You Know What If A Polar Bear Shows Up In My Driveway I'm Not Going To Hug It

I'm not even playing about that, if a polar bear shows up in my driveway I'm not going to hug the damn thing. I'm probably going to shoot it, if I can get to a firearm. And if I'm not able to get to a firearm, I'm going to beat it with my steel Starbucks coffee mug, because that's usually what I leave the house with when I head out to my truck. Which is in my driveway. Which is where the polar bear might show up for hugs.

And I'm not hugging it. No. Not even if it's not in the driveway. If the polar bear shows up in, say, my kitchen, I'm not hugging it there, either. I'm grabbing two of the biggest knives out of my knife block and I'm yelling "HAVE AT YOU!" and I'm lunging at its eyes with the knives, because then if I connect it'll be blind and can't see me. And if it can't see me, it certainly can't hug me. Which is what I want - no hugs from a polar bear.

Because fuck polar bears. And fuck hugs. I don't want that shit. I'm telling you. If you're a polar bear and you're reading this and you're thinking "You know what I want is a hug" and then you think "You know who I want a hug from is Joe Peacock" and then you think "You know where I want that hug from Joe Peacock is in his driveway" then FUCK YOU. And if you think kitchen instead of driveway, know that I'm going to stab your eyes.

I'm not even kidding.