Here I go again.
Last time I posted was on April of 2018. It’s getting close to April 2021, so it’s been three years since I was here. During that time, I would randomly post on tumblr. Continue reading BearMythology Version 5.0
As I’ve been browsing through the ever-growing online community of bear & bear aficionados in Tumblr, I just realized just how, in such a short time, our group has grown to astounding proportions. Just to think, about a decade ago like-minded individuals got to know each other through email lists and chat rooms. They were smaller and private niche communities that only the persistent and dedicated would find. With the advent of social networking and instant access to media, our loves, lusts, and fetishes are displayed out in the forefront not just for us but for the rest of the world.
Never had I thought that I’d be living in a time where I’d be inundated by images of bearish and chubby men. But that is how it is today. The sharing and delivery of such images and videos come in such a rapid pace that if you blink for a second, you’d miss almost a year’s worth of masculine media (in comparison to a decade ago, for instance). I feel like an old wheel trying to keep up with the young and tech-savvy kids who are proficient with the language of Facebooks, Twitters, and the like.
The thing is, I have noticed a sort of evolution. Those of us who were in need of a connection with others who shared our passion found it in the world of the “bear subculture.” However, diverse groups have come out of that culture. From the chubs to the brutes, the daddies to the cubs, the furry and the smooth, new groups and types have quickly grown to develop their unique identities. In short, we share a common trait with them: we love men of larger-than-typical sizes. However, just because they share such a trait does not necessarily make them a part of the “bear subculture.”
Recently I just involved myself in commenting about the “What is a bear?” debate. Without even mentioning my stance on this here, let’s just say that no one truly owns the term. In fact, when I started the idea of “bearmythology,” I created it for people who had an affinity towards bearish-looking men. So it is in my heart’s content to see other folks like me who discuss about such men without associating it with any particular culture.
They know that they like big guys and that’s just how the way it is.
And as I’m about to leave the online world in a few minutes, I’d like end with these images from a wonderful (and NSFW) blog called The BeefMonger’s Blog…
The NFL is currently in a sticky bind trying to create a balanced and fair “harsh penalty” for players who would flagrantly hit and intentionally harm other players [ESPN]. I have been following this news and it basically resembles any workplace where management has no clue whatsoever what their employees would go through in their respective jobs. A frustrated defensive player who is being forced to make a split-second decision about the safety of his opponent is no different from any corporate America employee being told by management what to do when they haven’t even experienced their employees’ jobs firsthand at all.
In short, a sure-fire way to have a disgruntled employee is to make his or her job difficult. That’s pretty much the case with any human interactions, whether it be in sports, work, school, and, well, anything else.
However interesting that may be (lol), I am far more concerned with a much sinister and heinous argument that just might bring the NFL to even lower depths: people complaining about the increased exposure of armpits on the football field!
Paul Lukas has a hilarious commentary in his “Uni Watch” segment in ESPN.com called “Simply stated, these jerseys are the pits”:
Of course, being an Armpit Aficionado I am completely against his rally cry against the increased exposure of armpits in the NFL. To combat this, I will selectively choose some of Mr. Lukas’ points so that I could easily contradict him.
Let us begin our battle of “pits,” shall we?
But some players have been pushing the sleeveless style past the limits of visual propriety. For years, the poster child for this look has been Chris Hovan, who’s basically had his jersey tailored like a tank top, revealing more of his body than Uni Watch (or, most likely, anyone) wants to see.
Au contraire, Pepe Le Pew. The NFL is stacked to the brim with magnificent and imposing behemoths whose muscular and stocky builds are completely encumbered by needless jerseys, shoulder pads, and helmets. These men are our living mythical giants who, on any given Sunday, push their strengths and endurance to the limits for our entertainment. They are the wonders of our modern age, gladiators of a brutal sport, and the glue that binds people together as well as a polarizer of cities & communities. That being said, it would be totally awesome if football players were just shirtless. So, yes, there are people out there who actually respect and admire the human form. If a football player like Chris Hovan tailors his jersey like a tanktop, then that’s just a bonus for us fans and non-fans alike. Yes, there are people out there who appreciate Hovan’s armpits. As much as you probably enjoy watching the Lingerie Football League.
3. Ixnay on the exflay. Tired of the recent trend of players flexing like bodybuilders? That’s yet another byproduct of the faux sleeves. Wouldn’t be happening if the players’ upper arms were covered.
Seriously? Your number 3 reason for banning exposed armpits is because it would cause more football players to flex their muscles? And let’s just say that it’s true that all men in the world who wear sleeveless shirts severely suffer from Acute-Muscle-Flexing-Syndrome-Because-I’m-Wearing-A-Wifebeater, then what exactly is wrong with that? Men, especially men of the bigger variety, have the right to be proud of their bodies and strength. Of course there is a time and place to do so, in regards to sportsmanship versus showmanship, but please don’t blame the sleeveless jersey for causing men’s inherent desire to display their Alpha Maleness.
Okay. Now that I have conveniently avoided responding to Mr. Lukas’ finer & compelling points, let me pleasantly end my needless rant with a cavalcade of photos of Chris Hovan’s magnificent and spectacular armpits…
And to end on a finer rose-scented note, here is the Hovan family… Wow. I just love this image.
Robert Kirkman is drop dead gorgeous. Before I had an inkling of what a “bear” was (specifically from the LGBTQ community), all I knew was that I was attracted towards husky and fuzzy men. And, yes, basically, Robert Kirkman pretty much fits the perfect archetypal model of such a bearish man. Well, at least, in my personal preference and opinion, of course…
Anyway, the series premiere of his fantastic graphic novel “The Walking Dead” will finally be on AMC on Halloween Day and I am eagerly excited for it. Here are two videos of him from an AMC Special where he talks about the evolution of his graphic novel to the small screen as well as him giving us a tour from the series’ film set…
I love WordPress and I truly enjoy blogging with their software. But, sometimes, you just want to microblog and Twitter is too restricting. Lo and behold, I’ve stumbled upon Tumblr and it’s definitely fulfilling an appetite of mine. Anyway, I just started it and please check it out.
Gay Bear Fighter
Hello, Mr. Korean Time-Traveling Warrior. I’m a gay bear and I–
Korean Time-Traveling Warrior
당신이 떠나 곰이 동성애!
(Translation: You leave gay bear!)
* * * * *
It’s been a scorching summer so far and I’ve had my share of heated debates with the same arguments I’ve been repeating ever since I started this blog. I’ve decided to put my rant on such matters on today’s Thank Grizzly It’s Friday.
How many websites are out there where straight girls/women and boys/men who would have a similar type of a disclaimer for their blog/site?
I’d wager zero to completely none.
Queers can be attracted to the same sex; however, they shouldn’t let their attractions be known.
It’s gross. It’s hilarious. It’s wrong. It’s pathetic. It’s disturbing. It’s funny.
To your right is Scouserugger with his own disclaimer:
You have two bloggers who are basically apologizing for finding such men attractive.
I can’t help but feel like a criminal and Scouserugger and I shouldn’t be treated as one. Yet we receive angry complaints about doing what we’re doing.
I still cannot comprehend where the animosity and disgust is coming from. Maybe if I pretended I was a female in the first place, then maybe no one would be complaining. Because, honestly, the men would then be flattered. But I have to be a hot female first though, because if I posted a fake photo of a mediocre-to-ugly looking gal, then they wouldn’t be flattered. But since they are still females, they wouldn’t be creeped out by such public showing of attraction.
Anyway, perennial favorite strongman, Terry Hollands actually shared his thoughts on a forum where I had a brief discussion with about gay men being sexually-explicit with strongmen (online and off).
I quite regularly get messages from them and as a whole most are very decent. You do get the odd one or two that push the limit a little by being a bit crude but that’s the same in all people not just gay guys!
I think people are way too sensitive to this sort of stuff, just take it as a compliment! They understand you aren’t gay. The way I look at it if a very unattractive woman thought you was nice looking would it bother you? if not then don’t worry about this! Just cause they think you’re attractive doesn’t mean you have to do anything about it!!
I have blocked a couple on Facebook due to VERY inappropriate messages but like I said as a whole they are decent guys.
I am really happy to hear this from a strongman whom I have posted quite a number of times on the blog. (I’ll just pretend I didn’t talk about the “underwear model” comment for Big Tall Order. That was purely from a consumer’s viewpoint. *winks*) Sometimes, the hateful and insulting comments are overshadowed by something simple. And in this case, Mr. Hollands’ understanding viewpoint on gay men.
Yes, we are just like any kind of people. We can be nice, obnoxious, generous, selfish, loving, and hateful. We’re not aliens, for crying out loud. And, please, don’t make grandiose statements that “gay bears are the worse” in comparison to something a straight woman, bisexual chick, or female dog would do. It’s like saying that all black people like chicken. Well then, also call me black.
Enough of today’s rant. It’s another scorching Friday afternoon and I’d rather look at hot men. 😛
So, my dearest gentlemen of the big and burly variety… May we have your permission to find you attractive?
Well, I guess that’s pretty good enough. -_^
[The following screenshots of Stephen Lee are from Robocop 2. Yes, this is a BearFic. And, yes, it is very pathetic. But the photos look so lonely by themselves that I just gotta do a bit of an ad-libbed fiction…]
Insert Dirty Title Here
-Stephen Lee BearFic-
Okay, so I’m a dirty cop. Sue me. Find me a clean one, and I’ll know yer lyin’. Ain’t no clean cops around here no more. Even the laundromats use coke as detergents in this forsaken city.
And so what if I shoot concentrated Seduction7? Got nothing to be happy for in this goddamn hellhole. Plus, everyone’s doing it. And it don’t matter that I’m wearing a pig uniform. I always get the best seat in the strip joints. Not to mention unlimited lap dances. Just one of them perks but it’s nothing compared to the shit that goes on in this town.
You know how bad this city’s become? Listen, we gots robots doing our jobs for us. You believe that? Robots. I don’t know who’s crazier — me or the loony dumbasses who thought this one up. These robots… I don’t like ’em. They really fucking do their jobs……
I was just at the arcades playing “Ikari Warriors” ™ when one of them freaking robot grabbed my neck. He saw me buy some S7 from some punk kid of this district’s local gang. Shoulda been more careful. They got them supersonic vision shit. Shit!
Sonovabitch. Damn freak almost cracked my ribcage. Whoever the hell programmed this bastard is one sick fuck. I feel like some lardass elephant sat on my chest.
What did he think? I’m gonna tell him? I know my rights, I — oof!…..
“Okay okay okay….. Lester Freeman. I got the drugs from Lester Freeman. Freaking drugs behind that “Ikari Warriors” ™. Thought you got some superhuman vision assho — OW!”
Damn metalhead’s gonna kill me. And, aw. shit, Lester’s goons gonna get me too…..
It’s funny how the pigs get a handful of free passes from these robots. Either the slammer’s filled or they’re running out of recruits. For God’s sakes, that’s the least of my worries. I’m a dead man.
Well, it’s gotta end sooner or later. So here I am in some cliched deserted building. I remember being gagged while I was on my way to the hospital. I knew it was Lester’s goons…..
Ironic that on my final moments, I’m wrapped around with clean sheets. Jezus, clean freakin’ sheets. Guess I deserve this.
I just hope that this goofy doc’s scalpel does its job freaking quick…..
* * * * *
“…and in other news, notorious gang leader, Lester Freeman, was found dead four days ago from lethal poisoning. Sources are unclear as to how Freeman and thirty-three other people, currently being associated with Freeman’s Double Dragon Gang, died from what forensics have been referring to a ‘mysterious airborne toxin.’ Channel 1990 will keep you up-to-date with any latest update on this news as it unfolds… Now here’s a word from our sponsor…
‘Are you sick and tired of drinking your favorite soda with a straw? Are you sick and tired of lifting your frosty caffeinated beverage with your hand? Relax and worry no longer! Discover the Inject-A-Drink ™! One needle to your tongue and you’ll experience long-lasting paradise with any concentrated drink of your choice…”
Jesus, so Lester’s human after all. Good night, sweet prick.
Well, not a big loss anyway. There are more rival gangs here than I could care to count. Ah, speaking of which, time to enjoy some of this sweet, sweet S7, thanks to that Brazilian bonehead, Reinaldo.
I have reminisced a couple of times about a childhood crush of mine, Bud Spencer, in this blog. Today, I will be talking about another big crush; he is a Filipino actor who typically played the role of a bad guy or — to keep up with the theme of Goonday Moonday — a goon. His name is Bomber Moran and he made me realize just how wonderful the “chubby” physique was, how erotic it was when the chubby man role-played a villainous goon, and how even sexier if his big belly got punched (gut punch, specifically, and all in the name of role-playing, that is).
As a child in the Philippines, I would eagerly watch Bomber Moran in the theaters or rent his movies in Betamax. And when Betamax was replaced by VHS, I continued to rent his movies as well in the ’90s. But it was his ’80s and early ’90s films that made a tremendous impact on me. He was oftentimes this huggable lug of a bad guy that you just can’t help but root for him. But, then again, that was probably just me. I remember my confusion for wanting to hug the big chubby Bomber while at the same time, I ached to see his beautiful belly (I guess you can call it my “shirtless” fetish) as well as hoping to see it get punched. And not just once, but repeatedly.
Bad enough that I was ashamed about my gay feelings, but I was confused and also ashamed for wanting to see such a handsome man get beat up (you guys can read up on my BearBeat fetish as well). But even as a child, I knew that I did not get “excited” when the beatdown was real. It had to be role-played, such as on film/television or on the pro-wrestling ring. Still, to this day, I am very much confused as to why I get aroused by it. I would still search online for “gut punching” (as well as “ball busting”) and would get turned off by big guys really getting their bellies punched for real, to the point that their stunning body temples turned black and red and bruised. Just not erotic at all, in my personal opinion.
Bomber Moran was not a typical Filipino. Most Filipinos are fairly slim and men like Mr. Moran would definitely just stand out for me. As a child, most big men were foreigners, so whenever I would see someone that looked like Bomber in the Philippines, it would be both Christmas and Lent: I would get an awesome Christmas present but I could never open it. I still remember wishing that I had a hidden camera so that I could take a photo of him then store the photos in my scrapbook. Lol. Years later, here I am, blogging about it. It’s really pretty rad when I think about it. Yes. I said “rad.”
Check out the above blurry screenshot. I mean, just look at it. Since I’m assuming that you’re reading this and made it this far, then you know just how marvelous that image is. We all communicate on the same level where we are just completely mesmerized and wowed by such a shot. All of our senses are in complete harmony and disarray while our pupils dilate at something we wish could touch, smell, and even taste.
So, to me, that’s who Bomber Moran was. He passed away in 2004 which makes me reflect on how human life is just a series of repetition which would then recycle again but in various forms via differing generations and idealogies. That image of a Bomber Moran will reappear again somewhere. And the very concept of someone admiring that Bomber Moran will also co-exist somewhere at another time. And, of course, the simple-minded, hating bigots will also be there as well — always ready to criticize our immorality and downright “wrongness.”
How’s that for a sudden change in discussion? Yeah, I’ve been reflecting a lot about my life lately and I really wish that I could just stop with that and just enjoy life for what it is. Unfortunately, I’m just an inactive philosopher… 🙂
Anyway, now on to the great stuff. Here are three Bomber Moran video clips I have uploaded in YouTube:
In this video, Bomber is shirtless as he just got out of the shower. He asks his help (Vic Sotto) to make him some milk. As this was a slapstick comedy, Vic mixes up the liquid make-up with coffee cream. Or something like that. I don’t really know nor care. ^_^ Anyway, so he drinks it and he ends up showing us his marvelous belly.
I have already posted the animated gif of this multiple gut punching scene at the top of this post. Anyway, this is from the same film as above. This time, one of the maids got the best of the Big Bomber as she unleashes a flurry of gut punches on Mr. Moran. I just love the really fake and exaggerated gut punching sounds.
And, finally, this was a video that I’ve been hunting for everywhere. Thank goodness that a fellow Filipino uploaded the whole movie for Kambal Na Kamao. Unfortunately, he/she used a camcorder to video tape the TV, so it’s quite blurry… Anyway, if you watched the original version, the gut punching scene was edited so badly that the “good stuff” was always getting interrupted. Thanks to the robust power of Windows Movie Maker, I was able to stitch Bomber’s gut punching scene with no interruptions. The result? Wow. Just wow. Yes, I’m admiring my own work. Lol. Anyway, it’s just so awesome seeing Bomber get his judogi get slowly stripped away as we see his glorious, sweaty chubby body (yes, I can still see the sweat glisten through the VHS noises). I love to see just how helpless he is as the boxer, Rolando Rohol, does great work with punching Bomber’s belly.
If you can, go ahead and watch the original video. You’ll see how Bomber has the upper hand throughout the first part of the fight. He did a great job selling his bad guy persona. And then, finally, when the payoff finally hit, where he gets his just desserts, it ends up being all so orgasmic. Maybe not to most, but definitely to certain folk just like myself.
Anyway, these are three other Bomber Moran films that I have been desperately searching for. I’m posting it here for that little chance that someone actually knows, or even better, has one or all of these must-have Bomber Moran films…
Chinatown: Sa Kuko Ng Dragon – This was a “Bloodsport” clone and starred Ramon “Bong” Revilla, Jr. (who is a husky bear himself). Bomber shows up in the first scene where he was the first “evil” fighter in the ring. He is shirtless and wearing suspenders that supported a baggy-looking pants. Both of his arms get tied up at one point and the good guy (not sure who it was), punches him repeatedly on the gut then on his family jewels. There is this photo of Professor Toru Tanaka which resembles that scene I’m talking about…
Magbiro Ka Sa Lasing, Huwag Sa Bagong Gising – This was an ’80s comedy that starred Chiquito. Bomber got shirtless in this scene and tries to make advances towards a “hot” lady. The lady then stops his aggressive advances by tickling him. Needless to say, that was pretty hot. Anyway, later in the film, he gets gut punched repeatedly by Chiquito.
I.S.W.A.K. – I am not even sure as to what the exact title is. It’s supposed to be a pun on S.W.A.T. teams. So the title might be “S.W.A.K.” Unfortunately, only the Tagalog-speaking folk would understand the joke by having the “I” before the rest of the acronyms. Anyway, if there’s one video I would love to acquire from this list, this would be it. He is always shirtless on all of his scenes and is only wearing shorts (I think it was jeans). He plays the leader of a terrorist group and he would spend most of his time walking around and taunting the prisoners. I remember how erotic it was to see him practically naked while the hot sun caused his body to glisten in sweat. At one point, Redford White (the hero), finally captures Bomber Moran; and Bomber, for some reason, gets cornered on a big tree while Redford wraps a rope on poor shirtless Bomber. Seriously, I really believe that the director or writer was exactly like me. This movie was a full-blown chubby bear dream come true.
I’m hoping against hope that someone will one day upload those videos somewhere or even sell them. I want many people to know or remember Bomber Moran. Thank you for all of the entertainment, Bomber. Thank you.
At this point, I have composed a short photo essay on Drew Powell’s three main features and assets that tend to show up in any of his acting gigs. Let us begin…
THE LEFT NIPPLE
Before you go through the following exhibits, please refresh yourself with this old post: Drew Powell: A Scientific Discussion Of His Mammary Papilla.
Mr. Powell’s protruding nipples always make their appearances. However, it is his left nipple that tend to get the most screentime. Here are three completely different scenes from Leverage… You be the judge.
THE EXPOSED BELLY
Before perusing through the photos, please check out his two commercials: Jack In The Box and 21st Century Insurance. That’s right. His belly would always make a peek-a-boo appearance. Sometimes just a tease and sometimes it’s full-blown exposed such as in the images below…
THE DRAMATIC FACES
Finally, despite (and probably because of) Mr. Powell’s common “comedic” roles, he does the best he can with the materials that have been given to him. Here are just a few samples of his intense dramatic range…
Well, there you have it. After all of that, you’re probably wondering: “Man, when does he get shirtless?” Ah… Glad you asked. See you in the next post…
[Related Posts – Drew Powell]
This is quite possibly my most uncreative post title ever. And with that, here’s a haiku in seven parts…
Big bear is shirtless
Beeper, beer, tattoos, and fur
One-fourth of man’s head
Ruining this perfect pic
Can’t even get head
Shirtless, goateed bear
Staring at man’s one-fourth head
Says “No” to BJ
Arm with bear tattoos
A gecko crawls on his chest
Kneeling man, blue balls
Why can’t I get head
Snakeskin belt too tight, bear said
I kick his balls… missed!
Big bear removes belt
One-fourth head and blue balls smiles
Gets beat down instead
Beeper beeps and beeps
“Having fun with your blind date?”
I’ve decided to add the “Tag Cloud” on this blog’s sidebar; and as somewhat of an experiment on my part, I wanted to see if some — if not, all — of my favorite tags would become popular. Here are the current results…
Shirtless, Big Bear, Chubby Bear, Musclebear, Armpits, Strongman, Football, mmm, mmm, mmm…
I’m very amazed to learn that those keywords and tags are the most popular and they also happen to be my “choice tags” as well. Whenever I scour the internet for bear-related information, those are the “special” keywords/topics I look for to see if I would investigate a particular website or blog.
The only media personalities that showed up were these four: the talented cute cub, Joey Oglesby, the classic chubby bear John Goodman, the daddy bear Ray Winstone, and the big bear Warren Sapp. I really love the fact how all four are so varied from each other.
And with that, this is a sampling of what most of you guys and gals like the most:
Shirtless big/chubby musclebears
I previously mentioned my love for these washed-out
’70s porn-looking photos; well, here’s a musclechub for ya…
[I haven’t written a BearFic in quite a while. So, I decided to randomly mix up a couple of photos I’ve collected from my online journeys as well as photos from Renaissance Faires I had attended and create some semblance of story out of them. Even if my story gets a thumbs down, I hope that I will have made it up by posting these loverly bearish images for your viewing pleasure…]
A Good Bear Is Hard To Find
I’m not quite sure what day it is, nor month, nor even year. All I know is that my head hurts like a mother and I seem to be in some sort of outdoor circus. It’s a lovely day, that’s for sure, where I could taste the hickory flavor of burnt barbecues and get drunk from various mixtures of liquor and beer. More than likely, I’m drunk and I just do not know it.
A stocky and grizzly man stops me in my tracks. “Halt!” he orders, while I stare at his golden brown locks. “Join me in our festivities, young man and aid me in drowning my sorrows over a good cup of mead!”
Sure, why not? I tell myself. I enter his tent and I watch him wrestle with his drunken self as he tries to sit cross-legged on the ground. I assist him as I smell his sweat from wearing such ridiculous clothing that appears to be five layers thick.
“My liege,” (for I’m not quite sure what to call him) “methinks you should rest easy and remove thy pesky robes for it is hot and the tent is oh so cool.” I believe I giggled.
He then falls on his back, spilling his mead all over his robe. In an instant, he begins snoring.
I am tempted to disrobe him as I am painfully curious to see what was hidden beneath that heft.
But I decide against it and remove my shirt instead to clean the beautiful grizzly bear up.
And as I leave the tent and turn around, I see him completely naked and only completely dressed by his natural thick fur. He walks up to me and gently kisses me on my right cheek.
“Thank you,” he says as he slowly disappears within a haze of smoke.
“That’s a bit strange,” I tell myself. “Probably some sort of trick.”
While walking out, a younger man of spectacular girth meets me. “Fancy sparring with me?”
Sure, why not? I tell myself. He gives me a pole with protective foams on both ends. I believe I giggled.
Now, being twice as light as the young bear, I am quicker on my feet. I hit him on his belly multiple times but I do not hit as hard. He realizes this as he yells, “Harder, lad, harder! Hit me with all of your might!”
I listen to him until he falls on his back. The crowd around me screams for blood while the warrior bear lies helpless on the ground.
Again, my sex throbs in pain. How I want to just dominate the large man and tear his costume apart.
But I decide against it and remove my pants so that I, too, am humiliated from the fight.
And as I walk away, equally beaten and shamed, I see him completely naked and only completely dressed by his natural thick fur. He walks up to me and kisses me on my left cheek.
“Thank you,” he says as he slowly disappears within a haze of smoke.
“I must learn that clever trick,” I tell myself.
Shirtless and pantless, I see a husky man entertaining the public with a toy catapult. It costs 1 gold to play but as I have left my pants somewhere, I do not have any funds.
The husky bear calls me and offers that I play the game for free. “There is a catch, though.” he says. “You must completely soak me with these water balloons first. It’s fairly easy as I will be standing about three feet away from you. If you don’t hit me at least once, you will owe me a hundred gold.”
Sure, why not? I tell myself. He gives me 100 water balloons. I believe I giggled.
He then stands approximately three feet away from me as he extends his arms and legs apart. “You may commence.”
I do commence but I do not hit him. Instead, I drench the Gentle Ladies of Camelot, the Mosaic Bards of the Common West, and the Lost Tribes of Myceria.
And as I kneel in front of him to offer my service of servitude for I do not have a single gold, I see him completely naked and only completely dressed by his natural thick fur. He walks up to me and kisses me on my lips.
“Thank you,” he says as he slowly disappears within a haze of smoke.
“This is getting stranger by the minute,” I tell myself.
As I walk through the grassy knolls, a large bald man blocks my way.
“Am I too good for you?” he asks me demandingly.
“I’m not sure what you mean.”
“See these biceps? Are they not to your liking? See the fur on my chest? Are they not furry enough?”
And the more I look at him as he flexes his muscles, I notice that he resembles the drunken grizzly bear.
My head aches even further so I run away until I can not run any further.
In my way is a mob of large men of varying sizes. One, in particular, catches my eye.
He then sees me as he pushes away through the throng of bearish men.
“Am I too good for you?” he asks me demandingly.
“Are you ashamed of me? Do I frighten you among these other people?”
And the more I look at him, I notice that he resembles the bear warrior.
I refuse to answer his questions so I run away, my head hurting even more.
I then hit a large man who’s purchasing some drinks. I cannot help but stare and admire his beautiful build.
“Why do you resist? Why can’t you accept who you are?”
And the more I look at him, I notice that he resembles the husky bear with the catapult.
With my mind reeling, I run away. I run until the moon is within my view. All I see is darkness except for a small dot of light in the distance.
I walk towards it and see a lone arcade machine where a parody of a large and brutish man stands waiting to be punched in the belly.
I tear up, not knowing why, and proceed to punch it on the belly.
I punch and punch and punch until my fists are red. And I punch some more until I briefly see this image:
* * * * *
“Hey there, wake up.”
I wake up shivering and soaking from sweat. I look around me and it appears that I seem to be in some kind of hospital tent.
“Are you feeling better?” a nurse asks me.
“Yes. Just had the weirdest dream.”
“No stomach pains?”
“Good. Good. Here, drink some water.”
I drink the water and it refreshes me. As my vision clears up, I notice that there are many female nurses in the tent. Many. Way too many.
They are whispering at each other while they stare at me. I only hear bits and pieces, such as “He’ll do” and “I should go first” and “I hope we bear boys.”
I realize what’s going on. What a cruel joke this is. I call my nurse and request for a larger female first.
Also, a blindfold.
My jaws literally dropped when I saw a new blog called Bears In Games hosted by Koobert. I scarfed through all of the 4 podcasts he currently has and they were all freaking fantastic. If you’re a “gaymer,” whether a casual or hardcore one, you should definitely check out this wonderful podcast. Koobert is an awesome host with a great sense of humor. You literally feel like he’s talking right beside you. And his taste in bears, from chubby bears to muscle bears, is just my cup of tea. What are you guys waiting for? Check it out already! This is definitely a monumental FIRST! for us gamers and bear lovers, and we need to support Koobert.
His very first podcast was about Saints Row 2,
a game that I have once posted about here…
In his pocasts, I have learned about the surprising Tom of Finland homosexual subtexts with Final Fight and have witnessed a homophobic douchebag disconnecting his XBOX Live connection after getting pummeled by Koobert’s underwear-wearing musclebear in Soul Calibur IV. I literally jumped out of my chair as I witnessed the homophobe’s humiliating defeat. Awesome job, Koobert!
It’s been hectic today so I was unable to create some screenshots for today’s Woofy Winner Wednesday. The winner is Nick Frost, by the way, with the poll results of 136-206. Christmas Day should be much better for me, so see you guys tomorrow, and have a safe and wonderful holiday season!
Here’s a non-recent Mike Holmgren collage (as he was still with the Green Bay Packers) in the meantime… 🙂
I’m a big fan of bizarre and offbeat humor. My favorite is/was The Perry Bible Fellowship (unfortunately the website’s gone now); however, a suitable replacement is the clever Married To The Sea and Superpoop which are created by a married couple, Drew and Natalie Dee.
One of my secret dreams is to be a cartoonist. Unfortunately, I can’t even draw a straight line. In the meantime, let’s do a little bit of metahumor by combining some Married To The Sea/Superpoop comics/photos with my collection of bearish/chubby screenshots/photos. Did you get a headache/rolly-eyes yet with all of that forward slashes? I hope you did and I’m calling this type of subgenre of BearFic as a BearComicSlashFic. -_^
* * * * * * * * * *
* * * * * * * * * *
Like I said, I have a “very different” type of humor. As I was inspired by Drew and Natalie Dee’s creations, here’s my attempt… Please be nice. 😛
Scouserugger’s Real Men is not just my latest favorite blog, it is also precisely the type of blog I wish many bear/chub admirers would create. I also love the fact that he puts names to their faces. As a tribute to this awesome blog, here are two rugby-related collages I did a few years back…
Speaking of putting names in faces, I was wondering if any of you guys know the big bear blokes on the first collage.
One year ago, I decided to blog about a large, yet hidden, part of me: my attractions and love for “bearish men.” It was very new to me, because prior to this, I managed a private Yahoo Group that pretty much did the same thing I’m doing now here (and long story short, I abandoned that group because I thought that it was best if I “turned straight” — thank goodness I didn’t go with it).
Over the course of that year, I have met many new and old friends alike. I am very thankful to all of you for browsing through, commenting (both positive and negative), and supporting this blog. I can’t express my gratitude enough for being able to share such passions with like-minded people.
So with that, I’ve decided to drop the “Weblog” as this blog is starting to have a life of its own. Plus, I seem to imply that my name is “BearMythology.” Anyway, I’m not “physically” a bear, though the years seem to be putting some good pounds on me. I’m slowly trying to “come out of the closet” somewhat, so if you have a MySpace page or LiveJournal blog, do add me as your friend. Also, if you have a YouTube page, please add or invite me. I’m not quite “savvy” with all of these social-networking sites since I’m not a very “sociable” person (both online and off).
So, what happened this past year?
My number one bear is still Ray Winstone.
Chris Dowd is one media personality I am unbelievably massively obsessed with.
Heinz Ollesch, Terry Hollands, Leon White, Reese Hoffa, Manuel Martinez, Christian Cantwell, Prince Fielder, Joba Chamberlain, Jeff Saturday, and Kasey Studdard are just but a handful few of my favorite bearish athletes.
I posted about Warren Sapp about 1 post too many… And I will continue to post about this woofy bear!
Strongman and musclechub extraordinaire Phil Martin emailed me and he was super friendly.
Interviewed a fantastically woofy straight pro wrestler, Shane Morbid.
Got involved in some online drama with a strongman’s (Boris Haraldsson) girlfriend which fortunately led to a happy ending.
Recently started doing weekly polls (Two Woofy Tuesday) for which I’m not doing too good in (I’m 0-for-3!).
Having way too much fun on Shirtless Saturday.
I love pro-wrestling way too much as it completes the trifecta of my bear fetishes.
I’m always fascinated/horrified at what the straight guys tend to comment about this blog. Here’s one recent discussion about my J-Rocc posting. (“Popular gay blog”? Lol)
Here’s my most important post ever on the blog: Carl Sagan’s A Pale Blue Dot.
Well, that’s pretty much a small sampling of what happened this past year. Here’s looking forward to Year 2…
[The following screenshots of the Statue of Demuul is from Marlboroma1n’s Flickr Page. I love the photos so much that I’ve written a BearFic out of it. Wait for it… LOL.]
The Statue Of Demuul
I’ve always done crazy things. I once thought that I could defy gravity and broke my right thumb while rolling down Nayramadin Peak when I was but a child. Another time, I thought that I could sense moving objects while my eyes remained closed while crossing the busy streets of Ulaanbaatar. I thought I was fearless, but my mother always reminded me that I was simply crazy like my father. My father left my mother while I was in my youth. She had never said it, but I knew that she blamed me for it. Maybe I do blame myself which was why I did the things I did. I wanted to know why I was alive. Or maybe because I wanted to be with my father, wherever he was.
But I knew that I was really crazy when the Statue of Demuul spoke to me.
“Thank you,” it said.
I thought it was Batukhan playing another silly prank. I always wondered if he knew that I would always pass a secretive glance at the beautiful Statue of Demuul. I circled the statue and did not find Batukhan.
“Up here,” it said.
I faced the statue and it looked exactly like it had always been. Solid, firm, and strong. I could not stop gazing at its wide and bulky chest.
“I want to thank you, Bataar.”
“Thank me, for what?” I foolishly responded, trying to stop from laughing.
“For loving me.”
It suddenly did not become a joke. I would find this joker and beat the living daylights out of him.
“You’re the only one who notices me. I have sat here through decades and no one has looked at me the way you do.”
Not only was this strange, but I was even more angered at someone knowing about my deepest secrets. I started to run away.
“Bataar! Please! Come back!”
There was something in its voice that prompted me to stop. Its voice was very familiar. it was the same aching voice I hear in my heart when I think of finding my father.
I was crazy anyway, I told myself, and returned to the statue.
“What exactly do you want me to say?” I asked.
“Through the long winters I was covered in ice but did not know what the cold felt like. And in the short summers, I saw the sun, yet never knew the warmth of its beams. But, Bataar, every time I saw you pass by, you would look at me and I would feel either coldness or warmth. I could even hear the rustle of the distant trees and songs of the little birds nested within. You have given me a gift. And I want to thank you.”
I took it all in, as though I was talking to a real person. There was an honesty to what it said and I could not help but feel sympathetic.
“But how can you be, well, alive? You are a Khunbish. You are not human!”
“I may not be human, but your love has given me life.”
“I am either insane or truly insane.”
“Perhaps. But is it truly a bad thing?”
I proudly showed it my fractured thumb and the scar on my left hip that I got from a swerving motorcycle while crossing the streets of Ulaanbaatar with my eyes closed. “Yes. Yes, it is.”
The statue laughed and said, “I was actually there when they happened. Look at my right thumb and left hip.”
I stared dumbfounded at its fractured thumb and scar. “This cannot be real.”
“I never believed it myself. I just know that you have given me life, and I want to thank you.”
“This is unfair. What exactly do I do now?” Suddenly, I now have that aching voice.
“There is always purpose, Bataar. I now know why I am alive.”
I stared at its unmoving lips, waiting for it to explain.
“I am your pain vessel. I store your pains.”
“That does not make any sense,” I replied.
“I am not sure of it myself. I just know that that is my purpose. Please. Look into my eyes.”
I looked at its eyes and I felt an electrical surge going through my body, except that it did not hurt at all. I saw a bright light and I thought that I saw my father.
“Look at your thumb. It’s not fractured any longer.” I looked at my thumb and it was indeed healed. “Look at your scar and you will not find it.” I did and was amazed at it being gone. “Do not worry, my little Bataar. I will protect you from all your pains…”
* * * * *
The doctor walked inside Room 405 and found the mother crying besides her son’s hospital bed.
“Doctor, will my son be okay?”
“Your son has suffered through a severe head concussion and he will be unconscious for quite some time. The x-rays and police report have indeed verified that he was beaten multiple times on the head and was possibly thrown down a flight of stairs. Mrs. Ali, you may want to talk to the police outside. They need to know where your husband might be.”
A nurse assisted Mrs. Ali as they left Room 405.
What the doctor did not tell Mrs. Ali was that her son, Bataar, had only a few hours to live. The doctor had learned to lie during traumatic moments such as these as honesty was sometimes a bitter pill to swallow. A gust of wind then opened the windows as the doctor walked over to close them. And as he closed the windows, he saw the mighty Statue of Demuul from a distance.