God's Problem Bear...

Mojo tries t' live a carefree life with few regrets. And usually, she be pretty successful at that, despite that comely wench silly Blog o' Complaints, All Hands Hoay! But thar is a recent moment in time I am now regrettin', with a sort o' vague sadness.

Let us cut t' about a month ago, when I first reported about Problem Bear, and a bucket o' chum. I di'nae name that scurvey dog. The honkin' big red tags stapled t' his ears named that scurvey dog, Ya swabbie, pass the grog! "Problem Bear" is actually a technical term used by Fish & Wildlife folks t' designate a bear that has become habituated to people an' hence become a problem hangin' aroun' houses, dumpin' scallywags's garbage, etc. While some scallywags think 'tis "cute" t' have wild animals eatin' chow off their porches or sniffin' at their window screens, it becomes far less cute when th' animal starts destroyin' property or killin' livestock or frightening defenseless little housewifey ladies.

So anyway, I go out t' try t' scare off Mister Problem Bear, an' when I present meself t' that scurvey dog an' yell at that scurvey dog in me finest Fishwife Voice, he pays me practically no heed. We're about twenty feet from each other, me in me bathrobe tryin' t' yell all scary, an' that scurvey dog eatin' blackberries an' just sort o' lookin' at me betwixt mouthfuls. More Mojo!>>

At Least SOMETHING Works As Planned....

So this mornin' I am boppin' aroun', doin' me mornin' computer thin's, when th' dog an' th' cat both come pilin' into th' dog door like th' Three Stooges minus one. And Rosie, th' more demonstrative o' th' two, runs t' th' dinin' room an' starts starin' wildly at somethin' out th' window, so I figure somethin''s up, we'll keel-haul ye! Prepare to be boarded!

Sure enough, thar's a movin' black form betwixt th' garden fence an' a line o' an impenetrable thicket o' blackberry briars. A bear. And I'm still in me bathrobe. More Mojo!>>

Only In The Sticks....

So I'm sittin' on th' couch, cleanin' up some cels I've painted. The dog, Rosie, has assumed that comely wench typical position on th' stairs just above me head, stickin' that comely wench cowardly nose betwixt th' curtain an' th' window so she can watch anyone or anythin' should they come up th' driveway t' attack us. Walk the plank, Get out of me rum! And all o' a sudden she starts barkin' as viciously as possible, feed the fishes Rosie's not a barker, so I know somethin''s out thar. Probably our neighbor, walkin' his dog. So I get up t' look out th' window t' see what's up, Get out of me rum, we'll keel-haul ye! More Mojo!>>

Where Have All the Young Squirrels Gone?

It's Wildlife Week here on th' Craptacular, mostly because thar has been such a rash o' sightin's an' encounters Mojo can scarcely leave that comely wench house without shooin' away a variety o' beasties an' whatnot. Which she finds t' be one o' th' may pleasures o' life in th' sticks, Get out o' me rum! Walk the plank! Others be not so happy with, say, that comely wench resident garter snakes or th' simple fact that that comely wench mowin' th' lawn each week calls up whole herds o' frogs an' toads hoppin' ahead o' th' mower like a plague. More Mojo!>>

Don't Click on This

If ye're one o' those scallywags who be clappin' their hands o'er their ears an' screwin' their eyes shut whenever someone mentions th' possibility o' sharin' a Harry Potter spoiler, lad oh lad be ye goin' t' HATE this. Guaranteed! So dern't click, okay? Mojo has enough on that comely wench plate without th' added burden o' Ruinin' Your Life. Ahoy! Even though I suspect if ye be o'er th' age o'--oh, let's be generous an' say THIRTY--yer life pretty much REQUIRES ruinin' just t' shake ye up until ye live it. Ahoy! More Mojo!>>

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