Terror of the Drop Bear

In my endless adventures around suburban Northern California, I've encountered a great number of exotic, hideous beasts. Many of them have been extremely frightening and horribly dangerous, but NONE of them filled me with more dread than the one I've been researching for the last 45 days.

I won't go into the complex details, but I was studying an Australian bicycle race at work when I stumbled onto some information about a mysterious creature that stalks the wooded areas of the Australian bush, searching for victims on which to feed. And I'm sad to report that at least one of these creatures has made its way to American soil.

Now I know what you're thinking: how can anything from Australia be dangerous? This is the same country/continent that brought us some of our most beloved institutions, like Yahoo Serious and Jacko. But unlike those two cherished icons, these creatures aren't hilariously wacky or heroically masculine. They are cold-blooded and vicious, with no remorse and no second thoughts about brutally dismembering whomever's unfortunate enough to cross their paths. Please send your children out of the room, and for those who are squeamish, I apologize in advance for what I'm about to show you. But it must be seen. Lay your virgin eyes upon...the Drop Bear.



The Drop Bear, or Dropbear, is a distant relative of the Australian koala bear (koalamus bearus), and shares many of its physical features. But instead of eucalyptus leaves, the Drop Bear chews on HUMAN FLESH. And instead of a gum tree, it prefers to sink its claws into YOUR TORSO. Standing roughly four feet tall, with broad shoulders and sporting razor-sharp teeth and talons, the Drop Bear waits for its prey in the branches high above before leaping down on it, tearing and clawing through the victim's skin and clothes in a ravenous race to reach the nourishing entrails. Food is not the Drop Bear's primary concern, however. Like most Americans, it eats when it isn't even hungry. First hand accounts are rare since no scientist who ever attempted to study Drop Bears has ever returned alive, but behavioral studies gleaned from recovered audio tapes and rock carvings give every indication that Drop Bears actually enjoy the sound of desperate human screams. Running will not save you, as the Drop Bear can reach ground speeds of up to 35mph. A car or truck is no safe haven either; Drop Bears have been known to rip car doors off and smash through windshields.

Even though I'm fully aware that everything written on the Internet is true, I still had to do some hands-on research of this chilling subject. To protect the people. My people. In order to get a glimpse of a Drop Bear, or at least gain a greater understanding of its natural habitat, I combed every Outback Steakhouse within a 30-mile radius of my home. At the third one I visited I encountered Ozzie Matty, a wise Tasmanian mystic moonlighting as a Bloomin' Onion cook. He gave me the ironclad, foolproof method to discerning if there is a Drop Bear is in the vicinity. He instructed me (I beg you to pay close attention, for your own safety) to travel to the nearest wooded area and lay down on my back. Then, I had to purse my lips and spit straight up into the air. If someone spit back on me, it was a Drop Bear.

Now I'm not an idiot; I wasn't just going to take this man's word because he was old and spoke with a slightly faltering Australian accent. I had to test his theory for myself, no matter how dangerous. So early on a Saturday morning, I quietly crept into the lonely woods just beyond the Petco near my house and laid down. Fighting off a brutal case of cottonmouth, I generated as much spit as I could and launched it as far up as possible. Before I could breathe a sigh of relief, a gob of spit exploded directly in the middle of my forehead. Again, I'm no idiot, so I wasn't going to jump to a quick conclusion. I reasoned that it must've been the discharge of another animal, perhaps a squirrel. A squirrel wouldn't spit on me twice, so I tried it again. And again. And again. Each time my secretion was returned. It was undeniable: THERE IS A DROP BEAR IN MY CITY.

Covered in Drop Bear saliva yet heroically maintaining my composure, I quickly wiped my face with some green leaves I found on the ground and ran off as furiously as I could. How did I escape the blinding speed of the Drop Bear? It was partly due to my own tremendous swiftness (in high school I was Master of the 12-Minute Mile). But through more painstaking introspection, I've deduced that the Drop Bear actually allowed me to gain a head start. My elevated adrenaline level must've given off an intoxicating pheromone, raising the sweetness of my blood. The Drop Bear sensed this, and waited for my hemoglobin to reach an orgasmic level of deliciousness before devouring me. In somewhat less scientific terms: Drop Bears FEAST ON FEAR and DINE ON DANGER.

Fortunately, the Drop Bear's saliva wasn't acidic. It did however, leave me with a terribly itchy rash on my face. Now it's clear; not only can Drop Bears shred your intestines like iceberg lettuce and pull your legs clean off, but they also spit toxic venom.

So with calamine on my face and worry in my heart, I implore you: BE ON THE LOOKOUT FOR DROP BEARS. Don't go near any trees or anything that can be mistaken for a tree. I care deeply about all of you except Freefall Jones, and I realize that none of you are as quick or crafty as me. If you're targeted by a Drop Bear, you won't be able to flee successfully as I did. The best prevention against getting mauled is avoidance. In this case, knowing is ALL the battle. For extra guidance, here's an artist's rendition of a Drop Bear:



Of course, it may seem unnecessary to post a drawing of a Drop Bear when I already posted a photo of one earlier. But some people respond better to illustrations.

Unfortunately, we may be forced to stay indoors completely if we wish to keep our innards intact, as lately I've been uncovering reports of burrowing Drop Bears and aquatic Drop Bears, which attack from underground tunnels and watery environments, respectively. When I think about it, I'm not sure why they're called Drop Bears, when they don't actually drop, but rather dig and swim. But that's beside the point. We're in serious danger people; I only hope you can follow my lead before more Drop Bears appear and gorge themselves on you and everyone you care about. Follow me people. Follow me.