Beary and Joe


Beary and Joe were walking through the woods late at night when suddenly...

"Something's not quite right here...", Joe whispered.

"Yes", Beary replied.

"What?! Nobody ever says 'yes' to that! Come on man, get with the..."

Joe looked at Beary, puzzled.

"Are you feeling alright, Joe?", Beary growled.

"I... was just thinking... what... what are They going to think... of..."

"Who are They?"

"That's... more... like - wait, hang on here a moment! We've been here before, haven't we?", Joe cried.

"Don't cry", roared Beary and mauled Joe gently on the shoulder.

"AAAaaarrrgh!!", chuckled Joe, "I wasn't crying! Wait, look - we have been here before"

"Well I haven't", whistled Beary to the tune of 'Dixie'.


Joe swam over to the nearest penguin to ask the time.

"Excuse me?!", mimed Joe.

The penguin remained impassive.


"Are you feeling alright, Joe?", bellowed Beary,"You look rather pale"

"It's probably the blood loss", crooned Joe, clutching what remained of his shoulder.

"Oh. Sorry about that", Beary tapped in Morse code.

"I think I ought to see that therapist chap again, Davy - this all seems wrong to me"

"Who's Davy?", trumpeted Beary from inside a giant turnip before imploding under the strain of sheer improbability.


Suddenly Joe fell up an invisible oak staircase and through a bright red invisible door, landing squarely on another cliche, in this instance a psychiatrist's chez-long.

"That'll be fifteen thousand pounds please", a familiar yet inconsistant voice narrated.


The End

79 comments about this story Feed