Bryan: User:Eirik/Pantry is Bear, the moved to User:Eirik/The Pantry is Bear: The only place one needs to move the "the" to the end like this is in the category sort key, it's fine at the beginning in page names.

2007-09-07T23:52:23Z

User:Eirik/Pantry is Bear, the moved to User:Eirik/The Pantry is Bear: The only place one needs to move the "the" to the end like this is in the category sort key, it's fine at the beginning in page names.

← Older revision	Revision as of 18:52, 7 September 2007
(No difference)

Bryan: move article to end of sort key

2007-09-07T23:51:33Z

move article to end of sort key

← Older revision		Revision as of 18:51, 7 September 2007
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	[[Category:Story]] [[Category:Eirik]] [[Category:Animal]] {{DEFAULTSORT:~~The~~ Pantry is Bear}}		[[Category:Story]] [[Category:Eirik]] [[Category:Animal]] {{DEFAULTSORT:Pantry is Bear, The}}
	{{title\|name=The Pantry is Bear\|user=Eirik\|author=Eirik}}		{{title\|name=The Pantry is Bear\|user=Eirik\|author=Eirik}}
	You know, there is nothing more annoying than finding a bear in		You know, there is nothing more annoying than finding a bear in

Eirik: New page: Category:Story Category:Eirik Category:Animal {{DEFAULTSORT:The Pantry is Bear}} {{title|name=The Pantry is Bear|user=Eirik|author=Eirik}} You know, there is nothing more anno...

2007-09-07T20:26:04Z

New page: Category:Story Category:Eirik Category:Animal {{DEFAULTSORT:The Pantry is Bear}} {{title|name=The Pantry is Bear|user=Eirik|author=Eirik}} You know, there is nothing more anno...

New page

[[Category:Story]] [[Category:Eirik]] [[Category:Animal]] {{DEFAULTSORT:The Pantry is Bear}}
{{title|name=The Pantry is Bear|user=Eirik|author=Eirik}}
You know, there is nothing more annoying than finding a bear in
the pantry.

Particularly a bear wearing your wife's nightclothes.

It didnt take that long to figure out what had happened. After
all, my wife has had a routine since we were married. She gets up
every morning, makes her coffee (I prefer hot cider myself) and
walks into the pantry to get her sugar. Of course, she hasnt
really opened her eyes that wide by this time in the morning, and
she hates to put on her glasses

I guess that it really was a bad idea to put that bowl of white
crystal powder I got from that Indian Shaman next to the sugar.
Oh well. As they say, hindsight is 20/20.

Needless to say, Francis wasn't very happy about this. She had
told me a hundred times to move that jar. (Why she didn't just do
it herself is beyond me.) Naturally, she blamed me for her
predicament. I chose to take the high road here and accept the
blame.

After all, she was strong enough now to tear the door off a
Buick. You think that *I* am going to fight with her *now*?

I had to admit, she looked better now. She'd gone from frumpy
housewife to a rather magnificent bear. But, I realized that this
had to be corrected. After all, the local homeowners association
didn't even allow large dogs!

Unfortunately, the shaman that had given me the jar wasn't
available. I didn't have to call around to figure that out: I'd
seen him turn into a duck and fly south for the winter myself.

So, I did what any sensible person would do in a situation like
this: I tried to contact the government. Unfortunately, I
couldn't find an agency that would help me. Animal control
refereed me to Health and Human services. Health and Human
Services refereed me to Animal Control. The people at the
Smithsonian refereed me to NASA. The guy at NASA told me to call
the Department of Energy. Energy told me to talk to Army, Army to
Air Force, Air Force to Navy, Navy to Coast Guard.

By the time I was talking to the DMV, I decided that I needed to
get to a person in charge!

The Mayor told me to talk to my Representative. My Representative
told me to talk to my Senator. My Senator told me to talk to the
White House. The White House told me that the President was at
McDonalds and couldn't be disturbed.

Well, so much for my tax dollars at work. In the meantime,
Francis had gotten hungry. I heard a crash while I was talking to
the director of human waste removal for the 15th congressional
district of Wyoming, but didn't have time to investigate. When I
finally got off the phone, I discovered that Francis had cleaned
out the entire fridge. She'd even eaten the Arm & Hammer!
Although, I quickly realized that I was going to come out ahead
on this deal. After all, last weekend she had cleaned out half
the pantry as well.

"So much for Jennie Craig."

She took a swipe at me, but was so bloated that she missed.

At this point, I decided to get the bastion of modern knowledge
to work. I loaded my wife into my 1989 Chevy Sprint. Sure, it
took four tubs of Vaseline, and crowbar, and I'll have to replace
the shocks, but she got in okay. Then, I set off for the
University Hospital downtown. I figured that, if anyone could
help, then they could. They were the premier hospital in the
world, after all. They had done experiments that had shown that
rats given a certain chemical became so smart that they could get
out of any locked cage.

Sure, the study had no relevance for people, and there were about
3,000,000 rats in the city that were smarter than Einstein, but
it was an amazing accomplishment.

Well, the first problem came about when they asked for my HMO
card. Apparently, my plan, Do-It-Yourself-Care, didn't cover the
prestigious University Hospital. They certainly sympathized, but
they also gave me directions to the nearest hospital that would
take me. I wanted to protest this, but a gorilla in a guards
uniform forcibly ejected us.

So, I jumped back into the Sprint and took off for Bob's
Hospital. Sure, it's not as nice. The most recent magazine in the
waiting room had a cover story about the League of Nations, the
operating theater sold popcorn and the hospital had a special
lawyers entrance, but I hoped that the doctor could help. So, I
walked up to the nurse with my wife in tow.

"Can you help me?"

"What's your HMO?"

"Do-It-Yourself-Care."

She punched a few buttons on the computer and put out her
cigarette, "What seems to be the problem, sir?"

"My wife turned into a bear this morning."

"Was it the result of a science experiment or black magic?"

"Well, I don't what kind of magic it was, but it was"

"Sorry sir, you HMO specially doesn't cover this."

"I don't believe that for a sec", she flipped the computer
monitor around and pointed to a highlighted passage, "This policy
will also not cover you or you family or anyone else that you
give a damn about in the event that magic, no matter the ultimate
intention of the practitioner thereof, or be it by accidental
exposure, natural function of the environment or persons
involved, should render the patient into a state that is not
unlike the state that a bear would resemble."

"Next!"

I think that Francis was ready to take the head off that nurse,
but luckily she refrained. The last thing that we needed was to
discover that the HMO didn't cover damage to bear paws resulting
from the forcible removal of the cranium of a nurse..

So, we piled back into the ol' Sprint and raced back for home.

To describe what what saw at home as a circus would be an
understatement of the highest order. There were close to fifty
different newsvans, including no fewer than 18 satellite trucks,
blocking the road in all directions. There was so much microwave
activity in the air that I swear I saw at least two sparrows
burst into flame. The house was surrounded by hundreds of
microphone toting shock troops with heavy aerial support from
dozens of helicopters hovering overhead. Carnival Barkers were
roaming around hawking cheap T-shirts emblazoned with "Bear Gal"
or other such catchy titles.

Francis tried to duck down in the car, but it was to no avail.
She weighed more than the car at the moment. We were abruptly
surrounded on all sides by hordes of shouting cameramen and
women, people who looked way to finely coifed for the time in the
morning it was. The Chevy slowed to a crawl, then to a stop. Even
though I didn't think a jury in the world would convict me, I
just didn't want to run over any of these reporters. After all,
the bumpers on these little cars are *expensive*. Suddenly, I got
an idea.

"Look! O.J!", I shouted.

There was a mad stamped away from my car to the other side of the
street. The helicopters all swung away from the house, and the
reporters left their flank undefended. I slammed my foot down on
the gas pedal, and with the car screaming along at 38 mph, I tore
through the fortified defensive line at the front gate, smashed
through a booth selling T-shirts, rolled over the opposition by
the mailbox and managed to get though the ambush near the back
door.

It wasn't without casualties, though. I took a leading question
in the back.

I managed to pull Francis out of the car. Even if she can only
growl and roar now, she still somehow managed to call me every
name in the book and blame this whole thing on me, my parents and
the Republican Congress before we got from the car to the inside
of the house.

I did a quick room-by-room search looking for any hidden Current
Affair Commandos. I didn't find any of them, but I did locate a
mole from Dateline NBC in the freezer.

That's when I heard the knock on my door. I looked through the
peephole and saw a nice looking middle aged woman. She didn't
seem to have any trappings of journalism, so I decided to chance
it and opened the door. As I did so, she slugged me.

"You horrible excuse for a human being! You waste of flesh! You
brainless, heartless *man* you!"

For a minute, I thought my wife was back.

"What do you think that you are doing? You are keeping such a
magnificent animal all cooped up in this tiny little house when
there is a wonderful national park just thirty miles from here
where she can run and play and have cubs for the rest of her
life!"

I finally regained my breath. "Who the hell are you?"

She looked indignant (and ugly too), "Why I'm Helena
Tinklemaster, founder and head of A.L.P.O., the Animal Lovers
Persons Organization. And you are in big trouble, mister!"

I looked over at my very hairy wife, and back at the very hairy
animal rights activist, "Do you have any idea what the hell
you're talking about? This bear"

"Is a person too! And her rights should be respected more that
yours! You Beast!"

"But this bear *is* a person! She's my wife, Francis. Tell her
honey."

Francis growled and nodded vigorously.

"What do you take me for? An idiot?"

"Look, I'll prove it to you!" I jogged from the living room into
the kitchen and grabbed the offending piece of pottery from the
pantry shelf. I ran back into the licking room. "Here. I got this
from an old Indian Shaman. I mistakenly", Francis growled loudly,
"okay, stupidly placed it on a shelf in the pantry next to the
sugar. Francis went for the sugar this morning and accidentally
turned herself into a bear. Honest!"

The woman looked at me like I had just skinned a mink in front of
her, "You have me believe that your wife turned into a bear just
by eating a little of this stuff like this" before I could stop
her (although I didn't exactly try real hard) she stuck a
moistened finger into the jar and licked off the powder. In an
instant, I was suddenly looking at two large bears in my living
room.

Unfortunately, in Helena's case, the ugliness transferred.

"Great. Look, ladybearwhatever. I can't have two of you in the
house. I'm going to have enough problems keeping Francis in
Purina Bear Chow. You'll just have to go home and see if your HMO
covers this yourself." I opened the door and shooed her out.

Of course, I didn't think about the fifteen thousand people that
were still camped out on my front lawn. I looked out the front
window in time to see the local folks from the Parks Department
shoot her full of tranquilizers, load her into a truck and head
off in the general direction of the forest. Or the zoo, which
ever is south from my house. Of course, the reporters kept trying
to ask questions of the unconscious bear, but they later reported
that she had no comment.

I had hoped that the media would have abandoned the story at this
point. After all, they had seen the bear leave. Unfortunately,
even as they were packing up, one of them realized that there
still was a bear in the house. I just wasn't able to convince
them that it was just my really big dog rooting through the
garbage in the backyard. When they discovered that, I was forced
to repel an invasion by a platoon of CNN cameramen who had
attempted a flanking action in conjunction with a CBS crew and a
diversion set up by Morely Safer.

Finally, the media circus died down. They all heard about an
unconfirmed rumor that a person that did not totally look unlike
Elvis had been seen eating dinner at the local Dennys with Jimmy
Hoffa and Amelia Earheart. Apparently, O.J. Simpson had stopped
by for coffee.

In the spring, I found the Shaman again. He'd just returned from
his winter vacation. Of course, by that time it didn't matter
much. Francis had left me for a Hollywood offer to star in the
remake of "Gentle Ben". She got the house, the Sprint and the
clay jar in the settlement. I got the food bill and four hundred
"Bear-Gal" T-shirts that I can't give away.

I read in the Globe that she married Tom Arnold.

I hear they are very happy.

User:Eirik/The Pantry is Bear - Revision history

Bryan: User:Eirik/Pantry is Bear, the moved to User:Eirik/The Pantry is Bear: The only place one needs to move the "the" to the end like this is in the category sort key, it's fine at the beginning in page names.

Bryan: move article to end of sort key

Eirik: New page: Category:Story Category:Eirik Category:Animal {{DEFAULTSORT:The Pantry is Bear}} {{title|name=The Pantry is Bear|user=Eirik|author=Eirik}} You know, there is nothing more anno...