Picnic baskets were just a gateway addiction for Yogi Bear. Every day he would beg, borrow and steal himself a picnic basket and would gorge himself on what he found inside.
But soon, he started to grow a resistance to towering stacks of BLT sandwiches and bags of unidentifiable treats that it just wasn’t enough. He started to take the picnic blanket along with the basket. He would line the food up along the middle of the blanket, roll it up and smoke it like an oversized, checkerboard spliff, just to get the stolen swag into his system faster. After taking a large drag from a PBNJ, cocktail sausage and Pringle doobie, Yogi once coughed so hard that a few speckles of blood dripped from his mouth onto his tie, which he had neglected to iron. This gave him an idea.
A couple walked into Jellystone Park one Tuesday evening. Yogi watched them carry their picnic basket to a secluded area where they ate until they could do nothing but watch the sun set and fall asleep leaning on each other. Yogi had contained himself by grinding down and snorting a Scotch egg, but even then his hands were shaking and he walked out of the bushes. He loomed over the man and starred at his skin. Inside the man, Yogi knew all the picnic molecules were swimming around in his human blood, just waiting to be poached. Yogi pulled out the needle that he found in a cave that was frequently used as a crack den and held it to the sleeping man’s forearm.
Yogi thought to himself, “Is this what I’ve become?”
Wonderfully weird. Loved it.
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