In an alternative dimension, an odd confluence of events surrounding one single moment in time had spun their reality off in a particularly strange direction. The moment this happened unfolded like this.

“No, Edgar,” he sighed. “I said AERonautics. Not bearonautics.”

“Well it’s too late now.”

And it was.

Ever since then, airliners around the world flew with bears strapped beneath their wings. The bears had been specially bred with particularly virulent and violent flatus capabilities, and now the skies were becoming polluted with Grizzly Farts.

And they were grizzly, in more ways than one.

Today though, the whole thing was about to reach its nadir.

Today, they were going to launch a rocket into space using nothing more than a genetically enhanced, eighty-foot bear who’d been fed a giant vat of baked beans. The people in this reality were nothing if not stubborn.


The countdown began, with everyone in mission control bouyed in spirit by the sunshine and yesterday’s successful test firing of the bear’s anus.

“Four. Spinchter cap release green.”

Out on the launching pad, the beat winced, and dug its claws deeper into the heat shielding of the rocket. It was well trained, and knew what was coming. It took a deep breath and clenched itself ready.

“Three. Two. One.”

A tremendous rumbling shook cups from the consoles, as a mile away they watched the plumes of smoke emerge from the rocket. The igniters lit, and the billowing gases erupted in a bright fireball that gently lifted the vehicle from the ground. It gathered speed and height, and executed its roll perfectly.

Higher and higher it went, reaching the upper heights of the atmosphere in minutes.

No one had told the bear what would happen next.

But the bear had figured it out for himself.

Just as the air became too thin to breathe, and the cold became life threatening, the bear let go of the rocket, and clenched its buttocks, cutting off the flames. Gravity grabbed hold of him, and began pulling him back to the ground.

If going up had been exhilarating, going down was even more fun.

Wind rushed through the bear’s fur, its jowls flolloping about around its face. The ground loomed closer. The bear knew they had consigned it to death just so they could kick around some moon dust, and it wanted no part of such frivolity.

Its paw grabbed at the ripcord, and the world gasped as it watched a massive silk parachute unfurl and bring the bear down with a soft splash.

An enquiry later found the bear had stolen the ‘chute from the landing capsule, and recorded the astronauts demise as death by bearslaughter.

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