Help! A Bear Is Eating Me! Mykle Hansen

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Forward and back.

Forward, back.

Forward, freeze.

Back.

The bear problem … it’s out of hand. Way out of hand. They’re in the cities, they walk the streets, they drive the cars, they talk on the cell phones. They act like people, and it’s funny but I think they think they are people. And they think they can fool Marv Pushkin. That’s how dumb they are. They think they can skin a human being and wear him like a leisure suit over their flea-bitten bear bodies and I won’t notice the difference. But the smell betrays them. I can smell them a mile away.

Forward and back.

This whole zoo reeks of bears. Polar bears push clipboards and carts around the halls all day. Koalas change the sheets. Pandas peer in at me through that mirror on the wall. Oh yeah, nice mirror! You think I’ve never heard of two-way glass? Bears are so naive.

Forward … back.

But positivity wins the day. Check out my new ride! The luxury automated 2007 TDX-5 Freedom Throne, by Zipper, with executive option package and motorized tilt. They really call it that, a Freedom Throne. Bear humor. The big, particularly ugly and stupid panda who calls himself my Case Coordinator tried to snowjob me that the Freedom Throne was a gift from Image Team. Like there’s still an Image Team, like there’s still Ups and Veeps in the Merch building. That’d be nice. No, it’s all ursine squalor now: frolicking in the board room, shitting on the floor of the executive lav, chewing on the Aeron chairs, urinating on the PowerPoint projector.

Forward. Back.

Why haven’t they eaten me, you ask? Excellent question. Obviously I’m tasty and well-seasoned. Clearly I possess the tangy flavor bears crave. But I think they want something else from me. Information. They lock me up, they ask me questions, they put tranquilizers in my food, and now they give me this Freedom Throne. It’s part of some elaborate Good Bear/Bad Bear program they want to run on me.

But we’re keeping it positive, right? Chin up! So — check out the option package! Servo-adjustable lumbar support, very nice. Walnut armrests — classy! Integrated Fecal Management downstairs — surprisingly useful. Three wheel independent drive train really grips the linoleum. Watch this:

Forward … back!

Man, I can do that all day. It’s relaxing, it helps me think. In my previous crappy chair my wrists and shoulders would get sore from the leather straps, and I got thumb-blisters. But this chair’s got neoprene-coated teflon comfort-restraints — I hardly feel them! And with just a flick of this little force-feedback joystick, I can go anywhere in this eight by ten room.

Forward. Back. So easy.

Well, no, it’s no Range Rover … thanks, I know it’s no Range Rover. Range Rover doesn’t even offer Integrated Fecal … oh just shut up. You don’t exist, at all. That’s what I hate about you. You think I wouldn’t rather have my Rover back? Plus my feet, my legs, my knees, my Aeron chair, my wide-screen condominium, my luxury department? Fuck you! I’m a prisoner here! I’m just trying to, you know, look on the bright side a little? Maintain a positive mental attitude? A Can-Do attitude? Have you heard of Can-Do? Is fucking-off a thing you Can-Do? Why don’t you give it a try? Oh, sorry, I forgot, you can’t even fuck off because YOU DON’T EXIST. Boo hoo for you hoo. That’s actually fortunate for you, because if you did exist I’d drive right over your asshole foot. I’m not taking any shit from any voices in my head today. I, Marv Pushkin, do exist, and soon I will fuck off. Far, far off from this place I will fuck. I will escape.

My plan? Nothing, no, not yet, no plan as such. I’m still, you know, feeling out the situation. Exploring the options. I’m keeping them interested; I cooperate but I don’t talk. Every day bears come and try to convince me they’re not bears. (Not going to happen.) They pretend to be my friends, and insist they want to help me. (Help me down their throats, maybe.) And they keep asking me if I want to go home.

But that’s not where I want to go. The bear who ate Edna is waiting for me there.

I’ve had several visits recently from the bear who ate Edna, who now wishes to be called Edna and wears Edna’s skin like an ill-fitting maternity garment. I am trying to be cordial with this bear, for two reasons. First of all, this bear ate Edna. I appreciate that. It’s the only thing that went right on my whole vacation. For that I am grateful. Secondly, this bear seems to call the shots here at the zoo, at least regarding me. For instance: my Case Coordination Panda asked what I wanted to eat on Thanksgiving and I told him: nuts and berries. He really didn’t like that. He refused to bring nuts and berries. I’m sure he wanted them all for himself. But when I brought this issue up with The Bear Formerly Know As Edna, she raised a good bear ruckus, growled and snorted at Doc Panda and the nearby polar bears, probably bit somebody, and now, whaddya know! I get nuts and berries every Sunday. Clearly, keeping Edna the Bear fooled is key to my escape plan.

And it’s easy. I’ve got them all eating out of my hand. They think I love them. They think I’m happy in this zoo. I was angry when I got here, I was spitting piss and shitting mayhem, but I’m all smiles now. I look down at the empty space below me and wiggle my invisible toes, I gaze around me at the walls and out the window at the bears driving on the highway and I just smile. Nothing can get me down. I’m Mister Positive. I’m Marv Positively Pushkin.

Forward and back. Effortlessly with the little joystick here. I’m itching to take this thing off road and get some mud on these fenders. See how my throne handles some real freedom. Because clearly the cities are not safe anymore. That’s bear territory. When I bust out I’ll head north, back into the woods. Somewhere I can hide out, somewhere I can get a clean shot at things moving toward me, someplace quiet where I can use my senses. I could hold out indefinitely up there in Alaska. There’s plenty to eat, you just need a good warm coat and sharp claws. I could fashion an S.U.V. out of mud and sticks, and live underneath it.

They have really excellent nuts and berries here, I should mention. Of course you’d expect bears to import only the finest nuts and berries. Last Sunday I had Brazil nuts, lightly roasted and salted, and a bowl of strawberries with whipped cream. The whipped cream didn’t do much for me but man, the berries were exquisite. I’ve started agitating for trout, but Doc Panda doesn’t like it. Doc Panda wants all the good food for himself.

Thump thump thump? Speak of the devil! Over the hidden intercom comes a furry imitation of a caring human voice: “Hello Marvin. May I come in?”

Forward and back. Forward and back. I’m really not in the mood, but you have to humor them. The electromagnetic door lock hums and in waltzes my Case Coordination Panda with his clipboard and his turtleneck and his little round bear glasses, trotting up on his hind legs like a pro. From a distance he might look human, but his snout sticks out too far. Look, he’s brought a chair, and he sits on it backwards, folding his arms over the back and facing me in this let’s-have-a-friendly-but-highly-confrontational-little-chat way of his. Stupid panda can’t even sit on a chair right.

Hello doc-tor. How goes the revolution?

“I’m very well, thank you Marvin for asking. And how are you today?”

Forward and back.

“I spoke with your friend Ms. Pennington today. You remember Marcia, don’t you? She says she hopes you’re feeling better … and she wants you to know that her nose is healing nicely.”

Forward. Back. Doc Panda pretends to jot a note on his clipboard, pretends to adjust his glasses. Hah. Doc Panda watched too many doctor movies in bear terrorist training camp. What a ham.

“You know, your friends care about you a great deal, Marvin. Every day they call to ask how you’re feeling and what they can do to help. Your wife and your friend Marcia are both very concerned.”

I convincingly pretend to appreciate the fake concern of my former dead bear-eaten so-called friends.

“Marvin, why did you bite Marcia?”

Back.

“Marvin, please use your words. Don’t growl.”

How do I explain this? The bear that ate Marcia walked through the reinforced padded doorway yesterday, wearing the clothes I bought for Marcia and the perfume I bought for Marcia. And in the pumps I bought Marcia this bear’s ass was looking fine. I don’t know, I was confused. So I made small talk, I laid on the charm. It had been forever since I got some. I asked her to sit on my lap, what was I thinking? She started touching me and sniffing me and then the bear that ate Marcia tried to touch Walter, and I saw its bear teeth and the hunger in its bear eyes and I came to my senses just in time to apply Bear Survival Tip Number Three.

But I can’t tell that to a panda. He can’t know that I know.

“You’re a human being, Marvin. Not a bear. You know that, don’t you?”

Forward. Freeze.

“Marvin, any time you feel like talking, I’ll be here.” Doc Panda pats my shoulder condescendingly, then whips it away before my teeth can close on his paw. He takes a deep breath, attempts a toothless grin, and the door hums and clicks. Out he waltzes with his little chair. The door clicks shut with the snap of a loud iron mechanism, a piece of technology that bears did not invent and do not deserve. Then through my little food slot is slid a tray full of supper. But I’m really not hungry.

The sun’s going down in my little window. The bears on the highway are backed up thick and slow. The leaves are falling from the trees, and out there on the big lawn a pair of koala bears push them into little piles with buzzing gasoline leaf blowers. Stupid bears ate all the Mexicans and now they have to tend their own lawns. They just can’t delegate. Stupid bears.

They must have been planning this for years. I’m sure they had secret bases in the woods where they drilled on walking, English, driving, firearms, dressing and undressing, facial expressions … and then they swept down from Alaska and Northern Canada in a wave of carnivorous fury. They wanted what we had, and they took it, and now they have it they’re not totally sure how it works.

They can’t have gotten it all. They took Seattle. They must have taken Portland, probably they took most of Canada. But what about Texas? Mexico? There’s just not enough bears to push that far. Bears hate the desert, they’re too furry, they overheat. What about France? China?

Homo Sapiens are still out there, I know it. They have to be. When winter comes and all these bears curl up in their living rooms and hibernate, humans will strike back with a blazing counter-attack. They will take back the cities, one by one, and drive the furry interlopers into the ocean to be devoured by sharks. It will be brutal and cruel, and many will die … but not Marv Pushkin. Homo Sapiens will come back for me, and I’ll be safe here until then, biding my time, waiting for rescue. Pretending to cooperate, smiling a lot, keeping my trap shut. I can’t let these stupid bears know what I know, or even that I know they’re stupid bears. I will never, never, never let them win. No bullshit bears will ever break Marv Pushkin.

Forward and back. Okay, I lied, I’m hungry now. What do we have?

Walnuts and cranberry sauce! Hooray for Sunday.

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