The Goldilocks Zone
or "Goldilocks and the Three Bears"
-as retold by Predator Press
arah Palin, having abandoned the very Governorship she was elected to perform, hadn’t been to, eh, 'The Office' in months.
But having finally returned to pack her desk, she found the empty building in a completely unmaintained state of advanced decay; cobwebs splayed across the once-stylish furniture, and the formerly opulent building seemed faded -on the verge of utter collapse.
-And in the cafeteria, she found three bears eating porridge!
“I don’t understand why you won’t heat up my porridge,” the Papa Bear complained.
“Why don’t you get Sandra Bullock to heat up you porridge?” snarled Mama Bear. “Seein as how you think she’s so pretty and all.”
Papa Bear sighed. “Look. All I said was she’s really held up nicely considering her age.”
"Hmph!" Mama Bear replied.
The microwave dinged, and Baby Bear gingerly removed the steaming bowl. “Damn that’s hot!” he said, juggling the scalding bowl to the table.
“Watch your language, son,” Papa Bear scolded.
Baby Bear eyed him skeptically. “Dad, isn‘t it about time you learned how to use a microwave? I mean you can talk for gods sake. You‘re embarrassing me in front of my friends.”
And just as Baby Bear paused to blow on his lava-like porridge, Sarah Palin opened fire -turning both barrels of blazing hot, lead wrath on the back of Papa Bear’s head, exploding it into a pink and brown misty cloud of blood, bone, and fur.
-AS the headless corpse deafeningly crashed, Mama and Baby Bear stared in horrified disbelief. And when Baby Bear dropped his porridge spoon on the linoleum floor, Sarah -startled by the sharp metallic clang- hurled her large hunting knife at the cub, severing an artery in his neck.
Clutching his fatal wound, Baby Bear wheeled from the chair, spraying blood all over the walls, his mother, and his father‘s headless corpse, ultimately collapsing lifeless to the floor with a sickening thud.
“You’re about to find out firsthand how Health Care Reform works out,” growled Mama Bear, preparing to pounce.
Sarah’s eyes flashed in fury. “I’m not putting holes in my new fireplace rug, you filthy sack of Communism,” she snapped, throwing her shotgun aside. Sarah tore off her pant suit jacket. “I’m going to kill you with my own two hands!”
Mama Bear, drawing up to an awesome height on her hind legs, gave Sarah the subtle ‘Bring It’ hand signal Keanu Reeves did in The Matrix while waiting in a serene silence.
-A silence suddenly broken by the screeching of megaphone feedback.
“Sarah, stop!“ cried Dmitry Anatolyevich Medvedev, pacing pensively on the Russian shore. “The bear is the national symbol of Russia -a metaphor the author made up! Killing any more bears in this story could result in an international incident.”
“Oh, fiddle dee-dee with that talentless hack so-called author!" Sarah exclaimed, rolling up her sleeves. "Me ‘an this future floor décor got something personal to settle.”
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” replied the Russian President. Just then, eight year old Justin Hansen dashed out with a largish, squawking animal that struggled fiercely against his captor -barely it's own weight.
-A Bald Eagle.
"By virtue of sending this poor orphaned child," Medvedev continues, gesturing to Justin Hansen, "-to another continent with nothing but a note, we can see how deplorably amoral America has become. And on a global scale!"
Firing up his flamethrower, Medvedev let the flames dance under the noble bird. “We don’t usually celebrate Thanksgiving at the United Nations, but we are also a world in a very progressive phase of history.”
"Yeah," cries Justin Hansen. "And thanks to your country, for the rest of my life I will have to live with the stigma and shame of being called a murdering, sadistic arsonist on international news!" Dunking the struggling, heroic Bald Eagle repeatedly in a barrel of gasoline, Hansen turns to Medvedev.
"Let's do this thing."
“Oh dang golly gee,” replies Sarah, looking at Mama Bear. “When last I czesched," she takes a moment to giggle, "The Russian Army has 1566 rotisseries. If we’re going to settle this once and for all, we need to think of something. Let’s barnstorm.”
Mama Bear stared, eyebrows furrowed.
“You mean ‘brainstorm,’ right?”
"Maybe."
-as retold by Predator Press
arah Palin, having abandoned the very Governorship she was elected to perform, hadn’t been to, eh, 'The Office' in months.But having finally returned to pack her desk, she found the empty building in a completely unmaintained state of advanced decay; cobwebs splayed across the once-stylish furniture, and the formerly opulent building seemed faded -on the verge of utter collapse.
-And in the cafeteria, she found three bears eating porridge!
“I don’t understand why you won’t heat up my porridge,” the Papa Bear complained.
“Why don’t you get Sandra Bullock to heat up you porridge?” snarled Mama Bear. “Seein as how you think she’s so pretty and all.”
Papa Bear sighed. “Look. All I said was she’s really held up nicely considering her age.”
"Hmph!" Mama Bear replied.
The microwave dinged, and Baby Bear gingerly removed the steaming bowl. “Damn that’s hot!” he said, juggling the scalding bowl to the table.
“Watch your language, son,” Papa Bear scolded.
Baby Bear eyed him skeptically. “Dad, isn‘t it about time you learned how to use a microwave? I mean you can talk for gods sake. You‘re embarrassing me in front of my friends.”
And just as Baby Bear paused to blow on his lava-like porridge, Sarah Palin opened fire -turning both barrels of blazing hot, lead wrath on the back of Papa Bear’s head, exploding it into a pink and brown misty cloud of blood, bone, and fur.-AS the headless corpse deafeningly crashed, Mama and Baby Bear stared in horrified disbelief. And when Baby Bear dropped his porridge spoon on the linoleum floor, Sarah -startled by the sharp metallic clang- hurled her large hunting knife at the cub, severing an artery in his neck.
Clutching his fatal wound, Baby Bear wheeled from the chair, spraying blood all over the walls, his mother, and his father‘s headless corpse, ultimately collapsing lifeless to the floor with a sickening thud.
“You’re about to find out firsthand how Health Care Reform works out,” growled Mama Bear, preparing to pounce.
Sarah’s eyes flashed in fury. “I’m not putting holes in my new fireplace rug, you filthy sack of Communism,” she snapped, throwing her shotgun aside. Sarah tore off her pant suit jacket. “I’m going to kill you with my own two hands!”
Mama Bear, drawing up to an awesome height on her hind legs, gave Sarah the subtle ‘Bring It’ hand signal Keanu Reeves did in The Matrix while waiting in a serene silence.-A silence suddenly broken by the screeching of megaphone feedback.
“Sarah, stop!“ cried Dmitry Anatolyevich Medvedev, pacing pensively on the Russian shore. “The bear is the national symbol of Russia -a metaphor the author made up! Killing any more bears in this story could result in an international incident.”
“Oh, fiddle dee-dee with that talentless hack so-called author!" Sarah exclaimed, rolling up her sleeves. "Me ‘an this future floor décor got something personal to settle.”
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” replied the Russian President. Just then, eight year old Justin Hansen dashed out with a largish, squawking animal that struggled fiercely against his captor -barely it's own weight.
-A Bald Eagle.
"By virtue of sending this poor orphaned child," Medvedev continues, gesturing to Justin Hansen, "-to another continent with nothing but a note, we can see how deplorably amoral America has become. And on a global scale!"
Firing up his flamethrower, Medvedev let the flames dance under the noble bird. “We don’t usually celebrate Thanksgiving at the United Nations, but we are also a world in a very progressive phase of history.”
"Yeah," cries Justin Hansen. "And thanks to your country, for the rest of my life I will have to live with the stigma and shame of being called a murdering, sadistic arsonist on international news!" Dunking the struggling, heroic Bald Eagle repeatedly in a barrel of gasoline, Hansen turns to Medvedev."Let's do this thing."
“Oh dang golly gee,” replies Sarah, looking at Mama Bear. “When last I czesched," she takes a moment to giggle, "The Russian Army has 1566 rotisseries. If we’re going to settle this once and for all, we need to think of something. Let’s barnstorm.”
Mama Bear stared, eyebrows furrowed.
“You mean ‘brainstorm,’ right?”
"Maybe."
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