Why I Hate Chipmunks

So get a load of this, the rest of us are dressed as polar bears, and Tommy, that numskull, shows up as a panda bear. A panda bear, for Christ’s sake. He tells me he couldn’t find a polar bear suit, but hey, lucky him, he’s still got this one from his daughter’s tenth birthday party. Yeah, that’s great. We’re about to pull off the biggest score the northern territories have ever seen, and this mug strolls up like he is about to pass out balloons.

Hold on a second…Hey Charlie how about another beer…put it on this guy’s tab. You don’t mine do you? My throat gets a little dry…and you’re the one asking why I hate chipmunks.

That night was cold as a witches’ …What the hell, Charlie, this is half suds. You freaking cheapskate, fill it up…okay, so it was cold right? I mean it had snowed all day, a cloak of white everywhere you looked. We’re standing out there, freezing our balls off, four bears with machine guns, and one of them looks like he wandered out of a zoo gift shop. I shoulda called it right there.

What…how the hell do I know where panda bears are from…what do I look like? The guy from National Geographic?…what’s that…China…alright, Joe College there says China.

What now…you want to know where polar bears are from…do I have to show you papers on all these freaking bears? Or can I tell my story?

Get a load of this guy…he’s doing immigration control on bears…hey Charlie…all your staff have their papers. Tell them they had better watch out; this guy might deport them.

So before I was rudely interrupted…The casino is about a mile away, with all its neon flashing lights. But it’s cold and dead silent and we…what again with the questions…I don’t know; the heavy snow must soak up all the sound. Yeah, that’s what happens…would you like me to show you? If I shove your head in a snowbank, do you think you’re going to hear anything?

Come on, guys, I’m telling a story here. What’s with the questions every few seconds? Where do pandas come from? Why is it always quiet when it snows? Give me a break, will you?

So we are trudging through the snow, total silence, except I hear this crunching sound…what’s that…no, not from our boots, who’s telling this story? Can I continue…jeez…Charlie, get this guy another beer.

So a crunching sound. Yes, our boots made a sound, but this was different. I look over and Artie is eating a bag of caramel corn. And he’s shoving it in his mouth; some of it’s sticking to his fur. What the hell? You have four bears with automatic weapons slung over their shoulders, and one looks like he’s been sticking his muzzle in some clown’s bag of caramel corn.

Like I said, if I had any sense, I would have called it off. I mean, there is going to be cameras everywhere. The front page will have a photo of us, and instead of four ferocious bears, we have this screwball crew.

Hey Charlie, where are the pretzels? I have to tell you everything…what am I running the joint?

Anyway, we can’t raid the place looking like that…and he doesn’t want to take off his paws because it’s freaking cold. The panda tries to help by batting at the stuck kernels. We’re standing in the middle of a winter wonderland, the casino’s right in front of us, and it looks like a panda bear is bitch-slapping a polar bear.

But the casino has a lot of cash, and Christmas is coming…and you know, Jossie likes nice things. Yeah, Jossie…what…listen, you scumbag, that’s my girl you’re talking about…yeah, well you better be.

So we are right in front of the building, and I see the big sign where they advertise what events are taking place. Now what you need to know is Frankie told me they were having a costume party…yeah, a costume party…why the hell you think we’re dressed as bears…dipshit.

Except it ain’t a costume party, it’s a freaking furry convention. Do you know what a furry convention is…figures you would know…pervert. So screw this, but Frankie is for it, says these people have lots of cash. What difference does it make?

Artie doesn’t want to do it because he thinks we should be dressed as woodland critters. Tommy, the panda bear, he’s all for going in. Of course, this pisses Artie off. He is going off on Tommy, saying, yeah a panda bear works, but not a polar bear…hey Charlie what’s so funny…why don’t you worry about the bar and let me tell the story.

Finally, I had to tell everyone to shut the F up. I mean, it was a quiet night, and their voices were booming. I decide we’re here; we’re doing this. Furries are like everyone else, their money spends the same.

Of course, we need to go inside and scope out the place, and can’t do that with our weapons, so we give them to the panda, he’s going to come in through the kitchen, and once I have a plan we will meet him and arm up.

So the three of us go in. Artie is looking okay, still has a few kernels in his fur. We enter, and it’s some bizarre shit. The first thing that happens is this sexy little skunk comes up to me and starts saying how bad she feels that sea ice is disappearing. I want to fit in, so I say…yeah, it makes it hard to catch baby seals. She goes nuts, calling me names. Telling me I don’t belong there.

I mean, I’m a polar bear, that’s what they do. I’m…what do you call it…yeah, staying in character.

Artie is loving this place because some bunny…what…no, not the Playboy type…we’re at a furry party, not Hef’s place. This bunny pulls one of the pieces of caramel corn off Artie’s fur and gives him goo-goo eyes, then hops away trying to get him to chase her.

And Artie does…I don’t know…I guess he has a thing for rabbits…I’m not going to judge the guy…if he likes rabbits, he likes rabbits…but we have a job to do, so I put an end to it.

Anyway, we get the lay of the place and came up with a plan. We go looking for panda…he has our weapons. We look everywhere, finally we look in the pantry, and there he is with like ten chipmunks. They are going to town on him. I guess chipmunks have a thing for panda bears. Who knew?

Unfortunately, they also had our guns. Next thing we know, the cops are busting in, and we all get hauled off to County.

That’s why I hate chipmunks. Little bastards.