King Bear, he roamed the land. He was the King, no question about it. He was bigger than the Sears Tower laid lengthwise and twice as tall. King Bear went lookng for a diamond and dug out the Grand Canyon just pawing through the dirt, is how big King Bear was. When King Bear said "jump," Neil Armstrong found himself on the moon, talking about how it was one small step for a man. It must have been static that obscured the rest, about how it was just a bit of a stretch for King Bear.

Once, King Bear decided to have a swim in the Atlantic. He paddled across, heaving up onto a green spur filled with an intriguing amber liquid. After sampling several thousand barrels of the intersting liquid, King Bear splashed back and fell down, smooshing the land underneath him to the left and the right. Where he fell eventually filled up with sea water and is now the Gulf of St. Lawrence. When Canadians talk about "Newfoundland" they mean "Hey, that used to be part of Canada! I guess it's new that it's over here."

That morning, King Bear was hungry. He roared for coffee, pancakes, bacon, sausage, and eggs. Throughout the land, the call went out: King Bear needs breakfast.

The massive forges of Pittsburgh were halted in their production of rails and automobile bodies and redirected to create the most tremendous of griddles, a lake of perfect stainless steel. The vast reservoirs of oil in Texas and Louisiana were tapped to provide cooking fuel, tanker truck after tanker truck delivering its own small part. Dairy cows throughout the land were shaken and terrified into producing the purest butter, and maple trees were given a LOOK until they bled every ounce of sap. Entire forests of coffee bean trees were felled. King Bear would not go wanting.

Out in the forest, the astonishing kitchen took shape. An urn which could and did hold half of Lake Tahoe was filled and set to boil, while griddles were greased by hundred-score teams of ice skaters wearing pats of butter on their feet, sliding across the griddle. Within the earth was lit a cookfire so vast that Mount St. Helens sobbed and gave up, feeling inadequate.

And so the cooking began. Pancake batter was poured by endless lines of cement mixers. Pigs said their prayers and leaped through wires, slicing themselves into bacon before falling onto the fire. Thousands of chickens proved that they could in fact fly when it became necessary, performing precision egg-bombing maneuvers to create a scrambled egg dish large enough to amaze even Colonel Sanders. There is a myth that each of the chickens also sprinkled one of the 17 secret ingredients, but that's just stupid. How would chickens carry spices? However, some of the chickens did carry salt while others of them carried pepper.

King Bear was well pleased in his breakfast. He lapped at the coffee, wolfed the eggs, chewed the bacon, munched the pancakes. King Bear ate and ate and ate. His chewing started small earthquakes in California, and when he licked his lips the tiny bit of dribble that flew off became what we now call "Miami." Finally, King Bear was done. But just before he settled down for a late morning nap, he reared up and let loose with the mightiest burp that has ever been heard. It was a belch that unleashed not just the odors of his breakfast, but the stench of the very bowels of the earth. The unholy smell from before the dawn of time roared past King Bear's teeth, freed upon the world.

And that, children, is how we got Tom Leykis.