For a friend that was injured in a car accident. He was in the hospital, heavily sedated, and asked me to write him a story that had "Bears in it". Hence the title, and very strange story.
Once upon a time there was a little bear named Fuzzy. Fuzzy was a prosperous bear who owned several delicatessens in the town of Mudville; a rural area in upstate New York. It was often said that Fuzzy's entrepreneurial skills and philanthropic nature was directly responsible for the prosperity of Mudville, which boasted a populace far greater and wealthier than any of the numerous surrounding towns and villages. Fuzzy was well known throughout the region, even before his picture appeared in comic fashion on the labels of glass jars of deli mustard and horseradish - products of his delicatessen chain and favorites among many for their spicy and organic ingredients. "Fuzzy's Hot Stuff" was distributed and purchased throughout the countryside and was equally praised and hated as a delicious condiment to thousands of sandwiches but hated for uncountable cases of heartburn among its consumers. Regardless, the lucrative sales of his mustard and horseradish made Fuzzy smoking rich and he was always looking for a new product to add to his line. Not only was Fuzzy wealthy and prosperous, he was well thought of.
The only dishonorable trait Fuzzy could call his own was a fondness for the drink, and even after one drink too many Fuzzy rarely uttered ill words about anyone…well…except Paul Newman. It only took a few Heinekens in Fuzzy for him to berate Paul Newman for his line of "piss water" salad dressings and other products bearing the Newman face and name. He chided Paul Newman publicly, denouncing his inferior products and lack of business sense for donating the majority of the profits from the Newman line to charity. Rumor has it that Fuzzy almost came to fist o'cuffs over said topic when Pete the Rabbit stepped up in Newman's defense. Everyone knew that Pete backed down simply out of boredom, listening to hour after hour of Fuzzy's idle threats and enduring the constant drunken badgering. It was a running joke that Fuzzy got away with his tantrums because Mr. Newman was conveniently absent and unable to defend himself.
Fuzzy's numerous positive traits made it all the more a complete mystery as to why his mind began to unravel. In the months ahead there was no one inhabitant in the quiet little town of Mudville that wouldn't shake their head in wonder, that wouldn't look behind them or in all directions before uttering a sour word about Fuzzy. There was a chance, albeit a small chance, that he may overhear…and for Fuzzy to hear you talk about him, especially in a negative fashion…well…let's just say for now that it wouldn't be a good thing. Rumor had it that Fuzzy's hearing was on the same down bound train as his mind but somehow nothing escaped him. He grew a sixth sense.
The first indication that something was wrong with Fuzzy occurred at the Mudville Cider Festival in late May. The festival was always scheduled for Memorial Day weekend and attracted visitors from all surrounding areas. The main attraction was the Hard Cider competition, into which anyone capable of brewing could submit their personal version of Hard Cider in the hopes of obtaining the “Golden Apple” or first prize. Fuzzy was two-time champion two years running and had no intentions of relinquishing his title this year, intent on setting a precedent of winning three years in a row. Never in the hundred and twenty year history of the festival had this been done. Fuzzy's grandfather Fuzzy Sr. was two time champion sixty years' prior and never lived to compete the third year, succumbing over the winter to pneumonia caught during an ice-fishing accident. It is said that Fuzzy Sr. most certainly would have won the third consecutive year but the fact that his grandfather never lived to compete made Fuzzy all the more determined to honor his family name and complete the trifecta his grandfather could not obtain. Fuzzy spent all winter concocting his special brew.
He traveled throughout the countryside for miles and miles, obtaining all of the freshest and obscure ingredients. He even went so far as to design a risque custom label for his competition brew (a scantily-clad beaver) and boasting to Joe the Weasel in confidence that his brew was of such high quality that he planned on manufacturing it immediately after mounting the podium and accepting the “Golden Apple” for the elusive third consecutive time. Everyone knew Joe the Weasel couldn't keep a secret, especially Fuzzy, so word spread quickly that Fuzzy was a “shoe-in”. It was assumed that Fuzzy Wuzzy's “Golden Apple” Cider would take it's rightful place in retail next to his deli mustard, horseradish, and newest product “Fuzzy's Dragon Fire”, a habanero pepper based hot sauce. All of this was Fuzzy's master plan. His grand scheme. It all fit like a puzzle in Fuzzy's mind, which was about to crumble like glass under a steamroller.
