Monday, June 6, 2011

#0014: Festive White Bear

I could feel guilty, I suppose, for all of the unloved toys in my possession. If their one true purpose in this bleak existence is to be played with and loved, then a child who gives them nothing but apathy must be the cruelest master of all.

This may be a stupid thing to feel guilty for, but I already donate money to starving children and mistreated animals; forgotten toys are an underprivileged bunch. Why, I haven’t even seen a single commercial ever pleading their case.

So maybe, just maybe, I’m doing this next little gaffer a favour. Will he find the adulation he so desperately longed for out there? Can he become all he ever dreamt about through those years of torturous solitude? Might he make your Christmas complete?

Go, festive white bear! Be free!

Iffin you’re curious, those white blotches were surnames of people my dad has served legal documents on. Somehow, I don’t know if they would either be relevant to my festive white bear, or entirely legal. So omitted they be, through the mighty workings of Microsoft Paint.

As I’m typing this, I’m listening to Making Christmas from The Nightmare Before Christmas. I’m not sure that’s exactly the sort of holiday season that the makers of this yuletide bear intended when they put him together, but it’s what he gets. Incidentally, before I constructed this paragraph, I hadn’t quite fathomed the amount of different terms there are for Christmas. And I’ve barely scratched the surface! What an exciting day.

This bear is fairly non-descript. He’s white, he has a hat, and he’s gone all plaid on your ass. He also includes a dandy little golden thread protruding from his noggin for hanging purposes. Though in my mind, the only appropriate time for hanging a festive bear is during the festive season, making his hanging both cumbersome and short-lived.

And furthermore, where would you hang your bear? Off the tree? I doubt this, for he’s a great deal bigger and heavier than most ornaments, leading to broken branches and broken dreams.

Moreover (because I already said furthermore), I’m not sure I really trust this bear. It’s something about his eyes, maybe. There’s something… deep within him.

Christmas stones of some sort? I can’t be sure. But if that didn’t sufficiently freak you out, you should take a look at his left eye (yes, this entry will have two entire photos dedicated to close-ups of eyes. It’s like the reversible trashcan sidecar: muchos importante!)

Can you see the haunted ghostly face locked within his gaze? If you didn’t before, you surely will now. It’s like the FedEx arrow: once you’ve seen it, you can never unsee it.

His stitching appears to be getting mighty worn around his nose, likely the result of years of laying on the floor and not doing anything, but other than that, he’s in excellent nick. If he were a used car, I’d get an awful good deal for him.

So the future looks bright for this jolly, creepy-eyed bear. Perhaps the next time I see him, he’ll be the star of a major show, leaving me to watch on jealously from the crowd. I think I stole that notion from Avril Lavigne’s Sk8r Boi, but still. It applies. Horrible spelling and all.

Hulk: Then, I flung the piece of building halfway across San Francisco, and hit that mutated freak right in the face!

Bruiser: Hah! I could have sent it all the way into San Jose, you wuss. And I wouldn’t have even needed to throw it like a sissy, I would have just punched it across California with my camouflaged glove!

Slobster: Screw that shit, I would have just pinced it in half like a piece of jelly! …Why is Microsoft Word claiming ‘pinced’ isn’t a word? It so is!! I’ll pince you Bill Gates, I’LL PINCE YOU GOOD!!

Festive White Bear: I enjoy Christmas hugs.

So do we.

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