Word has reached the Bear that while he is being fêted in Moscow, the River of Reality has become obstructed at The Shallows, blocking vital salmon supplies. Hopefully, the issue has been resolved. (That was Beaver setting off a charge of dynamite you heard a bit ago.)
Donors who found their generous gifts of salmon washed up on the bank or caught in the fallen trees, should not worry They won't get double-charged for resubmitting a previously rejected donation. Hopefully, there should there be no more spoiled salmon just sitting on the PayPal wharves.
A regular supply of fresh salmon is very important through the summer. Without it, SCB cannot [snort] well... just can't [ha ha ha ha]... quite impossible, you know [BWA-ha-ha.] Okay, the truth is, whether the Bear sees another salmon or not, SCB will "roll on, thou deep and dark blue ocean, roll." (Wonderful phrase. Try it, out loud, as dramatically as you can, rolling the R's. Seriously. You'll thank the Bear.)
We both know nothing can stop the Bear from providing original and varied (read erratic) content nearly every day. The spice will continue to flow. So why pay for something you're going to get for free anyway? Surely, the Bear does not have to explain why people toss fish to adorable-looking begging Bears, does he?
The Bear s not troubled in the least by begging for salmon. After all, when a Bear does his trick, he is entitled to his treat. It is the ancient compact between Bear and Man, nearly as old as the First Law, almost complimentary.
Moreover, the Bear does not spoil your visit by a barrage of pop-ups demanding that you turn off Adblock; explaining why your failure to donate will personally and forever put the fall of Western Civilization on you and you alone; or play the old protection rackett like: it would be a shame if sumpin was ta happen ta yer nice blog yer readin' heyah cuz yer didn't makes yer donation.
The Bear figures once you're inside the tent, you should be left alone by the hawkers. This, however, is unvarnished, straight-up, honest begging, in which the Bear rarely engages. And this time, he shall spare you the sob story he could honestly tell.
A proper animal begs.
Better to just look you in the eye once in awhile with a smile and say, "Hi there! Hope you're enjoying yourself. Just had to buy a new router for $286. Did the Bear mention how, um, hardish he works on this disreputable Turkish Seal Show known as St. Corbinian's Bear? The Bear would be ever so grateful if you tossed a kipper his way."
Yes, that is an expensive router. Zoar Manor is an old two-story farmhouse the Bear wired himself by nailing cables all over the walls and ceilings, then adding a couple hundred 40 watt bulbs for that Sicilian street fair vibe. On favorite saint days we hold roman candles in our hands and shoot them out the windows along with bottle rockets. We also do some dangerous things.
You seriously do not want to know what we do for Lepanto Day. (Hint: it always ends with the sheriff, volunteer fire department, and people drowning. Okay, almost.) With the twins back home from Uncle Sam's foreign watches in Afghanistan and Korea, we chew through a lot of bandwidth around here.