Unbearable Bear

This has been all over the internet, and discussed on dozens, if not hundreds, of other writers’ blogs, but it’s just too juicy an absurdity to ignore, even if any commentary has to be unoriginal at this point. I’m late to the game because I’ve been waiting for days for the other shoe to drop, for somebody at the Onion or SNL to own up to their hilarious spoof, but no such footwear ever hit the hardwood. By all accounts this is something real. I can’t be, but it is. It’s…

Trumpy Bear!

An infomercial for this hideous mutant plush-monster played repeatedly on the cable channels for a couple of nights last week. I think I watched it about 50 times on YouTube. If you haven’t seen it yet, and care nothing for your peace of mind, here, I dare you:

What’s your favourite bit? The weird grizzly bear poem at the start? The bear up a flagpole? At the golf course? The bear comb-over? The non-sequitur of the executive-like guy at his desk extolling the virtues of a healthy capitalist business climate, as if Trumpy Bear has something to do with it? That he was born on Flag Day? Or do you agree with me, and plump for Trumpy Bear perching proudly on the handlebars of a motorcycle operated by a genuine – no, really – U.S. Marine Corps veteran? Semper fi, ursine comrade in arms!! Ooorah! If only we’d had you at Hue, or Fallujah, or Iwo Jima!

The terrifying thought that somebody out there might really want to own one of these things, at 40 bucks US plus “shipping and handling”, is perhaps offset by the hope that they’re selling hundreds of thousands of the flag-stuffed bastards because most people think that no ordinary dart board could ever provide half the fun of a Trumpy Bear, sitting down range looking stupid, with a bullseye pasted on his robust tummy.

It makes you wish for a return of Lawn Darts, the good ones with the spikes, so you could give it to him right in the necktie. Right where the rhino got the javelin. Maybe they’re still legal in some jurisdictions – maybe in Kazakhstan, or Turkmenistan, or some other stan.

Tell the truth – you kind of want one, don’t you?  I do. Think of the uses! T.B. could be more than just an ironic joke on your mantlepiece. You could sop up spills, say, or keep one handy to slap with a wooden spoon every time his namesake opens his blowhole on the goggle box. I can imagine T.B. playing the sacrificial goat in Satanic rituals – can’t you just see him tethered there, waiting to get his? Maybe on an altar in some candle-lit chamber, surrounded by mysterious figures in robes chanting scary verse in Latin. He’d make a hell of a voodoo doll too, yes? Or you could put his head on a pike on your front lawn. You could also look at it as an investment – this grim artifact of a fading superpower’s descent into decadent insanity might be a valuable collectable some day, you never know. Stranger things have soared in market value over the years. After all the rendings, burnings, and hangings in effigy, there aren’t likely to be many still in one piece after a couple of years, and practically none in mint condition in the original box (the manufacturer obviously anticipates as much, qualifying its returns policy to exclude Trumpys that have been deliberately mutilated).(No fooling).

I assume they come by mail. It would cost too much to drop them from B-52s. I wonder, could you train bald eagles to carry them straight to the buyers, or would the scowling raptors, jealous of their status as national symbols, see it as their patriotic duty to tear the living stuffing right out of the abominable little upstarts?

Let’s face it. You may not be able to resist the diabolical urge to buy Trumpy Bear.

Just in case:

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