Bear v. Shark (7 page)

A REASON TO LIVE

(by Curtis Norman)

In today’s society there is a lot of bad news. Just for an example of this is tornadoes, assassinations, tainted food, and killer bees. Other examples are pollution, bad roads, heroin, teen pregnancy, and rabies. These problems aren’t anyone’s fault, most of them (like killer bees) are natural and can’t be controlled by human destiny.

It can be difficult to be happy with all this bad news around. For instance, people are grumpy and many of them commit suicide. Men tend to choose guns and women choose pills. I say choose life!

Bear v. Shark allows people to forget about their own problems and the troubles in the world and just be happy. Bear v. Shark gives people a reason to be excited about their day. Instead of sad about gang violence or a collapsing infrastructure people can be upbeat because they are happy. Their minds are on something else. Say, which side are you on? Are you for the bear or the shark? And what about those fins anyway?

In closing, my gardener is Dutch and he doesn’t have a culture. But America is great because it has a culture and Bear v. Shark helps us have a culture.

The guy in the booth next to the Normans, the guy looking at Mr. Norman in a strange manner, eventually joins the family for lunch. He squeezes in beside the boys. He’s wearing an old faded black “Bear v. Shark I” T-shirt from the first event two years earlier.

It (the shirt) looks like a classic. It looks authentic, though they sell them like that now, faded and threadbare. They do a nice job. It’s really hard to tell.

Curtis notices the shirt. He says, “Were you there?”

The guy nods. He says, “Third row. My uncle worked on the bear programming team. He hooked me up with the tickets.”

Curtis says, “Too bad about what happened.”

The guy says, “Yeah.”

Curtis says, “Was the bear’s head really that small?”

Mrs. Norman says, “Curtis.”

The guy says, “No, it’s OK.”

Curtis says, “I read on the Internet that the Internet photos of the tiny head are an Internet hoax.”

The guy says, “I read that too, but I was there and I have to say, the bear’s head was pretty small.”

Matthew says, “Did your uncle hook you up again this time?”

Mrs. Norman says, “Matthew.”

The guy says, “He got fired. HardCorp fired all the bear programming personnel, even though my uncle just worked on the fur team. That’s all he did, fur.”

Matthew says, “The fur looked a little patchy.”

Mr. Norman says, “Why is it that we can send a bear and a shark to the moon, but we can’t make a good razor for sensitive skin?”

Curtis says, “Do you have a Web site?”

Mrs. Norman says, “They did the right thing by just starting it all over again. Plus, it’s just so fun to have something to look forward to.”

The crackling intercom says, “Has anyone lost a baby? There’s a tiny baby up here.”

A pop singer says, “Oh my sweet angel, I can’t live without you.”

Mrs. Norman says, “It’s the anticipation more than anything.”

The guy says, “Listen, I’m not saying a normal-headed bear could take a shark, but this was just no contest.”

Mrs. Norman says, “What does he do now?”

The guy is kicking Mr. Norman under the table. He says, “What?”

Mrs. Norman says, “Your uncle, what does he do now?”

The pop singer promises to kill his sweet angel’s husband.

The guy says, “Oh, he shot himself.”

Possum v. Squirrel

Owl v. Deer

Squid v. Monkey

Cow v. Mastiff

Varmint v. Critter

Scorpion v. Pigeon

Blind v. Deaf

Jew v. Puerto Rican

Manx v. Mutt

Spanish Moss v. Kudzu

Hitler v. Elvis

Toddler v. Snake

Middle Manager v. Homeless

Oliver Wendell v. Sherlock

The guy from the other booth finishes his Shark Blood Soup, which is really a nice tomato basil.

The crackling intercom says, “People, please check around your table to make sure you have not lost a baby.”

Through the tavern’s TV-screen-shaped windows Mr. Norman can see the ceaseless interstate traffic, the Median Police with their lightning guns and their caged truck overflowing with hoboes. He can see the migrant workers putting up new billboards, the air-brushed women and their cleavage and their sexy shampoos, their sexy bug sprays, their sexy canned meat products for families on the go, who has time to cook these days, tastes like fresh meat, I couldn’t tell the difference, you won me over, I’ll try it.

The waitress, who, yes, often has trouble sleeping, says, “Can I bring you all anything else?”

On the Television an angry and tattered man with no good connections, no stock portfolio, no health insurance, no Internet provider, no sense of common decency, no chance of ever making sweet hot virtual love to the likes of the airbrushed hucksters who haunt the modern interstate, says to the reporter, “What?”

The reporter (nose job, bulletproof jacket) says, “Sir, who do
you
think would win in a fight between a bear and a shark?”

The angry tattered man says, “A shark never sleeps.”

He gets up in the reporter’s face. He jabs a greasy finger in the reporter’s chest. He says, “If the shark sleeps, it will drown.”

Curtis says, “Advantage: Bear.”

The waitress says, “Some coffee or dessert?”

The guy says, “Not so fast, little camper.”

Curtis says, “The shark never sleeps. So it must be tired and groggy. Think about how you feel if you haven’t had any sleep.”

The guy is trying to pass a napkin note to Mr. Norman. He says, “I’m not sure I see what you’re driving at.”

Matthew says, “But bears sleep half the year.”

The guy says, “That’s true.”

The waitress says, “Leave room for cream?”

Curtis says, “Exactly. The bear burrows into the soft clay and hibernates during the winter months. Thus when he is awake and fighting sharks, his temperament is strong and well rested.”

Mrs. Norman says, “
Their
temperament.” It is difficult to sit well in the booth’s squishy seat. Difficult, not impossible.

The guy from the other booth, the jerky one with the urgent secret napkin note, says, “I’m starting to see how it all comes together.”

Curtis smiles and does a little dance in the booth.

Matthew says, “Hold everything. Thomas Edison didn’t need any sleep.”

The guy from the other booth says, “Well, how about that? I guess I knew about the ponytail and the spectacles — well, and the kite, of course — but the insomnia is a new one for me.”

A cute little red-haired girl is ogling pies in the dessert case. Her shirt says, “You ever seen a
shark
in a circus?”

Mrs. Norman says, “Is it technically insomnia if you don’t need the sleep?”

The guy says, “What do you mean by technically?”

Mr. Norman gazes out the smog-stained Television windows at the interstate, where a team of migrant workers is now installing a billboard featuring a picture of Jesus on the cross. Looks like maybe Jesus has a personal trainer. The hues are sexy, the composition is avant-garde. Jesus has nice pecs, a strong chin, a swarthy complexion. The billboard says, “Jesus loves the Truth and hates litter.”

The crackling intercom describes the baby as bald and dirty. Tiny overalls. It’s just a matter of coming to the register to claim the baby.

The waitress says, “Insomnia sort of implies you’re trying to sleep but can’t.”

The guy says, “But you can be hungry and not eat, can’t you?”

The waitress says, “Yes, you can.”

Mr. Norman says, “Thomas Edison said, ‘Hey, Watson, come here I need you.’”

Mrs. Norman says, “No, honey, I think you’re thinking of Alexander Lloyd Webber.”

Matthew says, “Edison never slept and he invented electricity. Lack of sleep shows a certain resolve and strength of constitution, whereas hibernation indicates a slothful and indolent nature.”

The guy from the other booth says, “Well, now, I knew the little man’s argument was not airtight, though I could not quite find the flaw in it myself.”

The secret note says,
You are not alone. There are others like you. If you keep your eyes open you will find us
.

The waitress says, “How about a Bear Claw or a CubCake?”

Curtis says, “A bear would rip Thomas Edison to shreds.”

The baby just sits between the mints and the toothpicks, worried.

Watson was Frank Lloyd Wright’s assistant?

If I was Watson, I’d just tell Sherlock if he needs me so bad, he can come in here. Fricky-frack, I’m busy with my own projects.

Who would win in a fight between Oliver Wendell Holmes and Sherlock Holmes?

Would both of them have normal-size heads?

Yes.

No outside help from assistants?

No.

No hidden weapons? They both wore those kind of long, flowy outfits.

No.

Sherlock, then.

I disagree. I think Ollie would unleash some wicked justice on that fictional sleuth.

Hey, who did Igor assist?

Wittgenstein.

Most people think that Wittgenstein is the name of the monster, but if you read the original translation, Wittgenstein is actually the name of the doctor.

What was the monster’s name?

Tonto means stupid.

They say Lindbergh had an assistant.

Mr. Norman is not fully attuned to the conversation or the booth Television or the red-haired little girl’s shirt (the back of which says, “Shut your big fat bear trap”) or even the sexy clever billboards outside his Television-screen-shaped window.

Mr. Norman is thinking about having sex with a shark. Listen, not in an indecent or bestial way. Not at all. In Mr. Norman’s mind it is tender lovemaking — respectful, consensual, aquatic. He imagines the tough rubbery feel of the scaleless skin. He imagines a wordless embrace. He imagines stroking the fins and gently tonguing the gill slits, which he imagines to be the shark’s erogenous zone. The warm salt water laps against their bodies.

Seaweed, coral, Spanish galleons, glittering doubloons.

The shark arches its back, moans through razor teeth.

This is not filthy. This is genuine and beautiful, but Mr. Norman knows that nobody would understand.

How could they?

Greetings, Net nomads and nonbelievers. You are perhaps weary and full of misgiving and your road has been arid and unlined with fruit or stags. At this point you require the hearty, salty dinner of warriors. The dogma is like so much plankton for the likes of us! You need the bloody meat of TRUTH!

Take heart in that you have found for the moment a haven and a sanctuary on your arid travels. The very fact that you’re here is a solid indicator that your mind is unfettered by the dross and shale emitted like so many pretty little sparks from our major media outlets. You refuse to simply swallow the party line and masticate the sweet candy that our “government” gives us. Good for you. The likes of such as you are a dwindling breed of nomads in the arid world and you are to be commended.

Now on to the substance of our meal. Below are some of the major facts in this case, any one of which would cast grave shadows of unreliability on this “solo flight” across the “Atlantic,” but taken altogether they fairly shatter the myth like so many shattered eggs.

FACT: Records show that the
Spirit of Enola Gay,
the “plane” that “Lindbergh” supposedly used, was not registered with the U.S. Bureau of Aviation in 1927. It is as if the flying machine didn’t even exist!

FACT: Recently declassified Soviet spy satellite photographs reveal that “Lindbergh” took a shortcut and never actually crossed the “Atlantic.” What he may in fact have crossed is part of Canada and the Baltic Sea, a feat which had been done before.

FACT: In 1952, a Dutch woman came forward and said that she was on board the
Spirit of Enola Gay,
which severely calls into question the “solo” aspect of the “flight.”

FACT: There’s no way you can have enough fuel for that.

FACT: Just when this case was about to be blown open by unfettered investigators in an arid world, that’s when the whole “kidnapping” thing with the “baby” happened, thus projecting a large smoke screen over the dubious feat.

Safe travels, Net nomads. Remember: In the arid world a traveler needs more substance than the opium of so-called “bears” and “sharks,” the corporate tools that confuse and distract us from the TRUTH.