DOP #31 - A Taste Of Revenge

A Taste of Revenge
by Diane Dooley

Once upon a time…

Papa Bear, Mama Bear and Wee Baby bear watched in bemusement as the horrid yellow-haired girl fled screaming down the stairs and out the front door. They investigated the wreckage; mucky beds, broken chairs and unwashed dishes littered their once delightful home. Muddy footprints meandered over every inch of the house. Mama Bear sank down onto the medium sized chair and started to cry.

“Our home has been invaded. I feel violated!” she sobbed, while Papa Bear tried to comfort her.

Wee Baby Bear tried to piece his favorite chair back together, but gave up and started to cry also.

“I’m hungry!” he wailed.

Papa Bear looked on helplessly, his shock gradually turning to rage.

“This cannot be borne,” he growled. “This time that girl has gone too far.”

After the three bears morosely tidied up their home, Papa Bear called a family meeting.

“We must ensure that this never happens again,” said Papa Bear solemnly.

Mama Bear and Wee Baby Bear nodded their agreement.

“We must teach that naughty girl a lesson,” said Mama Bear fiercely.

Papa Bear and Wee Baby Bear nodded.

“She’s gonna pay for that chair,” Wee Baby Bear growled.

They all looked at each other… and nodded.

“Yes, son,” the parents replied. “She’s gonna pay.”

Papa Bear tied a bright red bandana around his head. Mama grabbed her knitting needles and thrust them firmly through her bee-hive hairdo. Wee Baby Bear nibbled his claws into gleaming, sharpened points. They left the house.

“Son,” said Papa Bear, “today is the day you learn to hunt.”

Wee Baby Bear practiced his wee baby growl. “I’m gonna take her with my bear hands,” he announced fiercely.

Mama Bear nodded proudly and handed him his favorite blankie. “Sniff this, son; her scent is all over it.”

Wee Baby Bear inhaled deeply of the blankie, then turned and sniffed the air.

“This way,” he announced, and the three bears stalked into the silent forest.

The three bears slithered on their bellies to the very edge of the forest and gazed at the hideous McMansion. The four car garage was empty. The manicured grounds were quiet. 

“That’s the house,” snarled Wee Baby Bear through gritted teeth.

Papa Bear sniffed the air. “I smell honey.” 

Mama Bear sniffed the air. “I smell porridge.”

Wee Baby Bear sniffed the air. “I smell revenge.”

The three bears marched, with narrowed eyes and bared teeth, up the graveled driveway. They burst through the over-sized front door.

“First, the honey,” announced Papa Bear, as the bears stalked into the kitchen. Papa Bear ripped the pantry door off of its hinges, and slobbered over an enormous crate of …

“M…E…A…D…” Mama Bear spelled out slowly. She shrugged. “Smells like honey to me,” she said, and the three bears each grabbed a bottle, ripping off the lids with their teeth and spitting them onto the kitchen floor.

“Best honey I ever tasted,” grunted Papa Bear. He grabbed six bottles and deposited them on the kitchen table. He squeezed his enormous rear end into the smallest chair and it disintegrated under his weight. Wee Baby Bear giggled and guzzled from his bottle. Papa Bear shoved his gigantic buttocks into the medium sized chair and it instantly fell apart. Mama Bear cackled and cracked open a second bottle. Papa Bear deposited his humongous ass into the biggest chair and ripped off the lids of the six bottles, sighing contentedly.

“Time for porridge!” Mama Bear shrieked, as she set several pots a-boiling on the stove. She dumped bags of oats into the bubbling water and threw handfuls around the kitchen, while singing “The Teddy Bear’s Picnic” out of tune and at the top of her lungs. As the porridge began to erupt over the tops of the pans, Wee Baby Bear staggered through the house and up the stairs. He fell through a door into a completely pink room, occupied by hundreds of beautifully dressed dolls. 

“Revenge,” he slurred. He crawled onto the bed and set about biting off the heads of each and every one, while letting out occasional sumptuous farts into the pristine pink of the sheets. He squatted and grunted out a perfectly formed gift right into the middle of a satin pillow. “Just right!” he crowed. Well pleased with his handiwork he returned to the smell of burning oats.

He found his mother giggling and smearing the kitchen walls with gelatinous porridge. His father lay under the kitchen table, chuckling, with his head cushioned by a pile of his own vomit. Wee Baby Bear cracked open a bottle of mead and downed it in one, throwing the empty through the kitchen window. Suddenly the kitchen door flew open.

“What are you filthy animals doing in my…” 

The three bears pounced on Goldilocks, taking her down into a morass of porridge and emesis. 

Papa Bear crunched open her skull with his massive jaws and started munching down mouthfuls of her brain. Mama Bear ripped open the chest cavity and started nosing around for a plump kidney. Baby Bear nipped open her abdomen and ran to a corner of the kitchen, dragging out a steaming coil of chewy intestines. Goldilocks twitched three times, and then died.

“Too sweet,” said Papa Bear, as he smacked his chops.

“Too spicy,” said Mama Bear, as she licked her lips.

“Just right!” said Wee Baby Bear, as he rubbed his bulging stomach.

Later that day the three bears relaxed in their clean and cozy home, nursing their headaches and each flossing their teeth with identical strands of long, golden hair.

They all lived happily ever after.

Diane Dooley has two pieces of free advice:

1. Never try to write a cutesy little children's story while suffering from a vicious hangover. Unless you're prepared for the horrors that will ensue.

2. Never fall desperately in love with neglected farmhouses in Upstate New York. 
If the heating bills don't kill ya, the cost of repairs will.

You're welcome.

Comments

[Harriette]

HUH-larry-yus! And so is your free advice!

[Diane Dooley]

Glad you liked the story, sickos!

[anna good]

excellent!! very entertaining :-)

[Heather Massey]

ROFL!! This story is AWESOME! Thanks for the fun, Ms. Dooley!!!