Mr. Bear looked down from his cave at the guy with the gun. He thought, “That’s a big gun but I’m a big bear. Of course, if he hits me just right I go down. If he doesn’t then I kill him. Thing is, I don’t eat human flesh. Well, I could give it a try and see if I like it. Wait, it’s not bear season yet.”

Then the bear rolled over went back to sleep.

Down the hill the guy with the big gun, Chester Monk, saw the bear looking at him. Chester thought, “Cripes! That’s one big bear. If I hit him right he’ll go down. If not, jeez, I’m a goner. maybe I ought to leave that bear be. It’s not bear season anyway.”

Lurking in the bushes was a game warden. He wanted Chester to shoot that bear. The warden didn’t care if Chester killed the bear or if the bear killed Chester. He just wanted something to report. His boss had been on him for not doing a whole lot lately. Dead bear or dead man would cover him.

Slithering across the ground was a snake. He didn’t care who killed who as long as it wasn’t him. Why is it always the snake that gets it.

“Snake! Snake! Hurry, someone, kill the snake!”

The snake had to really slither his sorry butt then. No one ever yelled, “Bear! Bear! Kill the bear!” The wusses.

The warden could tell that Chester wasn’t going to kill the bear. Wasn’t even going to try, the wuss. Heck, maybe I’ll kill the bear and blame it on Chester. Of course, that’s one big bear. Sleeping or not, that’s one big bear. This little .38 won’t make a dent in the bear.

BLAM!!

Took care of that slimy snake though.