I'm a bear phobic. No question about it. Never had much problem with
'em, just don't care for 'em very much. It might've started when I was playing
tag as a kid, ran up a hill and darned near ran a bruin over. I don't know
which one of us moved faster from that point, but I was no slouch! Had a
couple of bears that wouldn't let a neighbor out of his house for a couple
of days. Had another neighbor that watched as a bear came in through her
(closed) thermopane patio door. Had a good friend that got sick and tired
of the bears during a trek through the Smokies and got arrested for herding
the bears down a street through town (he'd been imbibing a few and just
got sick of them hanging around the camp).
All of our destinies are written somewhere, I figure. Mine ends with a bear.
Such is life.
Scott Montague (4sam3@qlink.queensu.ca)
has put together an excellent study of bears. It is apparently updated regularly
and should be required reading for anyone that's going to be traveling in
bear country. Scott has a whole bunch of neat facts regarding bears and
clear instructions on how and where to store your food, waste, and scented
objects.
Don't miss this information or the rest of the fine pages that Scott's put
together!
A bear walks into a bar, sits down, and orders a beer. The bartender, amazed
that this bear can actually talk, silently taps the beer and serves it.
The bear says, "What do I owe you?" The bartender, realizing that,
even though this bear is smart, it probably hasn't been in many bars, decides
to overcharge him. "That'll be ten dollars," the bartender says.
The bear forks over the money and starts drinking his beer. After a few
minutes, the bartender can't restrain his curiosity, so he walks back over
to the bear and tries to strike up a conversation. "You know, we don't
get many bears in this bar." The bear looks up from his beer and says,
"Well, at ten bucks a beer, I'm not surprised."
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What about the classic about the two backpackers who see a bear begin to
charge them so one backpacker takes off his hiking boots and puts on running
shoes. His companion says, "you'll never outrun the bear, why are you
putting those on?" The guy with the running shoes repies, "I don't
have to outrun the bear, I just have to outrun you."
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A minister, tired of tending to the needs and demands of his flock Sunday
after Sunday after Sunday, decided to "play hookie". One Sunday
he loaded his squirrel rifle and headed out on a hike. He intended to walk
through the woods totally alone, and just plink at any squirrels that might
present themselves.
Towards late afternoon, the preacher was walking back home along an old
logging road. He had long since exhausted his ammunition and had incidently
not hit one squirrel. He was feeling relaxed and refreshed.
On turning a corner, however, he came face to face with one very large bear.
This bear was huge, and he was eyeing the preacher as if he were one bear
size bite.
The preacher dropped to his knees and bowed his head. "Oh Lord!",
he said, "have mercy on me, a sinner. I have done wrong. But if I could
ask just one thing of you, Lord: Lord, please make this bear a Christian!"
"I know", he continued, in his best hellfire voice, "that
I was wrong to abandon my flock today. To think ill of those you have put
in my charge. But please Lord: make this bear a Christian!"
At this point the preacher hears an strange thump. He lifts his eyes to
see the mighty bear on HIS knees in the dirt. He massive paws came together
in prayerful attitude, and the great beast bowed his head. Then the bear
spoke: "Oh Lord: bless this meal we are about to receive............."
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The dude walks into the saloon up near Yellowknife and says he wants to
be a real sourdough. The boys around the bar can't pass this up, so they
tell him that in order to be a real sourdough, he's gotta do three things
- he's got to drink a full bottle of whiskey, then he's got to wrassle a
griz, then he's got to make love to an Eskimo woman.
Well, the dude figures this is not too bad, so he gets a bottle and proceeds
to drink it down. He sorta gets up and heads out the door. About three hours
later, he stumbles back into the saloon, all beat to crap, scratched up,
clothes in shreds, looking awful rough, leans up against the bar stool and
says "OK, where's that Eskimo woman I'm supposed to wrassle?"