Bear v. Shark by Chris Bachelder Read Free Book Online Page B

knock.
    Who’s there?
    Bear.
    Bear who?
    Bear with me while I kick this shark’s ass.
    An invisible bear goes to see the doctor and sits in the waiting room.
    The receptionist, who just happens to be a shark, says to the invisible bear, “I’m sorry, the doctor can’t see you right now.”
    Why did the chicken cross the road?
    To get a better look at the [
bear
or
shark
] ripping off the [
shark’s
or
bear’s
] head and feasting on its entrails.
    Hey, do you know what they used to call the Internet when it first became available?
    I give up.
    Get this: The
Information Superhighway
.

30
Ethos
    The sign says, “Ma’s Old-Fashioned Interstate Tavern.”
    Another sign says, “Bear and Shark lottery tickets sold here.”
    Another sign says, “If you can bearly stand the heat, then shark your car and come on in!”
    Mrs. Norman says, “This looks good.”
    The hostess says, “Four for lunch?”
    She (the hostess) says, “Smoking or nonsmoking?”
    She says, “Internet access?”
    The Normans follow the paw prints on the tile floor to their booth. Mr. Norman wonders what might be the best way to kill yourself. He saw it on a Television program. It was a contest.
    Mrs. Norman asks the waitress if Ma’s Old-Fashioned Interstate Tavern BearBurger is really made out of bear or if that’s just a cute name like the Sharka Colada.
    The waitress says, “I’ll go check.”
    A pop singer says, “Baby baby baby baby.”
    Thoreau says, “We are in great haste to construct a magnetic telegraph from Maine to Texas;”
    There is a Television mounted to the wall above the Normans’ booth. A reporter is on some busy city street, interviewing passersby. It might be New Orleans, maybe Lansing.
    Matthew plays handheld Bear Killer. The game says, “Beep, beep. Grrrrrrr.”
    He (Matthew) says, “I saw on the Internet that people get
real
bears and sharks to fight.”
    Mrs. Norman says, “Yes, I read about that. They’re called cock-fights.”
    Curtis, the youngest boy, raised on sugar substitute and embedded chips and digital enhancement, says, “What?”
    Mrs. Norman says, “They’re called that because male sharks and male bears are known as cocks.”
    Curtis says, “What do they call the women?”
    Mr. Norman stares at the Television. You could jump off something high, for instance. He says, “They say the shark almost always wins.”
    Matthew pokes Curtis in the neck. He says, “See.”
    Curtis says, “Ow.”
    The pop singer says, “Oooh yeah, don’t you feel it, baby?”
    The waitress says, “It’s just a normal hamburger.”
    Mrs. Norman says, “So it’s made from a cow?”
    The waitress, who sometimes cries for no apparent reason and who answers “strongly agree” to the question, often posed on psychological evaluations, “Do you often have feelings of despair and hopelessness?,” says, “I’ll go check.”
    Bear Killer says, “Tick tick tick tick.” Time is running out. See, if you don’t find the bear den, infiltrate it, and kill all three cubs with a big rock in a certain amount of time, the mother bear comes home and gores you with a halberd.
    The guy in the booth next to the Normans says, “I saw one cock-fight Web site that said the bear picked up the shark over his head and threw it into the audience, injuring five.”
    Curtis says, “Fricky-frack, hypes.”
    Matthew says, “Yeah, but that same Web site also said that the bear shouted, ‘I vanquish thee,’ as he threw the shark which I doubt very seriously he did.”
    Thoreau says, “but Maine and Texas, it may be, have nothing important to communicate.”
    Mr. Norman looks down from the Television at the guy in the next booth over. The guy’s eyes look funny. The guy keeps glancing at Mr. Norman and making quick jerking motions with his head. Toward something, the dessert case or the rest rooms or the Zoloft Smoothie Kiosk (ZSK).
    Curtis says, “The Internet raises some thorny issues about credibility and ethos.”
    Everyone looks at