere!â€
“Eeek†she squeeled and hid under a coffee table. I don’t know why she squeeled until I looked at my legs later on and realised that I had left my pyjama bottoms on. I won’t go into description; it would disrespect many a humble folk.
I grabbed her by the hood from underneath the coffee table and waved her about as if she was a mouse trap caught on my finger. I soon put her down when my Mummy came into the room with a big basket of cookies…
“Harold what are you doing?†she said to me with those eyes that beseeched me to stop being disrespectful to guests.
I told her that it was the murderer from the news but she wasn’t interested, so she gave Little Red the basket full of cookies and asked if she wanted some tea. Earl Grey I think it was, but it tasted nice either way. She accepted and we all sat down and drank tea in front of the log fire as it crackled and hissed as the flames leapt about wildly.
After some time my bladder began to impede my thoughts so I went to the toilet quickly to relieve myself. Whilst there I saw something out in the woods from the window, I wasn’t sure what it was but it looked to be the resident woodcutter. Whoever it was ran out of view so I couldn’t continue my observations. Instead I resorted to counting the number of tiles that had mould growing on them. There was quite a few I’ll tell you!
Needless to say counting mould was a stupid thing to do in hindsight as after getting half way round the bathroom I heard a large crash, some growling and then a distressing silence. So I cut my relaxation break in half and stormed into the living room all guns blazing (though I had no guns)! My heart sank as I saw a wolf with its head buried so maliciously in the wicker basket. Crumbs flew about the place as I glanced around only to see the bitter remains of my Mummy and Little Red. I was distraught; my powers of analysis had failed me just like they had with the cheese incident involving a beaver and a member of the YMCA. So in one last attempt to resolve my idiocy I stood and stared… I really am stupid. Fortunately the woodcutter saved me a job as he leapt through the door and sprayed wolf guts up the wall.
And so you have it, one exciting day in the life of a generic bear. No more cookies for me I suppose…
P.S. I killed the woodcutter soon after he wreaked vengeance on the wolf simply because I am a bear and I had forgotten to take my medication.
Fin.
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very nevilleesque ha lets post that
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Definately. You post a bit then i will then we take an equal slating. lol.