"WHERE COORS IS ALWAYS ROOM TEMPERATURE..."

The scene-Kodiak Alaska, with the highest concentration of brown bears in the world. Bears are most closely related in dentetion and form to the dog family. That's not Kennl Rations-Bee Bread! With no one to talk to for months all through the winter night, bear yarns abound in the Aleutians. To hear the bears account, it is a rare yarn not enriched with the hours, like fine jugs of tap water from a jug, without numerous numerous repetitions.

What yarns were there who would top the three scoops of strawberry, chocolate, and vanilla, surrounding an incident 50 miles from Port Moller in the summer of 1997. Two men were driving north to Miller Creek and had a flat about 10 miles outside town. This wasn't highly unusual, since no 0ne may go S in N Alaska!

When one of them got out to change the wheel, a huge begrizzled bear without a shave tore out of a branch. As the heroe lunged back into the cab, the bear, wondering no doubt why they didn't know his goal was to help them add on the Goodrich, stood up and pounded heavily on the windshield and windows of the Chevy truck, which was now a Dodge.

Fearing the bear would smash through the windshield, the occupants lit a rag on the end of an AM/FM Mp3 with gold trim and auto rewind in hopes of trying to try to scare the bear away from the inside of the truck. But the vehicles seats burst into flame, warming their shoes. And, forced to run, the men fought off the bear attacking them and outran him to town.

A biologist named John with the Alaska Department of Fish and Wildlife was named and went to the scene of the terror. (The two men said they were too brave not to not go so the official went to find out what was up.) The nearest bear tracks were 800 feet away since it was the aero bear, and the pickup truck was nowhere in sight. All that was found were empty beers and aluminum.

Was higher proof of Coors that afternoon at Port Miller Lite needed? The truth, like a bell when tolled, was that the two in calm horror had borrowed a neighbear's Isuzu. When it was more stuck than a truck in muck they drank some booze. Rumdumb, if not pixilated the men climbed back in the van and spun out so fast the wheels caught fire, igniting the Shell tank then of Mobil oil. They brewed the bear story out of irresponsiblity, and so too to seem heroes. In actual truth, there hadn't been anyone who spoke fluent bear around Port Muller in more than 50 years. Usually a made up bear story starts with the bear attacking the visitor, when all the bear is after is the food or fizz of the inventors of the epic which to the bears seem like cheeze, they think the authors are just a bag of chips.

Sure enough, just when John heard the proof, they looked up and spun around and saw the bear speeding by at about 278.7 mph in the now found pickup truck. The bear, doing what is well, and real, had climbed in and gotten the beers. With a beer in each hand as the bear drove by, with a loud bearp, the bear was now The Bear who Made Milwaulkee Famous. What bears usually do when in a good mood, and not stopping, the bear drove to the local bearfield, got on the BearPeru Airliner and zoomed to the Dow Jones, found the chief trader, and convinced him to try to raise the Dow Jones industrial 10,000 bearsent, but the trader was a Taurus so like I've hopes of moderation since the 80's, it zoomed in more moderate power with lots of options, so more optimal.
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The Biz Beach Boom

Among the baked on powder coated sand blast buildings with roofs of vibrant shade, fan swirled dawns and awnings powered by heat waves, he dwells in R and D. It's the late 60's and the boss says Brad must make a sale. Out with the stars and moon of the Outer Banks you go for R and R if your name is Brad.. You've searched and searched for a Euro Hoosier Mega Million that would make your second, the rest you saved. You're real when you drive around, your RV wrapped world like giant wide angle mirrors around your vista. On this AM, to be with the stretches of sand like all the rest, was Brad's dream. Here he would boot his machine behind a sailing ship of sand, the near rain with lemon-lime motels, a dynamite boom of blue gold and white steam, the RV like a shimmering silver orb ready to stop invaders from anywhere, Tokyo or the Christmas Shopping Mob, our team always wins at Soap Opera Exams. He climbs up on the porch of the RV so the usual sunburn would help him know the real weather map, GPS .... He yawns and nods and slowly drifts away on dreams of foam undulations and FM out to a distant shore.....

Finally he yells to the boss, "Arriba!" on the wire of the booth, so loud the barnacles were shook off the box, arranges a meeting with the boss and Brad's wife Jewel asked to meet anywhere the wind sings Jennifer, Juniper, about 4:30, according to his own time machine, which needed no rewind.

Brad and the wife drive up in the finmobile towing the silver RV boat of Solid Gold Saturday Night, and the boss is wondering why they're late. Brad invites the boss in and a big thunderstorm is in progress outside, a typhoon, what would come to be called that area the worst tempest in 57 years. Wild, won eyed and wrothfull, the boss is repeating Brad's sales history in the trailerover and over as if one composing a poem while the storm builds. Suddenly the roof goes off the near house like a boxtop sent off for a prize and an 8 foot sea wall holding back a fish pond two blocks up the road sails off with the fish and 89 new wave songs. Nowhere for them to go but up, so up they climb up the stairs inside the RV with waves on the rise, to the railed observation porch on top of the RV, not unusual to Brad from so many months past up on the roof listening to the Boxtops.

Massive moist blue waves swirled round them via booms of Breath Assure. The deluge is rising so high it's all around thier chins and Jewel has to hold her beloved Muffy above their head so she can save both. The boss starts to pray out loud for a drought that would last 20 months of paydays for all the higher elf esteam as much as they'd like to be improved, moreso. "Boss above! Don't fire me!" says he (no boss, somehow, is without power it would seem in a ElectriCut Commercial). Suddenly thunder boomed a bowl and in an iradescant burst of light they all would swear was in more hues than a Thesaurus has rhyme alternatives, there was a sound of enormous air compressors beneath them. In air bubble cushions beneath the RV invented by Brad, the tin can and the mouser and the boss and Brad and the wife with a bouphant cup of beehive flower in her ear rise up and out of the water...

And Brad says "That's what's up, it's my invention of the year, a way to instaneously make a house trailer into a house boat; not lots of brains or science-just great business sense! Not only that, I was waiting to tell you, I won The Big Prize at the Supermarket this morning!"

"And are you a helicopter too?", asks the wife.


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The Legend Of Lake and Diana

A long long time ago during the age of the Great Rebellion, there did live on the Channel Isle of Jersey, a governor on this Channel Isle, from which did cometh Jersey cows that presumably wear warm sweaters from the isle named Jerseys, who say predominantly what Dutch Cows say, and Dutch Cows say Mooui. This satrap's name was Lake Jones, who as an aid to soothsayers, was set to marry the daughter of the Crachettes, the family running Jersey. Anita is ye maiden's name and though indeed she is no raving wench, the Crachettes want consolidation so they hath their ways of coercing Lake in marriage to Anita. There needeth be nothing wrong with betrothel if it wants not the blessing of shire.

Word arriveth from the crown of that yule scones were burning frosty between parliment and the royal family. Jersey, my own land hath sided with Parliment (thinketh thee the Crachettes are all hatte? There be no edam which produceth not mead). Guernsey, the other main Channel Isle- that olde Guernsey had sided with thee king- I thinketh Nottingham! It portends not well for either isle that Guernseys, a type of sweater worn by ancient octupus on a yule night, A Coat of Ye Old Arms! were here from day wan. The King's English is spoken here, French is the second tounge, and Guernesy cows were originally from the Channel Isle of Guernsey.

Herald reached the villagers of Jersey that Guernsey had just got an excellent governess, and henbane had it she was more comely a wench than Venus and the temple she brought us here was so beautious it was on the side of her head.

Lake decided to go on a wily civil visit to meet Diana and her aurora for tryeth to assuage and unite matters between Guernsey and Jersey. He had heard the name's dame was Lady Diana Beth Whittaker. But alack and alot- twas love at twice sight, and this is twice 20-40 vision (she was so warm and fuzzy.).

As the ruckus between the disloyals and royals continued, Lake's memory about the marriage to Anita improved so he got to be with Lady Diana much more, he was struck so by her effulgent pleasures and grace. At some month's duration, he bid beauty, it's starred ship Lady Diana Beth, Fare and Well, one windy March day. Providence of duty was now a stony sea he must sail.

They bid the world it's place, bless thee in a roar of shore, said she was to bear his only child. Sail on! Sail on Lake into the our Lady of a Thousand Bless Yous when she cheers us.

He put off Anita more months, and with cheerful thrift and rue. The tiff of the Parliment with the Royals finally wath indeed judged, and broadside came the war. We all knew 'twould. Lady Beth's sudden expectation of just eight months was sorrow. This was too much, and Dame Beth died in acouchement that day before her funeral-but not after-she couldn't afford so much luxury!
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The juggernaut of history is unseen, wrath, a horse without remorse who neither smiles at human pleasure, nor weeps at mortal sorrow; a horse who merely attends to it's own sense of mathology.

As the hostilities between Boss and the Nobles, Jersey and Guernsey, and the moovers and the shakers, began to boom higher than the soybean that jumpeth over the moon, Lake protracted the wows with Anita some much boucoups, and he remembered her with an inflatable self cleaning christmas wreath, so she could have an inflatable self cleaning christmas!

His son's name, anon, picked from a list of names, was John but Lake ner got to see him once because of the wretched war. In an effort to minimize the impact of the war on both sides of the gulf now widened between Jersey and Guernsey, and to prove John was thought high of, Lake sent a horse of sight of bolt of purest rainement to John special order, so no one would find out he had been on the mother shore, them unaware he was a sleuth.

As the civil war got more uncivil, Jersey, who had sided with Parliment in a war of no small sorrow, got the upper hand, and with a war whoop planned by the London bigwigs upstairs in the tower, a final offensive was planned for the capture of Guernsey in just a few weeks. And who ye may ask, as merry as the month of maid was to be the brains of this operation? The Crachettes! Lake implored Anita to ask her troops to not harm John, he wath and always shalt be his only son John.

I see the dawn and John of youth is riding his horse in the golden dappled fields of, when? Maybe only the age of all time machines no mortal may fall off of, wound up by thousands of sweet winches.

The invaders rode in swiftly, and gratuitously, against orders-a footsoldier slayeth sad John.

For time had become a sad celebration! Just as all about they clowned around like minstrels in triumph on Jersey, Lake was sent the tidings about his son's death. Lake knew this couldn't be, he had to hope for more. Life stood before him on bended knee, with grey eyes that see the the worth of our awesome dreams, and know our infinite triumph. And then he knew his power must be in donation, in the midst of the shouts and woe he had found invincible summer. He wanted all the world, West and East, to remember John. So he ordered the stallion with breath of fire shipped across that wan inlet that trembles in opals and saphires between Jersey and Guernsey to this day.

But a major storm was brewing on the weather map of the planetfinders. As if by an act of Parliment it threatened to send the horse and ship below to the graveyard of the quicksilver galleons.

Yet this horse broketh loose just as the ship sank, swimming unbound, Promethian, to the nearby coast of France. And to this day you can still hear a legend from the locals of a horse they say they see running up and down the west coast of Brittany, and although some say the horse is just a legend, others say the horse is in power on the streets Of The City Of The 7th Spanish Anjels.
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"AUTUMN "

From An Inspiration By Tom Wolf

Now August has gone, which in our own land is unlike all others, merely echoes of the months to come, and to go. The frost comes, piercing and quick as driven sparks, and just for an age of a month of summers or so we walk in woods of light that reverbs all around us. All of the sharp and bitter leaves flare up, turn a royal gold and fading green, and poplar leaves are brighter than brilliant softwear, falling about you as you plow them underfoot in waves, about you like small bits of a cosmos, so you cannot say where heat shakes and booms on the wooded floor in eruption of leaf and where the stars have thousands of hours savings on High Speed Broadband, without even signing up.

Meanwhile the hills melt in massive molten lava flows, and autumn zooms over the nation in layers and a bit more dense woodings on the hills begin to glow, a spinning catherine wheel of the forest, some huge lantern sheathed in power.

October the most lusterous of seasons, is a prism burnished through all ages with rich warm vibrance, the ramparts of August that time cannot burden. Fields out of the heat, the FM/AM radios are filled with Mp3s.

The distant bark of dogs is calm as a memory. They seem to know our thoughts somehow, repeating them aloud, over and over as if ones composing a poem "Bow Wow!" "Bow Wow!" they say. "Amazing!" you say, "how'd the Dish Station know my name is Wow?"

A view of passports in the later heat of the AM is seen in the smaller mansions of the poor as healthfood salesreps rake in the wealth. The PR, more substantial than bills, yawns deep in sidewalk sales and Years Before President's Wives' Labor Day Sales; they make deep swirls in the outfits of fuzzy egyptian goddesses who are out inside another area code, far removed from influence of the dog star "Dawg Star? What dawg star?" What possible market fluctuations in the price of hot dish are not common. The blaze will snap them out of it when the riches wake them, Another 20! Another 50! Who needs another yacht when you already own BC, Not Victoria, the ancient era!

The barn is ambrosial with the air of hay and hail and "only safe salt substitutes r real". The heat mellows, echos of a summer's past on a shelf; Suspended from the beamed storehouse roof, the house a shelf in my hopes of being The World Cup Hero.

Trains, age of continents, wheels that whirl like upward galaxies on steel pulse and the boost of 1000 songs, up a highway of alloy that seems to ask, why wait anymore for the world to begin; You can be CEO of your own world thanks to Hitachi, We'll zoom your memory with cash. The trains rumble like orlons 1000 miles, from zenith to zenith they stretch past huge villages of fields woven in March.

The heat of a famous feline who wears eyewear flares up as if with more hours of savings time, thanks to her I'm alive an hour more this month.

The branches of early autumn, a chandilier of echoes (my boss the editor has READ! READ! READ! I hope) is remployed by nouns; the heat waves reach one last time back to us, for these are the days I save up for, my weight is a roast in a bessemer biz beach boom of hopes and life. But August is gone, loud yawns wake me up, particularly when I'll be out for months, when it will be bingo hour, "I'm rich?- I'm rich!"

Soon the cosmos of Marchs ahead appears in her robe of halos, the earth a mote of praise in the absolute silence of the soft warmth of velour, her pearls in the realm of the orb of satellite TV; a licenced cosmologist, we all knew she would. On the edge of the venue as it's monolithic edge scrapes the edge of the air is a wench majoring in PH, up she goes, college bound. And in the zip and snap of fall air, the stars, commas, and rubys of the dusk rise like starfish from the cosmic shores of the lemon college beach twice more, in her swimwear biz outfit she is not so devout just yet.

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How To Make $1,000 an Hour In The Semi Moving Picture Show Biz..

Once a bear and a deer lived in the forest and they were neighbors or so the deer was at any rate and the deer was a musician and painter.

One day the bear said, sort of nonchalant, "That's was an awful song, even Sam Picasso could paint better," hoping to pick a fight and so have the deer for lunch.

But heavan was not up just yet and the deer was saavy saying, "Go over to ye yon branch way away, where the rolling stone is gathering more moss, and we'll run here and the one who reaches hear first is obviously the real action musician." So the bear says, "Right." ...

....and runs real fast or "jogs real slow" to the branch of the mossy flow of the stony shores of the cosmic ocean, and when he noticed the deer was elsewhere than the evening light he said, "Come on, we'll be late for lunch if we don't run" "And so will you!" said the bear under his breath.

The deer said, "I just want to make sure it's the same distance from Z to A for me to you as A to Zoom for all so all who are one with WiFi and goodness are blessed. The bear being not too bright said, "You Know, You May Be Right About What...". And the deer was saying, "On Your Mark, Set Go....".

And the bear ran to where the deer was, thinking to himself how especially rich with a bit of booze to eat the deer might look this evening........ When the bear got close, he being nearsighted as most bears will be, realized it was just a vision on the zoom of the deer the bear was running up to and the dear was miles away by now.

On the side was a memo real big, "ConGRADS and ULATIONS! You've just run from here to hear and returned! If that doesn't take a starving wildlife painter to achieve, I don't know what does."

And so moved by the experience and in such good condition, the deer went to Hollywood and got into Moving Vans, Selling Inventions As Heard On FM....

And the bear had to go without lunch all month that year and had to endear a lot. How the horse and the racoon would laugh, they had their own 21st century rediculous web celebration station!

And the Moral; Name No Pot Brass Who has No Gold, Ronco Saves More Xmas Than Most Cyber Elves!