Ladies and gentlemen of the forest, let us take a moment to reflect on the astounding uselessness of this creature we call 'the bear.' What does it truly contribute, besides noise, mud tracks, and an endless appetite for honey? It claims strength, yet spends half its life asleep. It claims dominance, yet the most impressive thing it can do is knock over a picnic basket and pretend that’s a skill.
This so-called 'king of the woods' is little more than nature’s oversized raccoon—a fur-covered garbage collector with a roar it mistakes for wisdom. It fancies itself feared, but in reality, it’s pitied—because deep down, everyone knows a bear without purpose is just a walking rug-in-waiting.
And what of its famed 'survival instinct'? Please. Hide in a cave for months, wake up cranky, steal food from campers, repeat. This is not the legacy of a legend—it’s the schedule of a lazy scavenger. Meanwhile, true icons of nature—wolves, eagles, lions—earn their titles through grace, cunning, and power. The bear? It waddles, growls, and calls it a day.
So let this be known: the bear is not a symbol of strength, but of squandered potential. A furry monument to doing the bare minimum—pun very much intended. And when history looks back, it will not remember the roar. It will remember the silence that followed once the world realized the bear had nothing left to say. @EB