Previous

Betsy slithered beneath the boardwalk, tactfully navigating her way through the shattered shells, broken glass, and ripped condoms. The varying colors of the latex made it look like a graveyard for balloon animals.

Sand fell between the planks, dusting her scalp with dirt at each stranger’s step. These showers couldn’t be avoided. The most she could do was to keep the sand from getting into her eyes.

It was worth it, though, for Betsy to indulge in one of her favorite pastimes – eavesdropping on other people’s conversations. Betsy loved skulking beneath the boardwalk’s shade, tracking unwitting targets above.

It was a bottomless well of intrigue. There was talk of romance and crushes – who liked whom. There were debates – vigorous back-and-forth exchanges about bands, television shows, movies, and even food. There was gossip – scandalous secrets, lies and hearsay. And best of all, there were fights – enemies exchanging barbs, friends betraying each other’s confidence…

The best were husbands and wives taking thinly-veiled swipes at one another, all in an easily decipherable code that wasn’t doing enough to shield their traumatized kids.

In some ways she found it saddening; in others, deeply comical. But she also found it enviable. Betsy had had a stutter for as long as she’d known how to talk. She could never express herself so clearly or so directly as the people above her.

She savored their conversations. Each tasty morsel of dialogue rattled down through the cracks of that rickety wooden walkway. Down they tumbled into the shadows, like so much loose change, just begging to be collected.

The trick was knowing which trails to follow. Betsy knew better than to get caught listening to some boring conversation. She once spent 45 minutes listening to two old ladies compare medical ailments, doctors visits, prescription pill routines, and dietary habits. She stuck with it, vainly hoping something interesting might come up.

No such luck, but banality of the banter better prepared her for future missions.

She learned not to hone in on one conversation too quickly. Instead, she would dangle her attention in the blurring cacophony of carnival music, arcade games and chatter until it hooked into a promising lead. Then she’d follow it wherever it went. Often, it took her nowhere, but occasionally, the destination made the whole journey worthwhile.

This was what she was doing now, cycling her attention through the conversations transpiring above – like a blind channel surfer.

And that’s when she heard it…

Two sets of feet building from a slow walk into a near jog. Then, two girls giggling in a way that soon broke into laughter. They sounded like they were close to Betsy’s age, in either junior high or high school. She could tell because the laughter sounded familiar, it wasn’t boisterous and warm, like that of a shared experience. It was the laughter of ridicule, like a minimal effort was being made to suppress it on behalf of the humiliated party. It was chilling.

“Oh my God! Oh my God! Oh my God!” one clamored to the other.

Betsy followed.

“Okay, yeah, that was totally Kirk!” the second girl confirmed.

“I know! Oh my God, what is he doing? What a weirdo!”

“I can’t believe he gave you a balloon! Can we please talk about that?”

“Ugh. I know, so weird. He’s not watching is he?”

“No, no. We’re fine.”

“He’s so gross. You should see the way he looks at me in gym class. I ignore him. It’s not even funny.”

“What are you going to do with it? Take it home with you? Keep it as an undying symbol of Kirk’s love for you?”

“Gross, no. I don’t know.”

“Let’s pop it!”

“No, that’s too mean. I’ll just let it go or something once we get a little further away. I don’t want him to see.”

“Yeah he might stalk or kill you or something. Oh my God, like John Wayne Gacey!”

“Ew. I don’t think he’s that bad. But… ugh it’s just weird. Like, I don’t want your balloon Kirk. I’m not fucking five years old and you’re dressed as a fucking clown!”

Uproarious laughter ensued.

“BWAAHAHAHAHA! I know right! Oh my God. Kirk Franklin dresses like a clown on the boardwalk… I am going to tell EVERYONE at school.”

Betsy stopped walking and let the girls carry on. She felt bad for this boy, Kirk. And she felt anger towards these two girls, these two nameless, faceless, careless girls.

“That’s m-mmmm. M-Mean!” she stammered quietly.

Betsy tried practicing the word ‘mean’ a few more times before ducking out from under the boardwalk to find the nearest set of stairs. The sand was hot and the sun was almost blinding, but she could still see them as they walked off into the distance.

One was blonde, the other brunette. Both were thin. They wore short shorts and tank tops. The dark-haired one looked back, but it was hard to make out her face. When she turned away again the blonde one held out her arm and let go of the heart-shaped balloon she was holding.

Betsy turned in the opposite direction, and started walking. About a block down she saw him.

The face paint, the red nose, the rainbow wig… The green and white striped shirt and red suspenders, the goofy hat, and yellow pants… He looked ridiculous alright. No wonder those girls made fun of him.

The kid was practically asking for it… Except he wasn’t…

So he’s a clown. Hadn’t these girls never seen a clown before? And he gave them a balloon. That’s nice. At least he’s doing something. He’s out there. He’s trying.

Betsy watched from a distance. She faded back a bit, trying to disappear into the crowd as she watched this oddity before her.

Kirk smiled and waved at the public, trying to get the attention of kids. Some cried or ran away. But others laughed and humored him. For those children, the ones that stayed, Kirk made balloon animals.

“That’s pretty impressive,” Betsy thought. “It does look kinda like a dog, I guess.”

The kids that got them were genuinely happy.

Then there was juggling. Also impressive.

A small crowd gathered at one point. And when he finished they applauded. Some gave him money.

Only then, at the culmination of the juggling performance did Betsy realize how much time she’d spent watching Kirk clown. She shook her head, trying to erase the entire memory, and began walking away.

Then she stopped and turned around once more. She walked up to Kirk who smiled a big grin and waved an exaggerated wave.

He gestured towards his flaccid balloon, and Betsy shook her head yes.

The clown held his finger to his lips and struck a pose of deep thought. Then he pointed to an imaginary light bulb above his head. He reached for some more balloons and started filling them with air from a canister. His fingers worked nimbly, folding and weaving, and bending the latex.

After he finished, he held it out. He’d made a dolphin. There was no way he could have known this, but dolphins were Betsy’s favorite animal. She took it, smiled warmly at him and mouthed the words “thank you.”

As she turned to walk away with her prize, as Kirk waved goodbye and blew her a kiss.

Next

Previous

The crowd was mostly quiet but Kirk felt like he was killing it.

It was the first time he’d juggled plates instead of bowling pins and he didn’t break even one. He’d always broken at least one when he practiced at home.

Rather than make a bunch of small balloon animals the audience wouldn’t be able to see, he made a giant giraffe. Even a coulrophobic could be impressed by that. Couldn’t they?

The magic tricks, while hardly dazzling, passed as illusions. The magic rope, the rings, the wand tricks, all of it.

He even heard some gasps and a distinct “Woo!” as he wrapped up his finale with a somersault.

A show simply couldn’t go any more smoothly for him.

Even still, there was a smattering of boos as Kirk danced off stage. (They were high school kids after all.) But mostly there was polite applause and a few cheers.

As he made his way backstage he ran into the next act, which happened to be a mime. He’d seen her getting ready earlier, practicing and touching up her face paint. She’d been watching in silence the whole time. As they bumped into one another the mime smiled a big grin and gave Kirk two thumbs up.

He was about to say good luck, when he heard the host’s voice over the PA system: “That’s Knick-Knack the clown everyone! Give it up for Knick-Knack!”

There was another polite round of applause.

“Next up, we have a mime,” the voice said. “Everyone welcome Oddball!”

Music cued up and Oddball donned her smile. She ran out on stage and pretended to slip and fall as the spotlight caught up to her. Or at least Kirk hoped she was pretending.

Oddball started off with some standard mime fair. She pulled on a rope. She pretended to eat a carrot like Bugs Bunny. She was trapped in a box.

Kirk felt like he could have done better, but Oddball seemed pretty new at this, and he was happy she was trying. He knew being a clown was tough, but mimes always seemed to get it worse.

And with that thought, the crowd started booing. It wasn’t a smattering, either. It was a bass-y roar, the kind that overwhelms.

Oddball worked for a few more seconds but then froze. This time it wasn’t part of the act. The boos had sunk in and she’d hit the wall. The sound reverberated through her body making her feel hollow. She became acutely aware of her rising body temperature as sweat soaked through her black and white striped shirt.

A few more long seconds passed and then Oddball fled, running off stage as fast as she could. Again, she slipped and fell. This was the only time during her act that audience members laughed. Others gasped in horror. A few let out a rubber-necking “Oooooh.”

Oddball got up and finished her trot off stage.

The voice from the PA chimed in like God chiding his flock from on high.

“Oh no, no, no,” it said. “Everybody give Oddball a hand. Come on now. Be respectful. Give her a hand.”

With that more people applauded, trying to salvage the situation and a scrap of Oddball’s self-esteem. But it was far too late for that.

Kirk turned to follow where the fleeing mime had run. He asked one of the other talent show performers where she’d gone and was directed to one of the dressing rooms. There she sat with her head down in her arms crying.

“Are you okay?” Kirk asked.

There was no response. Just more sobbing.

“God, that’s a stupid question. I’m sorry. Is there something I can get for you?”

Again, Oddball said nothing, but this time she lifted her head.

Her make-up was smeared and running from the tears streaming down her face.

Sweaty, sad, and breathless, the mime shook her head ‘no.’

“Okay, well I thought you did okay,” he said. “You’re going to be fine, trust me.”

Inhaling one more deep breath and letting it out, Oddball pinched her fingers at the corner of her mouth, dragged them across her lips, and turned them.

“Oh, right. Of course.” Kirk said. “Mime’s don’t talk.”

The mime sniffled and looked down.

“Okay. Well, clowns do and let me tell you, I’ve been booed, and yelled at, and jeered lots of times. I’ve had people call me names and throw things at me.

“And you know what I do when they do that stuff?” he asked.

“I keep performing. When they boo, I act sad. When they call me names, I play along. When they throw things at me, I juggle them. Because I’m a clown. And if the audience is doing all that stuff, they’re being entertained. I’m getting a rise out of them. I’m doing my job.

“Of course I want to make people smile. Of course I want to make them laugh and I do – the happy ones anyway. But the truth is, unhappy people don’t laugh. And they don’t smile. They boo and they jeer. Nothing else makes them feel quite so good. And that’s not a reflection on you, it’s a reflection on them.”

“I’ll leave you alone now,” he said.

Having said his peace Kirk turned to leave. Then he felt a slight tug. He turned around and Oddball hugged him. Hard. Her face was still wet and he could feel it.

“You’re fine Oddball,” he said. “You really knocked’em dead out there.”

They both laughed, even though mimes aren’t supposed to.

Next

(Part 1, Part 2, Part 3)

Having given up on Julie, Kirk decided to try his luck online once more.

When he signed back into his  dating profile he was surprised to find he already had a message from someone with the handle “BubbaBetsy.”

The message simply read: “Howdy.”

Kirk looked at the young lady’s profile and was surprised to see she was rather pretty. It felt odd to him, like it might be a trap. Traditionally, he had been the one to message pretty girls. Then he’d wait patiently for them to not respond. In fact, he’d recently given up on pretty girls almost entirely. So this was unusual.

Kirk didn’t know how to respond. He tried several variations on the word hello beginning with “Hey!” and ending with “Howdy yourself.”

Ultimately he settled on: “Hi.”

The entirety of the message read like this:

From: ClowninAroundTown

To: BubbaBetsy

Hi. I’m Kirk. What’s your name? Do I know you from somewhere? You look vaguely familiar.

He got a response a few hours later…

From: BubbaBetsy

To: ClowninAroundTown

Hi Kirk. I’m Betsy. No. I don’t think we have met before. But we should. Why don’t you take me out for some drinks?

“This can’t be real,” Kirk thought when he read it. “It’s definitely a trap.”

Kirk looked over to his cat.

“What do you think Topper?”

Topper said nothing.

“Well, alright,” Kirk said. “If you think it’s a good idea.”

Kirk messaged Betsy back and they set a date for the weekend.

Kirk got to the bar first, which was typical. He liked to be ahead of schedule, to be a gentleman.

Betsy arrived a few minutes later. She found him quickly and greeted him with a hug.

“Hi, Betsy,” Kirk said with his most practiced personable smile.

“Howdy, Kirk,” Betsy said.

From there the conversation flowed smoothly. Kirk and Betsy talked about their day jobs and families. They grew up in the same area. They went to the same high school, though Kirk was a year older and graduated ahead of her.

They were a few beers deep and talking about music when Betsy’s stutter finally slipped out.

“F-f-f-fff Fugazi!” she said.

Kirk was taken aback.

“S-sorry,” Betsy said. “Sometimes I stutter. Especially when I’ve been d-d-drinking. Or if I’m nervous”

Kirk couldn’t help but laugh a little.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I don’t mean to…”

Betsy stopped him there.

“It’s okay,” she said. “I know it sounds ridiculous. It is kind of funny. I’ve been working on it all my life. I can control it most of the time. Sometimes, it just s-slips out though. It’s embarrassing.”

“Oh no, don’t be embarrassed,” Kirk said. “I actually, genuinely, 100% find it endearing.”

“Really?” she asked.

“Yes. Really. I promise. I think it’s cute.”

“Okay,” Betsy said. “Well, that’s my s-secret. What’s yours? You have to have one.”

It was at that point in the conversation that Kirk knew the time was right. He didn’t want to make the same mistake he did with Julie. And this was the perfect chance to share something embarrassing about himself.

“I guess my secret would be that I’m a clown,” he said. “Like, an honest-to-goodness clown. I juggle, make balloon animals, I do magic… the whole nine yards. I’m a clown. That’s it. I’m a clown.”

Betsy looked mortified.

“Oh wow. I can tell by your expression, you don’t like clowns…”

Betsy stared at Kirk coldly.

“A clown killed my father,” she said.

“What?” Kirk asked laughing. “You’re kidding, right?”

Betsy pushed back with deadpan delivery.

“N-no. I’m serious.”

“What? Come on,” Kirk said. “How could that possibly be?”

Betsy took a deep breath and began to explain…

“I was really young. We were at the circus, my whole f-family and I. All the clowns were out. They were running around the crowd trying to get people to participate. Then this one clown, the lead clown, just settled on my dad randomly. He led him down to the ring to be a part of the act.”

Kirk was skeptical but he listened intently.

“It s-started out pretty normal,” Betsy went on. “The clown did a stern imitation of my father, putting his hands on his hips and frowning. Then he pulled a n-never-ending stream of rainbow handkerchiefs out of my dad’s ear. He went side-to-side behind his back…

“Then,” Betsy said choking up, “he led my dad over to the elephant. He crouched down by the elephant’s foot and lifted it into the air. The elephant was just holding it up on its own, like it was trained, but the clown stood there under his f-foot pretending to hold it up with one hand.

“Then he motioned for my dad to stand under the elephant’s foot with him and prrre-tend to hold it up.”

“Oh no,” Kirk said, seeing the whole travesty playing out in the theater of his mind.

“There they both were, standing right under the elephant’s foot,” Betsy said, now starting to cry. “The audience applauded. Then the c-clown put his finger up and gestured to my dad, like ‘Wait a minute, one second,’ you know? And he walked out from under the elephant’s foot, leaving my dad there to pretend like he was holding it up him-himself.

“And then…” Betsy broke down. She put her face into her hands and started sobbing.

Kirk leaned forward wondering if he should hold her.

“And then,” she sniffled. “And then… I… I can’t believe you’re buying this!”

Betsy brought her head up from her hands and she was laughing.

“Oh come on!” Kirk said. “I can’t believe you! You really had me going there! That’s not even funny. That’s just mean!”

Kirk had half a mind to get up and walk away right there. But there was no way. He knew deep down that he liked it. He liked Betsy’s story. He liked Betsy.

She looked at him again, this time nicely, and said: “I like that you’re a clown, Kirk.”

“Oh yeah?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Betsy said smiling and focusing on him and her words. “And you know something else? I have more secrets.”

“Oh, really?” Kirk said, trying not to sound too excited.

“Mmhmm. But you don’t get to find them all out at once,” Betsy said. “You’re going to have to work for them.”

That was a challenge Kirk was excited for.

The rest of the date went well. So, they went out on a few more. Kirk learned all about Betsy and her uncommon habits and hobbies. None of them were enough to scare him off. Not until it finally came time to see Betsy’s apartment, anyway.

She made him dinner and opened a bottle of wine before finally breaking the news.

“Kirk,” she said, putting on her serious face. “I’ve told you a lot these past few weeks, but there’s one more thing you need to know about me.”

“Oh no,” Kirk thought. There had to be something. This girl was too good to be true.

“Is she really a man?” he wondered, not sure if even that would be enough to drive him away. “Is she dying? Is she related to me somehow?”

“What is it?” he asked.

“I can’t tell you.”

“What do you mean you can’t tell me? You said there’s something I have to know. But you’re not going to tell me?”

“I just can’t. I literally cannot tell you.”

“I don’t understand,” Kirk said.

“Hold on.”

Betsy went into her bedroom and shut the door. Kirk sat there alone on the couch, frustrated and nervous.

When Betsy came out, she was wearing mime makeup and a black bodysuit. She pretended to be stuck in a box, then walked hard against the wind, before running to jump on his lap.

Kirk was shocked.

“What the heck?!” was his startled exclamation. “No. No way.”

Kirk pushed Betsy off his lap and stood up.

“I mean, a mime?! Are you serious?”

Betsy was shocked, too. She didn’t know what to say.

Kirk walked to her door.

“A mime?” he asked, looking back one more time with disgust. “I’m not dating a mime.”

Then he walked out and closed the door behind him.

“K-K-Kirk!” Betsy shouted.

She got up and ran to the door.

When she opened it, he was still standing there, smiling.

“I love mimes,” he said.

Betsy was still crying a little. But she smiled too.

“Kiss me you b-b-b-bastard,” she said.

Chapter 1: The Love Lab

The laboratory was… unusual. A Costco-sized warehouse, filled with the whirring echoes of humming electricity. There were cavernous vats of jelly laced with with clear tubes pumping what appeared to be blood.

The floors were sticky like a movie theater’s. The lab notes, loose papers, doodles, and drawings  were sticky, too, pasted to the countertops like lollipops to a sidewalk.

Commander Cortasche peeled a book up off a desk, and flashed an incredulous look at Dr. Wildadoo.

“The Love-A-Lot Bears and the Magic Rainbow Romp?” he asked

“Yes. It’s my daughter’s,” Wildadoo replied. “It’s what gave me the idea.”

An awkward silence ensued. The doctor fumbled with his glasses as he pulled them from his labcoat and slid them onto his face. He put his hands in his pockets and then quickly pulled them back out, gesturing towards the commander.

“These bears, you see, they love… a lot. I mean they love evvvvverything. They use the power of love to solve all of their problems – from petty arguments to sinister outside forces. Reading this book, to my little girl, I thought: ‘What an amazing idea! What if we could do that? Maybe love, love like these bears possess, is all we need to defeat ISIS.”

Cortasche had been a commander for 25 years, and this was the dumbest thing he’d ever heard. He adjusted his monocle, took a closer look, and frowned a discerning frown.

“I don’t like it,” he said. “I think we should use grizzly bears. Angry, wild, genetically enhanced grizzly bears. We could drop them down with some parachutes.”

“No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no,” Wildadoo said “No!”

“No. Those bears would die in that climate. Even if they didn’t, they’d just get shot. These bears are different. The terrorists won’t shoot them right away. They’ll at least, you know, hear them out first. They’ll come to realize that they’re going about things all wrong.”

“I see,” Cortasche said. “Well, what if the terrorists don’t listen?”

“In the unlikely event that the terrorists don’t respond to the Love-A-Lot bears positively… And, again, from what I’ve seen in these books, and the cartoon, that is a very slim possibility…” Wildadoo went on. “Well then, in that case, I’ve rigged the bears to explode. They’ll blow up and kill as many enemy combatants as they can.”

Cortasche struggled to get his mind around what he was hearing.

“How did you get funding for this?” he asked.

Wildadoo chuckled.

“Let’s just say, we at Amore Armaments have made some very generous campaign contributions.”

Cortasche chuckled, too.

“Haha. Of course,” he said.

Dr. Wildadoo laughed.

“Hahahaha!”

Then, Cortasche laughed back even louder.

“Ahaha. Hahahahahahahhhaha…”

Soon both were laughing.

“HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAAHHHHAHAHAHA!”

Then they got tired and stopped. It grew awkward once more.

“Oh,” Dr. Wildadoo said, noticing an open valve. “I left the Happy Gas on. That’s what gives the bears their congenial spirits.”

“Gives them?” Cortasche asked. “So they already exist?”

“Oh yes,” Wildadoo replied. “They’re very real. I had a few…. um… mishaps… early on… Some what, I think, more unforgiving observers might call… abominations, I suppose. But these are good. I believe in this latest batch. Initial interactions with them have proven quite pleasant indeed… Would you like to meet them?”

“Yes,” Cortashe said. “Yes, I most certainly would.”

“One moment,” Wildadoo said, walking briskly towards a door.

The doctor pulled a lever and left the room. Minutes later he returned holding the door open behind him.

“Come in. This way. Don’t be shy,” he said.

Five four-foot tall bears came bounding into the room. They were each different a color: blue, red, green, yellow, and purple.

“Commander Cortasche, allow me to introduce, Sprinkles, Ruby, Ollie, Sunshine, and Milkshake.”

“We’re the Love-A-Lot Bears!” they shouted in unison.

“The pleasure is all mine,” Cortasche said. He was totally stunned.

Stunned… and moved. He could feel the warmth radiating from their little teddy tummies. Their bodies were soft as marshmelllows. Their fur was as gentle as a kitten’s. Their affectionate enthusiasm was infectious.

“Are you with the military?” Sprinkles asked.

“We LOVE the military!” Ollie interjected.

“I taught them that.” Wildadoo whispered.

“Yes. Yes, I am,” Cortasche told the bears.

“Papa Doctor says you need our help!” shouted Ruby.

“Is there something we can do for you?” asked Milkshake. “We’d just LOVE to help the military!”

“Why yes,” Cortasche responded. “I believe there is.”

“I recently lost an operative… I mean, a friend of mine. He was taken by some… not-so-nice people.”

The bears gasped.

“Yesss. I was hoping maybe you could convince them to let him go…”

“If we can help, it’d be our pleasure sir!” Sprinkles yelled.

The bears cheered.

“With the power of love, we can accomplish anything!”

Commander Cortasche turned back to the doctor.

“Well,” he said. “Nothing else has worked so far. Let’s give it a shot.”

Chapter 2: A Sticky Situation

Flying low through the night, the helicopter churned its way over the barren desert landscape.

Commander Cortasche’s voice came through the bears headsets: “Down there,” he said. “That’s the ancient city of Palmyra. It’s 4,000 years old.”

“I love history!” Milkshake shouted.

“Well, enjoy it while you can,” Commander Cortasche said. “These men you’re going to visit are destroying it. Piece by piece, they’re tearing it all apart.”

The bears were confused.

“Why?” Sunshine asked.

“Like I told you,” Cortasche responded. “They’re not very nice.”

The helicopter ride carried on to the city of Raqqa.

“We’re going to let you off here,” said the commander. “The city is just north. Here’s a picture of the man you’re looking for. Find him and see if you can’t convince him to let our friend go.”

“Will do!” Sprinkles shouted.

The bears climbed out of the copter amid a cloud of swirling dust. They all agreed they loved helicopter rides.

As they made their way into the city, the sun started to rise. The bears were disappointed by what it shed light on.

The city itself was largely a ruin – slightly more modern, but no more furbished than the 4,000-year-old Palmyra. Women and children gathered in long lines, too tired, too exasperated, too hungry and too thirsty to be moved by the sight of five cheery bears meandering through the streets.

“This isn’t what I expected,” Ruby said. “I don’t know what I expected, but this isn’t it.”

“I don’t love this,” Ollie agreed.

None of the bears loved it. They hated it, and as their walk continued, they grew more and more upset.

“It’s okay,” Sprinkles said, trying to cheer up his comrades. “I bet with enough love, caring and generosity we can turn this all around.”

The rest of the bears agreed, albeit half-heartedly.

Eventually, Sprinkles spotted a man that looked like the one they were looking for. They composed themselves and set about their task.

“Hello Sir!” Sunshine shouted. “We’re the Love-A-Lot Bears and we want to be your friend!”

The man looked surprised at first, and then scared and angry. He pulled his AK47 up to his shoulder and pointed it at the bears. They each stepped back slowly.

“Uhhh Sprinkles,” Ruby whispered. “What do we do now?”

“No need for that,” Sprinkles comforted. “We’d just like to talk. We mean no harm. We bring only love and the offer of friendship.”

The man shouted at them in a language they didn’t understand. Then he gestured with his gun and the bears started walking. They went a couple of blocks before being ushered into a shabby building. There, the bears were led into a dark room.

“This is good,” Sprinkles said. “I think this is where we wanted to go.”

The man with the gun left the room and locked the door behind them. About 15 minutes later he came back with another bearded gentleman.

“What are you?” the man asked in English.

The bears were relieved to hear their native tongue.

“We’re the Love-A-Lot Bears,” Sprinkles said.

“Fareeq, here, says he found you in the city,” the man replied. “Where did you come from? Who brought you here?”

“The U.S. military!” Milkshake blurted. “They brought us here in a helicopter. It was lots of fun!”

The man grew very serious.

“Why?!” he shouted. “What do you want?! What are you?!”

“We’re the Love-A-Lot Bears,” Ollie repeated. “And we don’t want anything but friendship.”

“And,” Sprinkles added, “If it’s not too much trouble, we think it’d be really nice if you let us have our friend back.”

The two men looked at each other.

“Your friend?” Fareeq asked. “You mean the American spy?”

“I guess so,” Sprinkles said.

Fareeq turned to his partner, and nodded towards the door. Together they left.

“What do you make of this Bahij?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” Bahij said. “It’s obviously some kind of trap. The Americans are capable of nothing more than deceit.”

“Yes. We kill them then?” Fareeq asked.

Bahij paused.

“Part of me thinks,’Yes,’ that is what we should do,” he said. “But another part of me thinks different. For some reason, I feel comforted by their presence. They don’t seem to mean harm. And they smell like babies.”

“Yes, which is why it must be a trap,” said Fareeq. “As you say, the Americans are capable of nothing else… And they want the spy!”

“Yes, yes, yes,” Bahij agreed. “But still, I don’t know.”

“Maybe,” Fareeq said after a long pause. “We kill one?”

Bahij thought for a moment and then agreed.

“Yes,” he said. “We’ll kill one and see how it goes.”

The two marched back into the room.

“You are spies!” Fareeq shouted. “You are spies and infidels and by Allah’s command you will be slaughtered!”

The bears shuddered and stepped back in shock.

Fareeq pulled his gun up to his shoulder aimed it at Milkshake and pulled the trigger. A large glob of jelly plastered the concrete wall behind them.

“Milkshake!” they shouted in unison.

Sprinkles ran over to Milkshake, drenching himself in the sticky goo of his fallen comrade.

“You monsters!” he yelled. “We’re not gonna take this are we Love-A-Lot Bears?!”

Sprinkles looked over at his remaining friends, but they didn’t appear up to the task. In fact, they looked sick… sick and unstable.

Ollie started to shake wildly.

Fareeq and Bahij looked on at first with amusement, and then with concern. Ollie took a couple steps forward, shaking ever more violently.

And then BOOM!

He exploded in a cloud of jelly. Moments later, Sunshine did the same. The room was now dripping walls to ceiling with sugar.

“Ruby?” Sprinkles asked.

Then Ruby exploded, too.

Bahij and Fareeq looked at Sprinkles with nervous anticipation… But nothing happened.

Sprinkles, not wanting to waste a moment more, rushed for the exit.

“Shoot him!” Bahij yelled.

“I can’t,” Fareeq said. “My gun is jammed – jammed with jelly!”

Sprinkles punched Bahij on the way out and he fell to the ground.

Fareeq tried to give chase but his feet stuck to the jelly floor and he slipped, awkwardly pulling his groin as he fell to the ground.

Sprinkles ran through the door and back outside. There, one militant saw him and fired a single shot. Sprinkles felt the impact on the left side of his head and started to get dizzy. But he kept running, the whole time thinking of things he loved.

“Friendship, helicopter rides, history, Friendship, Papa Doctor, the U.S. military, Friendship, and Sprinkles on cake. Sprinkles…. Sprinkles… Sprinkles…”

When he woke, he was back at the base. Commander Cortasche and Dr. Wildadoo were there, too.

Sprinkles cried for the first time in his life.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Cortasche, Papa Doctor, I couldn’t get your friend. And Milkshake, and Ollie, and Ruby, and Sunshine… I don’t know what happened,” he said.

“Oh no,” said Dr. Wildadoo, sitting on the bed to comfort his protege. “I’m the one who is sorry. Commander Cortasche is too. We never should have sent you into the clutches of those brutes.”

“We failed you, Sprinkles,” Commander Cortasche conceded. “Not the other way around.”

“Is there anything we can do to make it up to you?” Wildadoo asked.

Sprinkles wiped the tears from one eye, but when he reached for the other he found only jelly seeping through a bandage.

“It’s gone,” Wildadoo said. “You lost your left eye.”

Sprinkles sniffled.

“Dr. Wildadoo. Commander Cortasche,” he said. “There is something you can do: Send me back.”

“What?” Wildadoo asked.

“Send. Me. Back.”

Chapter 3: The Love of Vengeance

The desert air was hot and I was thirsty. I was tied fast to the chair, where ISIS had been torturing me for weeks.

“We’re going to cut off your head,” Fareeq said.

Normally, I’d be offended by that kind of a threat, but I knew Fareeq was just trying to look tough in front of his terrorist friends.

“Not cool,” I said. “But if it helps you get that promotion you’ve been gunning for…”

Fareeq nodded his head reached for his scimitar.

“Bahij,” he said. “Get the camera. We’ll put this on YouTube.”

Bahij went to get the camera but couldn’t find it.

“Ugh. I think Ahmed had it last.”

Bahij opened the tent flap and then quickly turned around. He looked as though he’d seen a ghost.

“He’s here,” he said to Fareeq. “He’s back!”

“Who?” asked Fareeq

“The little bear. Ahmed is outside. He’s dead. There is a knife in his throat.”

“How do you know it’s the bear?”

“Who else would it be?!”

Suddenly, there was a loud shot and Bahij dropped to his knees. There was a hole the size of a softball in the middle of his chest.

“I just love this SSK .950,” I heard a small voice say.

Fareeq turned and was terrified by what he saw – a four foot tall teddy bear with blue fur and a high-powered rifle. He had pretty good aim considering he was wearing a rainbow eyepatch.

Fareeq looked for his AK but it wasn’t anywhere near him.

“Untie my friend and put the scimitar down,” the bear said.

Fareeq did as he was told.

The bear approached us casually and handed me the rifle, which I could barely hold. Then he walked up to Fareeq looked him in the eye and punched him square in the nuts.

Fareeq fell to the ground and the bear hit him in the balls some more –  about a dozen times by my count.

“This is for Ollie,” he said. “This is for Sunshine. This is for Milkshake. This is for Ruby. This is for me. And this is because I. LOVE. Punching. You. In. The. Nuts.” – each word punctuated by a fierce blow.

There were tears streaming from Fareeq’s eyes.

“I got some girls I want you to meet,” the bear said. “Seventy-two to be precise.”

He pulled a grenade off of his vest and tried to force it into Fareeq’s mouth. It wouldn’t fit, so he reached in and broke Fareeq’s jaw.

“I love that sound,” the bear said.

Fareeq screamed but his chin dangled loosely.

I threw up in my mouth a little.

Having forced in the grenade the bear looked back at me.

“Well,” he said. “Get the fuck out!”

Then he pulled the pin and we started to run. We got about ten paces away from the tent before it exploded.

And that’s when the real carnage started.

Too weak to go any further I collapsed to the ground.

“Yeah,” the bear said. “You wait here. I’ll take care of the rest of these assholes.”

He took back his rifle and started dropping more bodies. A Blackhawk helicopter came into the vicinity. It laid down some suppressing fire while the bear mercilessly tortured his foes like a blood soaked Viking berserker.

“Leave none alive!” he shouted.“I’ll eat my own young, before I see a single one of these camel-fuckers make it out of here!”

The bear pulled his knife out of Ahmed’s throat and threw it right into another enemy’s eye. Then, I’d swear I saw him use it as a phallus to penetrate the skull before taking it out and wiping the blade on his fur.

Limbs were severed. Bodies were burned. The heat was so intense the sand around us turned to glass.

It was bedlam.

I passed out and then woke up in a helicopter. I looked up and saw the bear, leaning out the door, pissing on a fire down below. When he was done shaking he walked over to a cooler reached down deep and pulled out a beer.

“It’s over now,” he said cracking it open. “You want one?”

I did. I really did.

The bear just sat there while I sipped my brew. He closed his eyes and a satisfied smile creeped across his face.

“Wow,” I thought. “Now, that’s a bear that loves what he does, and does what he loves.”

Epilogue

“I’ve got something for you,” Dr. Wildadoo said. “It’s a surprise though. So you must cover your eye.”

Sprinkles did as he was told. He heard Papa Doctor rustle around and then a door open.

“Okay,” Wildadoo said. “You can look now!”

Sprinkles did look and he was instantly filled with joy. Standing in front of him were Milkshake, Sunshine, Ruby and Ollie.

“You’re all back!” he shouted.

The bears hugged and love filled the room.

Dr. Wildadoo took the hand of Commander Cortasche standing next to him.

“See. Love conquers all,” he said.