I’m in a bad way, folks. The economy of the entire Northern Kingdom has been completely hosed ever since King Longloins bought into that investment scam he saw advertised on late night dude-screaming-in-the-street.
So Bear Baiting isn’t paying as well as it used to. After forgetting about my emotions and taking a good, honest look at the industry, I decided I have no choice but to hang up the muzzles and call it a day.
I love my job. I love my job more than I love my goodly wife, who at the time of this writing is contentedly chewing her cud in the corner of the hut- the hut I bought with the the money I made on my first big bear baiting spectacle.
And though I love my job, the number of economic hardships facing the industry seem insurmountable. Baiting, it seems, is done, over, finished or — heh heh — bruined as we say in Baiter lingo.
I’ve tried to make it through this most recent bear shortage with cost-cutting measures but there’s only so much you can do with a spectacle like bear baiting. Trust me, the men in my family have been bear baiters going all the way back to Cecil “MangleMeister” III and bear baiting is about as refined as it’s ever gonna get. There aren’t a lot of ways to switch things up in there. I mean, my grandfather came up the idea of feeding the dogs gunpowder before the fight, so when the bear hit the dog, the dog went explode, but that was only ever done during a certain type of harvest festival and ever since the you-know-whos moved here and started influencing local politics, it’s no longer legal to worship that sorta god.
I’ve tried cutting out the bears altogether, and running a baiting spectacle in which I set vicious dogs upon one of the town’s peasants. Only, in a village like Pigsnot Marsh it’s not much of a “spectacle” when a pack of wild animals dismembers a serf in public. We call that kind of thing “Tuesday” around here.
But I’m not giving up! We have an ancient saying in Pigsnot Marsh: “When the Plague kills your wife, the pigs eat for free.” I’m putting that maxim to work in my own life.
You see, when the economy collapsed after Longloins spent the treasury on gold-gilt tableware, his political allegiances that were held together by cash money, of course, dissolved. His thanes got pissed off and we had BUTTLOADS of war. Ol’ Cecil here didn’t have to go. Ol’ Cecil got himself a deferment. Pilonidal Cyst. You know how it is.
And what does war mean? Heaps and heaps and heaps of crying, screeching orphans. They’re literally the Northern Kingdom’s most plentiful natural resource right now. I’m ready to put them to work for me!
Though, I have to admit, I’m still in the exploratory phase of this moneymaking scheme. I have about 40 orphans and believe me they DO NOT cage well. And I can’t really let them out without them doing something mischievous like tying a string of cans to my wife’s tail or dying of the plague.
But while the children are bad, the babies are by far the worst. I’m still trying to figure out what I’m actually going to do with all of these babies. I had the idea once to chain one of them to a dais and have a pack of littler babies attack it, but that spectacle didn’t really go as well as I hoped. One of the babies went “brr-brr-brr” by playing with his fingers in his mouth, but that’s about as menacing as things got in there.
Maybe my dreams of baiting spectacles have gone the way of the mythical Louse that Laid the Golden Nits. Maybe I need to just give up and move on. I’m still left with all of these screaming, hungry children and my wife is just about milked out by now.
So I’m leaving it up to you, the consumer, to decide what to do with these little guys. Chain six of them together and make them row the world’s most adorable galleon! Sew a couple together at the back and make your very own Pushmepullyou! Amuse yourself for hours when you tie one to a fishing line and dangle it in front of your village abbot! HE JUST KEEPS CHASING IT! Hilarious!
The choice is yours when you visit Cecil The Bear Baiter’s Child Emporium!