Monday, January 21, 2008


By Thorsten Mungren

As the battle raged into its second, blood-soaked day, Farthington Bear and the other members of the Fuzzy-Wuzzy Club sat around a small wooden table in the deserted command bunker, drinking tea and eating cookies.

"My, these are delicious!" said Farthington's friend, Mr. Possum, helping himself to a pawful of macaroons.

"They sure are!" Farthington replied, steadying the tray as another mortar round exploded nearby. "I baked them myself ― with a little help from Priscilla Piglet, of course!" Priscilla giggled merrily, but she could barely be heard above the thunderous discharge of a Browning .50 caliber machine gun.

"You know," said Farthington, "we baked so many cookies. What a shame it will be if no one else joins our party!"

Suddenly, a soldier burst through the door. His fatigues were dusty and torn, his face caked with blood.

"Who's in charge?" the soldier screamed. "We need to call in air strikes now!" It was then he noticed that the radio was inoperable, for someone had spilled strawberry jam all over the controls.

"Hooray!" cried Kitty Cat. "Now we have a new friend to have fun with!"

"Have some cookies," said Mr. Possum, offering the wild-eyed soldier one of his macaroons.

"And some mulberry tea," said Priscilla, hurrying over with a steaming pot.

"I don't want any fucking tea and cookies!" the soldier growled. He grabbed Farthington Bear by his little tartan vest and shook him back and forth.

"Where is General Stinson?" he yelled. "Where the hell is General Stinson?"

"Gosh, I d-d-don't know," the dizzy bear sputtered. "Maybe he's t-t-taking a nap."

"After all these cookies, I could also use a nap," said Kitty Cat, patting her stomach.

"Me too!" squeaked Milly Mouse, curling up in an empty ammunition box.

Exasperated, the soldier let go of Farthington Bear and slumped to the floor. So this is how it ends, he thought. Now the walls started to shake as enemy tanks rumbled toward the bunker. In the distance, he could hear scattered gunfire and cries of agony. As the animals continued to chat merrily with one another, the soldier grimly contemplated his pistol and its single remaining bullet.

Then he felt something tickling his ear. He turned and saw it was none other than Oliver Otter and his faceful of bushy whiskers. The otter looked terribly worried.

"You know," said Oliver, placing his paw on the soldier's knee, "if you don't like cookies, we have some yummy cake as well!"

(Author Thorsten Mungren's masterful "A Yeti Reminisces" was most recently translated into Klingon.)


Anonymous said...

Thank you so much. I had always wondered what would have happened if Beatrix Potter and Tom Clancy had a baby.

Martin McFriend said...

This = obscenity. Filthy tripe. Our children should not be reading this. I really appreciate Oliver Otter's attempts at optimism, though.