Have A Very Beary Day (Chapter 7: Conquering the Earth, One Bear at a Time)

I caught up to my nephew inside Build-A-Bear, and found he had already infiltrated the sanctity of the checkout counter. What was he doing behind the counter? Nobody goes behind the counter except for specially sanctioned Build-A-Bear personnel. He had no khaki pants, no powder blue square dancing shirt, and no Build-A-Bear Dream Technician nametag, so he stuck out like an extended middle finger.

“Hey Wyatt, what are you doing behind the counter? Get back over here man. These people have a job they actually think they’re doing.”

He looked up at me and acknowledged what I was saying, but then in a brief psychedelic instance of slow motion, I saw the words I had just uttered actually enter in his left ear dancing with good intentions, then exit out the right in a hurried fearful panic. Reason had been excommunicated.

The man behind the counter was a large, big-boned, husky guy, or if he were a woman, society would have unfairy called him a fat chick. He looked like the chubby, mean one from Abbott and Costello, because he had one of those out-of-date-so last-year Hitler moustaches. I felt bad for this guy cause, I mean, shit, he was a middle age guy stuffing bears for a living.

“Hey man, sorry about that. He has a raging case of ADD. His mother is getting him on elephant tranquilizers next week.”

“Oh, don’t worry about it Daddy.”

He then turned to my nephew.

“Hey there buckaroo! Are you ready to have a very beary day? I’m here to make sure all of your dreams come true. Tee-hee!”

OK, I’m not a violent guy, but if all my dreams had come true, that very minute an Amtrak train would have crashed through the walls and we would have been searching for the dental remains of our Dream Technician. What he had just said was wrong for three reasons and I felt like approaching him with the following questions.

First off, why are you assuming I’m the kid’s daddy? Who died and made you Maury Povich? Do I look like Father Knows Best to you? Can’t an uncle take his nephew out to the mall without having to submit to a DNA test to satisfy the curiosity of complete strangers? The kid ain’t my kid G, you got that?

Secondly, what’s up with this “buckaroo” thing? OK sure I give the kid nicknames all the time. But I’m his uncle and I can do that. And the names I give him aren’t dorky. I come up with winners like Captain, Chief, Sporto, Chilly Fresh Kid, Playa Playa, Dawg, Little Man, Tutankhamen, Maestro and sometimes, when the situation fits, even Little Shit and Little Fucker. But Buckaroo? NEVER. Do you think you are on the Howdy Doody Show or something?

And finally, what’s “tee-hee” all about, huh? A guy should never say “tee-hee” to another guy, period. I don’t care of it’s in your script, ad lib if you have to for god’s sake. If you want to giggle like a girl go over to Victoria’s Secret and try on some crotchless panties. From here on out we laugh like this “Haha!” or “Yuk Yuk”. You got it?

Oh yeah and one more thing, does the Fuhrer know you stole his moustache, and does Hee Haw know you raided their wardrobe? That is all.

But I didn’t say these things because, hey, I’m a nice guy. Plus, even though he was a giggly dorkasaurus, he was way bigger than me and could have squashed my onionhead into onion soup mix if he had any kind of temper. So I just grinned and bear-ed it, ba-dum-bum!

“O Felicity, come hither” he sang like Ethel Merman.

I turned around and there before me was an absolute angel, my lady in red. OK, she wasn’t in red, she was wearing the same powder blue square dancing shirt and khaki pants that Husky Hitler was wearing, but let’s just say she filled them out rather nicely, ROWR!

“Felicity, this is Mr. Onionhead and his little buckaroo nephew Wyatt. It’s Wyatt’s birthday and he would like to make himself a special little friend. Do you think you can make all of his dreams come true?”

“I’ll do whatever it takes to put a smile on your face” she said to Wyatt in the most Michelle Pfeifferish voice I have ever heard. Damn I wished it were my birthday. If she wanted to put a smile on my face I would be easy. Just take off that square dancing shirt and work bear-breasted (ba-dum-bum) and my special little friend would be fine. She turned to me and stared into my dark, naughty soul.

“It’s nice to meet you Mr. Onionhead. I feel like we have met somewhere before”

“Um…Um…Um”

Although my response was less than smooth, I did feel like I knew her from somewhere too. I just couldn’t put my finger on it. Maybe that outfit was throwing me off, or her ponytail, or those glasses. Damn…Felicity… just didn’t ring a bell.

“Come, follow me,” she said as she took his hand and walked away.

As I was following them I noticed that Build-A-Bear, though on the outside seemed like a very dreamy place with its soothing pastel colors and happy-cracky kiddie music, was actually a dark and sinister den of evil. Hanging up on the walls everywhere were the lifeless skins of baby animals. I could just imagine before the store opened a leathery- faced bounty hunter with a tacky Indiana Jones hat wheeling in a cage full of squealing baby animals. Lions, and Tigers, and Bears, Oh my! Penguins, and Piggies, and Cows, dear lord! Horses, and Gators, and Sheep, for the love of God!

“I got some good ‘uns this time, Boss” he says as he’s gnawing on a stick of beef jerky.

“Oh goodie!” says Husky Hitler. “We can’t make all the children’s dreams come true unless something dies. MUAH-HA-HA!”

“No! No! Please spare us. We are only babies. We want our mommies!!! WAHHHH!!!” cry the helpless voices in the cage.

“SILENCE!!!” screams the bounty hunter. “If you don’t stop that racket I’ll go back and get the rest of your families and I won’t be as compassionate with them as I’m diggin’ their innards out.”

“NOOOOO!!!!”

“Tee-hee!” giggles Husky Hitler.

And with that he pushes the condemned baby animals through the door labeled Employees Only and commences to clubbing each one dead like a baby seal, including the baby seal.

I was so disgusted that I decided, right then and there, that I would become a vegetarian, for the next three hours.

Felicity walked along the wall of skins, like Vanna White showing off each carcass.

“As you can see, there is so much to choose from. Make sure in your heart of hearts you pick the very best one.”

“I want the Tiger!” shouted my nephew pointing at a lion hanging by his under-developed shoulder blades.

“O, you mean this lion over here?” said Felicity as she pulled the hooks out.

“Yea, Yea, Yea the tiger, the tiger!!!!”

“OK, are you sure?”

“YEA YEA YEA !!! THE TIGER! THE TIGER! TIGER! TIGER! TIGER!”

“Are you 100% sure?”

As his uncle this is where I felt the need to step in. She was getting him all worked up over this and I felt like if it continued, an unfortunate poo may be produced, and frankly I was really not in the mood for that again.

“Umm, we’ll take the tiger.” I said.

“Sir, this is a lion. Tigers have stripes”

“I knew that.”

She then led us to what looked like a huge pop corn popper, but instead of a light healthy snack inside, it contained the innards of baby animals, which looked a lot like pillowy fluff to the non nature lover. She opened up a box of little hearts.

“OK now Wyatt. I want you to pick out a heart here for your little friend. This will make him love you forever and ever and ever.”

“COOL!”

He started meticulously looking through the box of hearts, picking each one up and shaking it, and squeezing it, and holding it up toward the light.

“C’mon Wyatt” I pleaded, “they’re all the same.”

“Oh no, Mr. Onionhead, they are certainly not. Each one is very different. He needs to choose carefully.” She said.

“Don’t you think you are taking your job a little too seriously?” I asked her.

“OK this one!” my nephew yelled.

“Oh, that’s a nice one Wyatt. It’s so big and full of love.” She cooed.

Yeah I bet you tell that to all the guys, I thought.

“Ok now Wyatt” she said, “We have to put his voice box somewhere so he can talk to you. We can put it in his left or right front paw or his left or right back paw. When you squeeze it, it will make him roar”

“Hmmmm…” he said as he scratched his head.

“Hey Wyatt,” I said, “Why don’t you put it down here.” And I pointed between the lion’s legs. If there was one area I would roar if someone squeezed real hard it would be down there.

“Umm, I don’t think that’s an approp…”

“Ohh yeah Unco Onionhead, right there is peeeerfect. In his pee-pee.” he said interrupting her.

Over-ruled.

With that, she placed the voice box in his nether region and inserted the back of our tiger into the popcorn popper.

“OK, now I’m gonna step on this pedal here and start filling him up with stuffing. When you think he has enough I want you to let me know OK?”

“TIGER! TIGER! TIGER!”

“I’ll take that as a yes” she said and bent over and started filling the beast up.

After a minute or so she pulled it off the popper hose and started hugging it and handed it to my nephew.

“MMMM, that’s nice and soft, do you want we to make it harder?”

Why doesn’t she ask me these questions?!? YES! YES! YES! Make it harder!

“No” my nephew said emphatically. “It’s perfect!”

Amateur.

Felicity then directed us to a computer area.

“Now you need to name your little friend.” she said.

“I call mine Excalibur.” I revealed.

“I’ll make a note of it.” she rebutted and walked off to unintentionally seduce another dad, uncle or brother. Where did I know her from, where, where, where?

“OK Wyatt, we need to make a birth certificate for your pal here.” I said as I scanned over the computer instructions. “What do you want to name him?”

“How about Certificate?”

“Listen dude. Certificate is not a name for a lion. It’s not a name for anything. Try something different.”

“How ‘bout Dude!”

My nephew was obviously lacking in the creativity department, but I wasn’t about to get into a philosophical debate with a 6 year old over what to name his stuffed pal. So Dude it was. I printed out Dude’s birth certificate and handed it to Wyatt.

“Here you go pimp daddy. Let’s Box Dude up and get outta here.”

“But Unco Onionhead, he’s naked. We need to get him some kawose.”

I looked at the price tag on Dude’s paw, and he was only worth 25 bucks. Since my card was for $50 I figured what the hell.

“You know Wyatt, you are right. He can’t be walking around with no clothes on. This ain’t France.”

“Yeah this ain’t Fwance, haha!”

So we walked into the wardrobe section, which was bigger than most men’s departments I go too. I sat over at a “changing table” and gazed at Felicity from afar as my nephew started picking out attire for Dude. Where did I know her from? It was bugging me to the point that I couldn’t think about anything else, not even hot snacks.

“OK Unco Onionhead, I’m done.”

I looked over at the changing table and I saw no nephew, but I did see about a 3-foot mountain of clothes and shoes piled up. Holy Imelda Marcos Batman!

“Umm Wyatt, I don’t know how you think I’m living these days but I cant afford all this stuff. You’re gonna have to put some of this back.”

“Noooooo, he needs it.”

I started picking through Dude’s pile of needs.

“Ok what about this spacesuit. What does he need that for?”

“To fwy in space”

Ask a dumb question, get a dumb answer.

“OK what about these roller skates? I hate to break this to you pal, but lions don’t roller skate.”

“I know but tigers do”

Ask a good question, get a dumb answer.

“Alright, what about this Spiderman outfit?”

“That’s his twick or tweet costume.”

Of course, how silly of me.

“Ten pairs of shoes Wyatt. TEN. I only have four pairs of shoes.”

“Oh, you should get some while we here. I can pick some out for you”

“No thanks. OK now what’s with the construction worker outfit, the Indian costume, and the cowboy gear. Is Dude trying out for the Village People?”

“Yup.”

There was no reasoning with him so I just started picking stuff up and putting it back on the shelves. I did this for several minutes but the pile was still there, in fact it seemed like it was getting bigger. WTF? And why was he so quiet and where the hell was he? I looked over the pile and there he was working like an industrious army ant. For every one thing I put back he was replacing it with three more things.

“Hey, I see what you are doing over there. Stop it right now, you hear me?”

“NO YOU STOP IT!”

“NO YOU STOP IT, I’m in charge here and when I tell you to stop, you stop.”

“You’re a big DOO DOO HEAD.”

“What? A DOO DOO HEAD? O yeah well you’re a little FARTMONGER.”

This exchange would have gone on for hours, except Husky Hitler came over to break it up as we were disturbing the peace with our potty mouths.

“Boys, boys, Please! No more fighting. Build-A-Bear is a happy place.” He turned to my nephew. “Now little buckaroo, I want you to tell me why you are upset.”

“Um,Um,Um I picked out all these cool kawose for Dude and he’s making me put it all back.”

He next turned to me. “And sir, what is your side of the story?”

“Um, Um, Um, I can’t afford all this stuff, and he called me a doo doo head!”

He turned back to Wyatt. “Now Wyatt you shouldn’t call your uncle a doo doo head. That’s not a very beary thing to do.”

“I’m sowwy” he said as I stuck my tongue out at him to add insult to injury.

“Now I think what we need here is a compromise. Now uncle, you need to tell the little buckaroo how many outfits he can pick out, and Wyatt you need to stick to that number, no more than what he tells you, OK?”

We both nodded in agreement and shook on it to seal the deal. As he was picking out the outfits I started talking to HH about his store.

“This place is a real cash cow isn’t it?”

“I can’t complain. We do well here.” He replied modestly.

“I bet. The kids want the power to make their own bear. So you lure slackers like myself in here under false pretense with your guilt-free gift certificates. The kids of course want more than just the bear, and Build-A-Bear is more than happy to comply by making a billion different outfits, accessories, and costumes, thus the challenge of keeping the bear in current fashions becomes a lifetime monetary commitment. It’s brilliant, even more so than Pokeman. In fact, it’s deliciously evil.”

“You seem to have figured out our little plan.” He snickered.

“And what plan would that be?”

“Our plan for world domination, you silly goose. Conquering the earth, one bear at a time. MUAH HA HA!” he said as he shook with a sinister giggle.

“That’s disturbing” I said “But not as disturbing as a little bear S & M outfit would be. I’m glad you guys draw the line somewhere.”

“Oh those outfits are in the back room.” He said perking up. “It even comes with a bull whip and leather chaps. I can take you back there for a personal tour if you like. Tee-hee!”

CONVERSATION OVER

Wyatt picked out six outfits for Dude. The Spiderman Halloween costume, a hockey uniform with goalie mask, a construction worker getup with hard-hat for safety, the roller derby outfit with glittery disco skates, a rapper outfit with official Rocawear hoodie, and a showgirl costume completed with a sequined dress and feather boa. Oh, and a baby stroller for transportation. All that junk would cost me an extra $75, but it was well worth it to get out of this place.

We got to the register and Felicity was there all perky and bubbly like she was when we first met her.

“Oh Wyatt, I would have picked the exact same outfits. You did a wonderful job and you have impeccable taste for a young man.”

“Tank You” he said, aww shucksing and blushing. “You’re pretty, can I have a hug?”

She came around the corner and bent over and gave him a very beary hug I must say. Damn it, it really is that easy for him. That kid was certainly not afraid of getting cooties like I was when I was his age. Perhaps he was vaccinated. I looked forward to the day when he was my age, and the cuteness factor was long-gone. Then let’s see how many buxomous women give you hugs you lucky shit.

Build-A-Bear was definitely a money-sucking pit of evil, but Felicity was without a doubt a bright shimmery star in this stinky cesspool of capitalism. She was kind, sincere, helpful, and let’s not forget super hot. I felt like she deserved a little extra for making our trip to Build-A-Bear a little more bearable. So I took out a five-dollar bill and handed it to her.

“Felicity, I know you are not supposed to take this, but I just want to thank you for all you have done to make this a special day for Wyatt. It means a lot to me, and I know it means a lot to him. So thank you so much.”

“Oh isn’t that sweet” she said. She took the five-dollar bill and folded it lengthwise and then in half, and unbuttoned the top two buttons of her square dancing shirt and placed the bill in between the jiggily twins. Then it hit me like a ton of bricks. NIPPLEONIA!!! From the strip club, errr I mean gentleman’s club, of course! She did that dance routine with the spark plugs and the Motley Crue song. How could I forget??

“Hey, I know you!” I shouted.

She just winked at me and pointed out toward the store entrance where my nephew had taken off with Dude in the stroller at a high rate of speed. Shit. SHIT! I grabbed all the bags of clothes and took off running after him. How could he? I waited there patiently while he picked out all those dumb outfits and he couldn’t wait two seconds for his sexually frustrated uncle to hook up with the most bootylicious rump shaker in town.

When I finally caught up to him, all panting and sweaty, I stopped him and Dude in their tracks.

“Wyatt, why did you take off running like that? Couldn’t you see I was talking to Felicity?”

“You want her to be your giiiiiiirlfriend, hahahaha!”

“Now I don’t! I just want to, you know, hang out with her for a few hours. Ok maybe ten or fifteen minutes tops. AHHHHH, what do you know?”

“I’m sorry Unco Onionhead. Dude told me to do it. He wanted to go weally fast in his stwolla. I told him no but he didn’t listen. Do you want me to put him in timeout?”

“No, that’s not really necessary.” I said, but it was too late. He was already lecturing dude for his reckless behavior. He took him out of the stroller and started spanking him.

“You listen to me, I’m the adult and I’m in charge. When I tell you to stop, you stop. Is that cweer?”

Poor Dude. I could already see he would have a hard life. My nephew would blame him for anything and everything he did bad. He would be punched, spanked, stepped on, thrown against the wall, and lectured every time he fucked up, which would be like twenty times a day. I bet poor Dude was wishing he was never stuffed and was still hanging on those hooks looking at Sweet Felicity. O well my furry friend, life’s a bitch sometimes. I’d hate to be you.

When we finally got back to my sister’s house it was already dark. I looked in the backseat and my nephew was sound asleep cuddling with his new best pal. I picked him up and threw him over one shoulder and put Dude over the other and walked inside. My sister and her husband were watching the local news

“Hey y’all, were back, what’s going on?”

“The principal at our school was arrested at the mall,” my sister said. “You guys were there, did you see any of this?”

I looked at the TV screen and there was a scowling mugshot of Principal Pissypants. Seconds later they showed pictures of our old friends Officer Steve and Officer Bob. They both were bloodied up with black eyes, and looked as if an angry gorilla had mauled them. My sister turned the volume up on the TV.

“There was complete melee at a local mall today when a woman suspected of shoplifting at a Victoria’s Secret store was approached my by two mall officers. When asked to open her bags, the woman assaulted the two men and flipped over their police scooter. A SWAT team was called in and it took ten men to subdue the suspect. The woman has been secured in the county jail and charges are pending.”

Holy shit! Sweet, I guess I don’t have to worry about Principal Pissypants for a long, long time. Funny how things work out some time.

“Nah, I guess we missed it. Must have gotten caught up in the moment.” I said. I handed my nephew, who was still sound asleep all tuckered out, over to my brother-in-law. Suddenly from around the corner, my 8-year old niece, Kaitlyn, approached in her Powder-Puff Girls footie pajamas.

“Master Onionhead. I see you have decided to answer my challenge. I have longed for this chance for revenge. You have humiliated me and brought shame on this house. Tonight you will pay the ultimate price.”

“Ahh, Crouching Platypus. Your thirst for punishment is admirable. But tonight I will finish you off for good. May your end be swift and painful.”

“So it is written, and so it shall be done.”

We both went to the kitchen table and she pulled out the Spongebob Uno cards. Why on earth she thought she could beat me in this game was a mystery. This was my game. I was the master. We decided to make the game more interesting by placing a little wager on the outcome. If I won she would have to wash, wax, detail, and change the oil in my car. If she won, it would be a surprise, she would tell me later. I wasn’t worried about it because I never lose at Spongebob Uno, never. That was until today. I was way ahead as usual and even had UNO, but she slapped a Draw 2, two Draw 4’s, and a Super Absorbency on my sorry ass. I needed a green or an 8. But I drew a Blue 4, Blue 3, Yellow 5, Yellow 7, Yellow 9, Blue 2, and Red 5. I never recovered after that. She went right for my jugular and finished me off a few minutes later. If I had a tail, it would have been between my legs.

“Alright, what do I owe you? Ice cream, a movie, just tell me now.”

“Follow me this way Uncle Onionhead.”

I followed her, skipping just as she instructed me, into her room. There before us, lying on the table, were Cutesy the Horse and Mopsy the Rabbit, in the buck, nekkid in their Build-A-Bear birthday suits.

“Uncle Onionhead, Cutesy and Mopsy have a big day ahead. But they need a little help with their outfits tomorrow. That’s where you come in.”

“Kaitlyn, can’t we just go roller skating or something?”

“NO. A deal is a deal. I beat you fair and square.”

“OK, let’s get this over with.” I said as I reached for one of the dorky outfits.

“No, no ,no. They need their panties on first.” She handed be a bin of miniature satin panties. I started putting the rabbit and pony in their panties and was thinking to myself, can this get any more humiliating? Just then I saw a flash. It was my sister with her camera, who just froze that moment in time for the entire world to see.

“Thanks Onionhead, now I have a great picture for the family Christmas cards next year. Hahahahahahaha!”

How could she? If this day could get any worse I would have been floored.

“Hey Unco Onionhead!”

Oh no, he was back from the dead. And with Dude in tow, wearing his construction uniform with hard-hat. I started heading for the door.

“Dude pooped in his pants and needs to be changed.” He said.

“Well, maybe your mommy or daddy can help you with that, cause I’m out!”

“No Unco Onionhead. You need to change him right now!”

“Umm, I don’t think so”

“YES YOU WILL!”

“NO I WON’T!!!”

And with that he swung Dude and his hard hat at me with such force at my nether region, it medically guaranteed I would never have kids unless they were sun-brewed in a test tube.

“ROAR!!!!!” I screamed so loud I must have woke all the neighbors up within five square miles. I saw little birdies flying around my big onionhead like vultures going in for the scraps.

I limped to my car like the hunchback of Notre Dame. My sister tried to call out to me to make sure I was OK, but I just brushed her off. I got inside the car, sped off, and never looked back. Despite the unbearable pain, as I drove back to my house I was smiling. The buttprint on my couch, a fridge full of beer, and late night cable TV were waiting, and this very beary day was finally over.

Have a Very Beary Day (Chapter 6: He Who Hides in the Most Bras Wins)

please scroll down for chapter 5
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I chased the little shit through the crowded parking lot and back to the car where I strapped him in and decided to lay down the law once and for all.

“You listen to me, Linda Tripp. You don’t need to be repeating every bad word your Uncle Onionhead says back to your mommy OK? I have a real bad pottymouth, and when I was your age I had my mouth washed out with soap so many times that when I burped I blew bubbles.”

“COOL!”

“No, not cool. Your Uncle Onionhead is an underachiever and a pathetic loser, just ask your mom, or your gramma, or a street mime, they’ll tell you. Nothing I do or say is remotely COOL, it’s SAD. You don’t want to be like me. People laugh at me. No one takes me seriously. Is that what you want in life? Is it?

“I wanna be like you Unco Onionhead. You’re my best friend and my HEEWO.”

Aww shucks, (sniff), gosh darn it I’m his hero. I started getting a tingly feeling in my belly and a cozy warmth all over, and it wasn’t gas this time. I haven’t felt that much love since that night with the three Asian seductresses in the hot tub….errrr…OK, that’s a story for another day. But hey, this kid really LOVED me and I could do no wrong in his eyes. I could have sworn that Bette Midler was about to bellow out one of her beautiful Disney ballads. He was a special kid, and this was a special moment.

“Wyatt, you crazy kid, I’m your hero? Where did you get that silly idea from?”

“Fuck if I know, hahahahahaha!”

All right, let’s get this over with. Bette Midler blows.

We arrived at the mall without incident due to my trusty camera phone that was keeping Babblesaurus Rex busy in the backseat. However this time there were no spaces left in front of Build-A-Bear. So I went to plan B, but all the blue handi-capable spaces were occupied as well.

“Jesus Christ, what’s up with all these Christmas shoppers, don’t they know Santa Claus isn’t real???”

“What did you say, Unco Onionhead?”

“Umm…I said Jesus and Santa are the real deal…haha!”

“Yeah, Jebus and Santa, they’re pals just like me and you”

“You and I”

“Yeah, me and you”

Whateva.

I ended up parking in a freestanding Chik-Fil-A lot. My nephew got all excited since next to Cheetos, Chik-Fil-A was his favorite food. I’m not a big patron of Chik-Fil-A as it is a Christian organization, not that I have anything against Christians, I was an altar boy for Christ’s sake, but I am a big believer in the separation of God and food, as it is written in the Constitution. To top it off, these God-fearing chicken killers claim to be, and I quote "the inventors of the chicken sandwich." For some reason I highly doubt this, which would make them liars, and last I checked, lying was a sin, and not a very Christianly thing to be doing. Anyway last time I went through their drive-thru I got stiffed on my honey mustard, so somebody is going to hell, and it ain't the fat kid that ate a box full of dry Chik'n Nuggets.

We got out of the car and started walking toward the mall when I saw a pimply-faced Chik-Fil-A employee taking out the trash. He saw us leaving the lot and started writing down my license plate. Fuckin’ Judas! I grabbed my nephew’s hand and headed back to the Chik-Fil-A.

“Hey buddy, haha! We thought there was a side entrance, but I guess there’s not. I’m starving for some Chik-Fil-A, Glory be God!”

“Sorry brother, I thought you were one of those heathens that parks here illegally and walks to the mall. Please, come in and enjoy a bountiful chicken feast by his hands.”

We got inside and ordered some food under the watchful eye of my escorting trash-dutied apostle, Dante. I got the Chik-Fil-A sandwich with some waffle fries and a lemonade, and my nephew got the kiddie-nugget combo. God must not be a cheap fry cook cause that shit cost me like fifteen bucks.

When we were done securing our salvations by sacrificing to he who fries deeply and often, we bolted out and headed to the mall. As we journeyed through the crowded parking lots my nephew took the opportunity to unveil the pictorial he was putting together on my camera phone. I scrolled thru the pictures, and although some of the camera angles were rather avant-garde, they were all pretty lacking in the “Any Redeemable Value” department.

Well, here’s a nice shot of the back of my head (delete)

And here’s my head again, but from a lower angle to enhance its eerie resemblance to a head of cauliflower. Nice touch. (delete)

And this series of pictures real captures the step-by-step carnage of an exploding Ding-Dong. (delete)

And here’s a close-up of a seat belt buckle. Ho-hum (delete)

And here’s a close-up of an empty Burger King bag of whooper wrappers. Um, I don’t eat that poison. (delete)

And here’s a close-up of a mangled severed hand under the passenger seat. Yikes, I thought I got rid of that. (delete)

And here’s an intrusive voyeuristic shot of two scantily clad buxemous women making out in the front seat of a convertible at a traffic light. (SAVE)

Oh, here’s an interesting shot….

“OOOO Wyatt, I like the lighting on this one. It looks like the inside of a prehistoric cavern. And inside there’s a guy with a straw hat jumping rope! That’s cool, how’d you do that?”

“That the inside of my nose!!! I worked real hard on that one!”

“Obviously.” (delete)

“I’m a good potogofur, right Unco Onionhead?”

“It’s amazing, Wyatt. The pictures here look like they were taken with no effort whatsoever.”

“I know, I’m real good!”

“The best.”

“Are you gonna save them?”

“You bet. I’m wiring them in to CNN as we I speak.” (delete) (delete) (delete)

“Oh, coooool.”

We walked into one of the side entrances of the mall, and much to my dismay the place was packed like a pair of over-stuffed daisy dukes at a Stuckey’s truck stop. Let me just say I’m not a mall person. It’s not that I hate shopping, because I like buying stuff, just ask the courtesy callers at Visa and Mastercard. And it’s not that I hate crowds, because I love going to football games and concerts and such. No, there’s something about the mall that gets my internal compass all twisted. I’m blinded by the shimmer of faux-gold jewelry hawked by guys named Vlad pushing carts and wearing enough cologne to eusthanize a herd of oxen. I’m mesmerized by the sheer tackiness of airbrushed license plates and the pointlessness of ugly ceramic trinkets with farm animals doing human chores like cooking and gardening, like if they were really that smart they would go cook brunch and not slit our throats first. I’m confused by the need for the multi-purpose products at The Sharper Image, such as a foot massager with built-in alarm clock, and a coffee brewer equipped with an AM/FM radio and car battery recharger. I’m nauseated by the smell of Vinny’s Pizza Pit, Master Ho’s Wok and Walk, and Winston’s Church Hill Grill & Pub Fries, clashing with the freshly involuntarily sprayed scents of the department store Perfume Nazis. It’s all of these things at once that scrambles the codes in my brain and leads me into bad purchasing decisions like the ceramic “Makin’ Bacon” Copulating Country Pigs salt n’ pepa shakers I got for my mom for Mother’s Day and the electronic screwdriver with built-in nose hair trimmer I bought for my pop on Father’s Day. I needed direction fast or I’d be buying my nephew a cigar store Indian or a pair of plus-sized ladies Capri pants for his birthday.

“Look Unco Onionhead, it’s the poweese.” My nephew said pointing inside the big glass window of Victoria’s Secret.

Sure enough it was our old friends Officer Bob and Officer Steve inside Victoria’s Secret in what appeared to be an intense mall police crackdown on morally offensive lingerie. That’s it, these clowns practically live at the mall, surely they could help us find Build-A-Bear, so we walked on in. Officer Bob was scotch-taping up what appeared to be a crime scene around one of the display tables, and Officer Steve had out his Junior Private Eye Fingerprint Kit and was doing some serious pantie dusting.

“Hey, Officer Steve, Officer Bob, long time no see. What’s happening?”

“Stand back boy and dontcha come any closer, ya hear? This is an official police investigation and we don’t need ya taintin none of the evidence,” ordered Officer Bob.

“Wow a real life crime scene! What kind of criminal activity are you guys sniffing out?”

“Well, Officer Steve and I were making our rounds up in here and he noticed that all of these panties on this table here were missing the crotches out of ‘em. Looks like a 696 went down.”

“A 696? What’s that?”

“Grand Crotch Larceny, boy. Probably a ring of sicko internet porn pervs.” said Officer Steve.

“Umm guys. I think they are made without the crotches. It’s the style.”

“Hogwash, that’s what the manager told us when we interrogated her, so we’re suspectin’ a possible inside job.”

“Well hey, good luck to you on that”

“Thanks boy, we’ll sho need it to get to the bottom of these missin crotches. Say where’s that poopy kid you had wid ya’?

“Oh he’s right here…ummm…he was right here just a second ago…dammit where did that little fucker go!”

“Dadgummit! Watch that forked tongue of yours boy, there are ladies present.”

“Oh sorry, Officer Bob. Let me try again. Dagnabbit, where did that little rascal go?”

“Much better!” said Officer Bob with Officer Steve nodding in agreement.

“Thanks!”

“Well just don’t stand there with your dick in yer hand, go find that kid before he starts taking a dump in the corner somewhere.”

“Right. I’ll be right back.”

Jesus Chr....errr...Jiminy Crickets! I can’t take my eyes of that kid for a second without him getting into some kind of mischief. I started turning the place over trying to find him. Behind the nightgowns, no. In back of the perfume display, no. In the changing room, no. SLAP!

“Sorry!”

“Pervert!”

Just then one of the helpful employees adorned in a white satin teddie and festive red Santa hat jiggled my way.

“Sir, you look a little lost. Is there something I can help you with?”

“Um…Um…Um”

“Sir, my face is up here.”

“Oh yeah. I lost my nephew. He’s about a foot and a half tall with blue eyes and blonde hair.”

She looked around but didn’t see him anywhere, so, much to my delight, she pulled a chair out from behind the counter and stood up on it.

“Gee, there is a much better view of the whole store from up here but I still don’t see him anywhere. Do you see him yet?”

“Um…Um…Um”

“Sir?”

“Um…Um…Um”

Suddenly, like four feet away, my nephew pops out of the discount padded push-up bra bin laughing hysterically like he was playing in Chuck E Cheese’s giant colorful Bin O’ balls.

“There you are you naughty little boy,” she squealed.

Great. Our goose was surely cooked now. Santa’s helper got off the chair and walked over to the bra bin. No doubt we would be thrown out of the store and probably the mall too.

“O aren’t you are just adorable. How cuuuute!”

OK, maybe not.

The next thing you know four more of Santa’s sexy helpers joined in and started ogling over how precious the little troublemaker in the bra bin was. They were running their hands through his hair, and kissing him on the cheek, and taking turns giving him big hugs. It was like the beginning of something you would read out of the Penthouse Forum that you know never happened (not that I read that filth). What in the world! Why doesn’t this ever happen to me? Daaaay-um!

“He’s just a little teddy bear!”

“O you are so huggable!”

“I just want to wrap him up in a box and take him home!”

My nephew was cheesin’ the whole time and totally eating it up. Then he pulls out MY camera phone and starts propositioning the hired help.

“You’re real pretty. Can I take your picture? I’m a good potogofur.”

“O, that’s the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me. Of course you can take my picture sweetheart!”

O brother! What a little pimp! They couldn’t keep their hands off of him as they were all crowding to get in the pictures with him. It was a nephew sandwich and he was right in the middle. He had a smile on his face that was like Christmas morning times ten. Why can’t that be me? Why? Why God Why? I couldn’t bear to look anymore so I turned around and hit what I thought was a wall. When I looked up I wished it was.

“Well, well, well, Mr. Onionhead.”

“O…hey Principal Pissypants. Um what brings you here?” I asked. I was trying to fathom what kind of lingerie this sasquatch could possibly put on, but then the mental images almost made me eject chunky vomit out of my nose, so I painfully sucked it up.

“I needed a new shower cap, but that’s none of your business. But, Mr. Onionhead, I think the question is what are you doing here. And what are you doing her with your six year old nephew, in his sickly condition. And why is he in a bin of bras being tickled by a gang of questionably dressed women in a photo shoot?”

“Those are all great questions, and, ha-ha, I can assure you there is a good explanation…”

“Save it, Mr. Onionhead. I don’t want to hear anymore of your lies. You can rest assured that I will tell your sister first thing in the morning about how you put the welfare of her son in jeopardy with your irresponsibility and lascivious behavior. You will not be picking up any child at my school ever again”

“But, but, but..”

“Good day, Mr. Onionhead.” And with that she picked up her bag and lumbered out of the store. Damn, I was done for now. Once my sister hears Principal Pissypant’s impending tale of woe, she won’t trust me to water a cactus, let alone take care of her kids.

“Sir, here’s your nephew back,” said Santa’s original helper as she handed him over to me.

“Wyatt you come back here to see us real soon OK. And be a good boy for your uncle that way Santa brings you everything your little heart desires, OK?”

“Okey-dokey,” he said “bye-bye!”

We started walking out of the store and were passing Officer Bob and Officer Steve who were busy placing crotchless panties in Ziploc bags and labeling them for evidence. Wait a minute, why did we come in here to begin with?

“Hey Officer Steve, how do we get to Build-a-Bear from here?”

“Oh it’s just raht around the corner here past the Giant Cookie Store. It’s raht across from Maggie Moo’s Ice Cream Barn, and raht next to Sergeant Slurpee. Can’t miss it bo!”

“Hey thanks, we really appreciate it. Good luck on your case.”

We started walking away and I stopped. I had an idea, and that doesn’t happen often so I walked back to the crime scene.

“Say, Officer Bob and Officer Steve, I think I might know who walked off with those crotches.”

I proceeded to rat out a certain behemoth who had a distinct disliking for me. Of course she didn’t steal the crotches, no one stole the crotches. But I couldn’t imagine what her face would look like when Officer Bob and Officer Steve asked her to open her bags. I described her to a tee as Officer Bob and Steve took detailed notes in their Scooby-Doo Book of Croos crime-fightin’ pads.

“She just left less than five minutes ago. If you leave now you may be able to apprehend her before she strikes again.”

“Sir, as officers of the law we thank you. And your community thanks you as well. Let’s go, Officer Steve.”

They both checked their walkie-talkies to make sure their batteries were fresh, and then in a blinding blaze of glory they waddled off in hot pursuit. I took my nephew by the hand and we walked exactly the way Officer Steve had directed us. Sure enough I could see Sergeant Slurpee in the distance, and there beside it was Build-a-Bear. My nephew reaffirmed this.

“BIDABER, BIDABER, BIDABER, WOOO HOOOO!!!” and he took off running at full speed. I didn’t bother chasing after him this time because I knew exactly where he was going. The neon Build-a-Bear sign shined upon us like a crazy diamond or even the star of Bethlehem guiding this wise man and dumb kid to the promised land. We were finally here. It was simple from here on out. Just get the bear stuffed and get the hell out. It would be easy as pie, so why did I get the feeling that pie was about to be thrown in my face.
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check back next week for the exciting conclusion!