There is an ungainly hump of muscle between the grizzly bear’s shoulders. It does not have any grizzly bear friends but instead wanders around alone. Even the most overweight man in the recorded history of the world is not as fat as a grizzly bear, which can weigh up to fourteen hundred pounds. It is a hairy beached whale lumbering around on hulking legs.
Moving along its hunched back, one will find patches of rough white fur. The grizzly bear’s pelt is like the head of a balding old man, knotted with thin, greasy clumps of hair. It mostly eats grass and berries like some kind of deluded hippie. Before hibernation it gorges itself on fish and becomes fat.
(It sleeps for up to two-thirds of the year, wrapped up in a lazy glorified nap while the rest of the world keeps going without it, ignoring the fact that it is ignoring them. It is so fat that it can live off of what it has stored.)
Bears eat moose. They attack newborns, crushing them and ripping them apart before leaving them to rot. Anyone who thinks a grizzly bear is noble has not seen the gore on its snout or the death it leaves in its wake.
If you threaten a bear, or if you wake it from its idiot slumber, it will probably kill you. The bear has claws that are as long as a human finger, their vicious curl perfect for grasping and ripping. If you approach her cubs, she will tear out your throat. She is overprotective and jealous. She can run twice as fast as you. She will devour your corpse in one sitting.
The grizzly bear can live to be forty, but only behind the glass walls of a zoo. It is not even old enough to have a midlife crisis, which is good because its existence is already a crisis. It gets old without being old enough to retire. It doesn’t have a job. If it did have a job, it would get fired because it is too fat and lazy. That’s all for today about grizzly bears.