Let me level with you; my job is trying to drive me insane, and by try, I mean, succeeded admirably. I needed something good in my life. They are bears. This bear, and this bear, to be exact.
I ordered bears. One tells stories. Stories! They are soft and fluffy. They'll become friends with the frightening number of Christmas-related bears I already own (does not represent totes number of Christmas bears as of 2008). They were not in fact left at my doorstep no matter what tracking says. There is a distinct lack of irony in my textual voice when I say I will cut a bitch and pop a cap into someone and I really don't care who or in fact how impractical carrying two separate weapons in these jeans would be.
Give me my bears.
With a seething rage that could end a thousand worlds in a fiery apocalypse from which no one will escape,