Connect with us

Just Crushing

Unbearables Merchandise Is Now Available Worldwide is crushing.

Poppa J Bear



Merchandise Is Now Available Worldwide

You know the name. You’ve seen the merch. But for many Bears living outside the United States of America, owning a piece of Unbearables Merchandise has only been dream.

That all changes now, as Unbearables Merchandise is now available to be shipped all over the earth realm!

No longer will Bears outside the USA say to themselves ‘Must be nice’ when a new piece of Unbearables Merchandise is announced. Unbearables Merch can now be shipped to over 240 countries!

Here are some of the featured items:

‘A Hill To Grow On’ Beartaria design T-shirts available in several different colors
‘A Hill To Grow On’ Beartaria design is available on Hoodies as well
Classic ‘Logos Rising’ design

Go check out to see more designs. You can also find them on Instagram @unbearables_merch.

Indeed, Unbearables Merchandise is crushing!

Children Stories

The Busy, Busy Banker

A Van Allen Bear original children’s story.

Van Allen Bear



An Original By Van Allen Bear, With Special Thanks to Purely Living Papa Bear

In a little town across the hills, there was a busy market and school with kids at play. Busy, busy was this town, everyone was out-and-about for the break of spring. All the parents were having a grand old time, all the moms and all the dads, all but one. This was a man who had a very busy job in a very busy bank. They had so many checks coming in and things to read and stuff to stuff and coins to count! On these notes the people were so hurried and busy that they would accidentally misspell the names and the information to pay one another! This bothered the busy banker very very much, for he had to correct these honest errors while auditing the checks to make sure his friends could go about their business. He knew all the people and all the people knew him, so the busy banker knew exactly what the well-meaning parents meant to write, and there was never an issue. But, oh, this was the busiest time of the year, very busy indeed! There were so, so many things to read and errors to correct, it drove the busy banker sour.

“Bah! These parents keep making mistakes and it’s got me all sour and twisted up! This time of year is always the worst with all these notes going in and out of the bank with all these errors on them! Here’s one,” he picked up a crispy white check, “twenty dollars for a soccer ball? The name is written in such poor handwriting, but I know it’s from Mr. Hemsworth, I’ll have to make it right, after all, the man just bought a soccer ball. Another one,” he said, while lifting up a wadded up blue check, “This is hardly legible! I cannot read the name so well, and it says thirty-four dollars for… for a… pair of… sour cream?! There is no such thing as a pair of sour cream, this just cannot be right. Ah, wait now,” he said as the teller offered a magnifying glass to the check, “a pair of… yes, shoes, alright, soccer shoes it says! My goodness what terrible handwriting, this must be from Mr. Dremmer for his son Scott. Yes, with a trained eye, one can tell this is truly the work of Mr. Dremmer.”

The busy banker kept going on and on about all these checks and accounts and to each one there was a mystery of some kind, something that was missing and that was driving him straight sour! “Oh, how this is so bothersome and everyone might be doing this on purpose to make my day so hard and unenjoyable to the point that I’m straight sour!” he said while he was closing up in his office.

He couldn’t help thinking all evening and all night about all these misspelled accounts. The busy banker’s children were in the yard and asked him to play, but the busy banker was in such a bad mood that he just wouldn’t go, but instead watched them from his thinking chair on the porch.

This continued all week; all week the busy banker woke up sour, went to work and got more sour, and came home all upset and in his head. That Sunday night he said, “surely there must be something to this, it’s busy like this every year, but this year is extra busy! I’m going to catch the next person who gives a check and ask them what has got all this business in town.”

When the morning came, bright and early, the sour busy banker perched by the deposit box and waited for the first check of the day. Not long after 7 a.m. there was Mr. Cotton and his son Rufus to make a bill of transfer.

“Good morning sir, and how can I help you today?” the busy banker asked of the two.

“Hello sir, good day, we are here to make our first payment to Mr. Hemsworth! It’s a meager amount but the man doesn’t ask for much, just enough for supplies and snacks for all the children.” said Mr. Cotton.

“What now, what now you say? That’s quite interesting. I know the man just bought a soccer ball for his family. Why, might I ask, would you be paying him an honest amount? Is there something happening that I’m not aware of?” asked the busy banker.

“Why yes!” said little Rufus, “yes there is a soccer league starting here, all the parents’ kids are getting older and we want to play sports!”

“Good heavens! No one has told me! That’s something alright.” said the busy banker.

“Well, I suspect you’ve been too busy sir,” said Cotton, “here’s the news: Hemsworth is making a large league with teams, and his own children are going to play. His daughter is in the girls’ league and his son in the boys’ league. Isn’t that such a good idea?”

As the day went on, parents were buying shin pads and shoes and a big order of 100 tall blue socks. Of course, there were countless revisions to be made and all sorts of things to read and all kinds of coins to count! My oh my was this banker busy, he was very busy indeed.

That night he came home exhausted and plopped his briefcase on the table and sat in his thinking chair on the porch and watched his children play. They called him to join but he had been so busy that he had just no energy left to do more than spectate. But then, suddenly, he had a wonderful idea, “Children! Come close, I’m going to tell you what: I’ll ask to get you into the soccer league that’s just starting, and I will come watch after work and you will make the afternoons full of games and snacks and practicing with some new friends.”

“Yes dad, that sounds perfect! Thank you!” said his children all together.

The next day the busy banker wrote a perfectly legible, wonderfully crisp check to Mr. Hemsworth for an honest amount. Another parent came into the bank to do the same, and the busy banker was happy to correct the errors on the check, for he knew that it was not for a “nu jerzey,” but instead for a brand-new soccer jersey! It was less busy that day, for there was less of a mystery to what all these misspelled checks were for and to who they were addressed.

Upon the end of the week, the first practice was to begin, and the busy banker’s wife had gotten the children to the fields on time with new jerseys and shin guards and shoes.

The busy banker went to the fields to watch his children practice after work and there he met quite a few new parents that he hadn’t seen before. They were quite nice, and the busy banker recognized them by the names on the checks as they introduced themselves.

“I do apologize, however, I cannot help but comment that your checks are all misspelled when they come to the bank, and it makes us all quite busy.” Said the busy banker to the newly acquainted parents, “It’s quite some trouble, but we at the bank have been able to sort it out with some thinking.”

Embarrassed, the parents told the busy banker that they were busy too, and suspected that they had made some mistakes. They explained they knew how smart and good the busy banker was at fixing their mistakes, and that he was in the bank all day setting things right. They are grateful that the busy banker does such a good job of making sure things are in order so all the parents’ children can play in the new league and Mr. Hemsworth can make a fair wage.

Just as they had finished saying so, Mr. Hemsworth called a break. Coach Hemsworth, and a long friend of the busy banker, asked him to hand out oranges. The busy banker was introduced as the man whose kids are also practicing and who makes sure that the finances are all straightened out so everyone can have their shoes and their jerseys on time. The kids said all together, “thank you!” to the busy banker and he couldn’t help but smile a delighted smile.

From there on, the busy banker found a sense of pride in his corrections, for they relied on him and he was happy to offer his time to help the parents and kids all play soccer and get their expenses in order. No more was the banker so busy and sour, now the banker realized that he was a critical part in helping all the parents in town who were just like him. They weren’t making his life hard on purpose, they were relying on his hard work and diligence for he was the best at writing checks.

From that day on the banker always gets excited for the sporting times of the year. It seems all he needed was a little change of perspective for all his hard work that was keeping him so busy, and he knew it was a duty of his to make sure the town kept busy and happy and playful all summer long.

Continue Reading

Just Crushing

How Lettuce Saved This Bear’s Car Battery

Planting seeds can grow friendships.




I planted lettuce seeds in 50 containers, grew them, gave lettuce to each of my neighbors, and it saved me hundreds of dollars.

What are the consequences of mass human isolation? What happens when people stop interacting? Lose the subtleties and warmth of face-to-face human interaction? What happens when neighbors are turned into viruses? “Should we spark some racial tension?” 

2020 marks the most elaborate experiment in fear and isolation in human history. What are the psychological repercussions of that? What impact does isolating people in a state of despair have on the human soul? Has anyone stopped to consider the psychological damage that results from keeping children isolated in a state of fear for extended periods of time? 

In many ways 2020 can be defined as the year that revealed how disconnected people already were from one another. One word, “pandemic,” and neighbors morphed into viruses. People isolated in their homes for months. When they do leave, they and everyone around them are in concealment. You couldn’t see them smile at you even if they did. People already didn’t know their neighbors and just like that they were turned into ticking time bombs of imminent demise. 

We watched as people raided grocery stores. “100 rolls of toilet paper for me and none for anyone else.” Look how quickly society devolved into a fear filled pit of isolated despair. Am I going to get sick? Will we have food? Will I lose my job? Will I lose my house? Will I lose my rights? Be injected with chemicals? 

The one commonality in all these fears is isolation. Why do people fear they will be unable to get a job if they are laid off? Why do people fear they will go hungry? Or that their town will be overrun with rioters? 

People point out all the problems in the world but fail to do the little things to improve their world. We have all heard grandparents talk about a time when people didn’t lock their doors. We think that has been taken from us, but we can only take it from ourselves. Community takes effort and trust takes time. What have you done to adjust to the present world?

Last week I had an idea, I was going to get to know my neighbors. Do something kind, unprovoked, social, in a time where all are lacking. I planted heirloom mustard cut and grow again lettuce in 50 separate containers – with the help of my son of course. A week passed, and 49 had sprouted.

I put the containers in a box and walked door to door down my block handing them out as presents. I met people that I have lived on the same block as for three years yet didn’t know their names. I wasn’t greeted with fear, demands to back up, or ignored, but I was blanketed with smiles and laughter. I couldn’t have imagined how quickly the kind gesture would be repaid. 

As it turns out one of my neighbors spends their spare time fixing clunkers and flipping them for profit. I mentioned that my car hasn’t started since the week prior and I was going to have to replace the battery. He quickly replied, “no need for that, let me take a look at it.” We walked across the street and back to my house and popped the hood of the car. “You don’t need a new battery, let me go get my battery charger.” He came back, hooked up the battery charger to my car’s battery, and told me to check back in eight hours. Later that day I put my keys into the ignition, turned, and heard the sweet sound of my car engine roar. 

Just like that planting a seed saved me hundreds of dollars; and I’m not talking about a lettuce seed. One unprovoked act of kindness and community building sprouted a friendship. I now trust my neighbor and I’m pretty sure my neighbor trusts me. 

One of the primary functions of parents is to establish the culture their children grow up in. If you don’t establish the culture, outside forces will establish it for you. I don’t know about you, but I’m not going to permit my child to grow up in a state of isolated fear and despair.

“You must love your neighbor as yourself”


Guest Article Submitted By,

Brett Pike

Twitter: @ClassicalLearner

Instagram: @ClassicialLearnerToday

Original article published on,

Continue Reading

Word From The North

Fruit, Not Blood

A Van Allen Bear Original.

Van Allen Bear



By Van Allen Bear

There is a type of man that sits on his stool,

So sure, so mean–in a world so cruel,

The warmth and love of the sun outside,

This type of man, in shade he hides.

This type of man makes short his love,

Makes sharp his blade, pulls tight his gloves,

Armor, boots, and helmet bright,

This type of man lays awake all night.

This type of man stalks in the wood, he wish a war, he wish a flood,

All the ‘didn’t’s and all the ‘could’s–he’s drawn so thin–he wants blood.

This type of man draws in the sand and thinks the world apart,

So silly he seems, his armor gleams, so hidden is his heart.

His halls are cold, no stories told,

No kids a-cooing, he sends them shooing– yet the youngins do grow old.

Upon his desk, letters pile up as dust,

The webs in the corners, the ashy embers; they add to the musk.

This type of man, deep down inside, wishes for a change of times,

This foolish man, with idle hands, had been ignoring all the signs.

The shutters flap upon the wind, tappings upon his doors,

The chairs all squeak, the tables lean, the fire suddenly roars!

The man sits up on his stool, the noises rocked him with a fright,

This life of his, always hid, surely isn’t right.

Make a fix, clean a corner, call the children in,

Be there a hall, a home, a full parade of thy lov’d kin!

This type of man sees his shortcomings, eats with them to close the day,

Before his rest, in his tidied nest, his child comes to say:

“Father whom is troubled so, we wish you better, don’t you know?”

Before him there, in inn’cence bare, that boy of his will grow.

Before he goes this man should know, there looking at his kin,

While his mind’s been caught on pain and rot, he’s shown where to begin.

That night he strolled about his lair, a candlestick in hand,

He thought all night and fought his spite:

“All this time and all this land–

Tear off your blinders you silly man!

Wicked are the ways of me,

To drivel and desire, for pain and death to gain in coin,

For profits oversea!

How I shall make it right, before my soul departs this world in flight,

I shall love my babe, my daughters small, steward my sons towards good and right.”

Achy floors and rat’ling shutters, the wind blows hard that night,

Pacing round those halls of his, the wind blew out his light.

When morning comes to the world around, this type of man kneels ‘pon the ground,

“O spare me Lord, one day more, my trivial thoughts were drowned, 

By greed and wrath–I confess at last–my mortal flesh was owned.

This day today I’ll see it through, I’ll love my kin, and I’ll bow to you,

I shake these trees and rid the snakes, I’ll nevermore fraternize in sin,

While my mind’s been caught on pain and rot, I’ve been shown where to begin.”

This type of man gets off his stool, forgives his pains, drawers up the cruel,

Puts ‘way the scotch, tucks ‘way the stool, shakes off his dust, no-more a ghoul.

He finds his wife kneading dough–her fingers cold, her tied-up hair be frayed,

His touch to her had been missed, she thought their love decayed.

The postman comes, with letters–three; in them words from oversea,

Reports and charts, the postman boasts, “numbers high of coins and ghosts!”

“Make kindling of such news as these, these empty words from overseas.

Feed the hounds, clear the halls, have music sound and no more squalls.

Fetch the long gun for me son, it’s time this table’s feast be won.

O’ wife my love, send word to family, a feast tonight for all hereof.

Postman follow me in kind, it’s time for an upland game,

This man I was, and the one stands ‘ere, from here on won’t be same.”

This type of man returns to his estate,

A bird in hand, for each man, fowl for each plate,

Lanterns alight, a dancing night, no more shall he desecrate.

This type of man lays down his hand, his final years roll by,

His sons grown old, daughters too, left to a proud widow’d wife.

Family comes from all around, this man be lowered in sacred ground,

For were it not of a fright, that windy night; his child’s words profound,

He’d be laying dead in a pool of red, or overseas or drowned.

Remembered for his tut’lage and care, nay for his armored suit,

This type of man, without despair, known by his fruit.

Continue Reading


We use cookies to ensure that we give you the best experience on our website.