Goldi and The 3 Bears

In a forest clearing, lived Goldi, the queen,
With a shotgun, stilettos, and a house oh so pristine.
One fine day, to the mall she did dash,
For a shoe sale promised a bargain for cash.

While she was gone, through her window crept three,
A family of bears, wild as could be.
Papa Bear sniffed, "This place smells divine!"
And made himself cozy with no sense of time.

He lumbered straight to her porcelain throne,
And left behind a stench all of his own.
"Perfectly pungent!" he growled with pride, a little chorri floating left inside
Then chuckled, leaving the toilet all fried,
A horrible scene none could have denied.

Mama Bear found the shower’s warm spray,
"Goldi’s shampoo? I'll use it today!"
She emptied the bottles, conditioner too,
And left bear fur clogging the drain like glue.

But Baby Bear, oh, he was the worst,
Teething and biting, his hunger reversed.
He found her Barbies and gnawed off their heads,
"Just right for me!" he gleefully said.

They scratched up her couch, chewed on her bed,
Then used her ATM card to order some bread.
Pizza and sushi, they feasted galore,
Leaving greasy pawprints on walls, floors, and more.

At last, quite stuffed, they all felt a nap,
And sprawled on her mattress, ignoring the trap.
For Goldi was back, with her new Jimmy Choo,
And smelled Papa’s mess before she saw the view.

“What in the hell?” she muttered with ire,
Her house was a wreck, and her temper caught fire.
She crept to her closet, shotgun in hand,
And whispered, "It’s time for this blonde to take stand."

With a bang and a roar, the bears met their fate,
Goldi cleaned up her house, stayed up quite late.
She made a fine rug from Papa Bear’s fur,
And a warm blanket from Mama’s to deter the cold stir.

Baby Bear’s head? It now watched over the fire,
A mantelpiece trophy for her dark desire.
The moral here, my friends, is quite clear:
Mess with a blonde, and you’ll disappear.

For Goldi’s not sweet, she’s no fairytale doll,
She’s a forest queen, and she’ll end it all.
So trespass not where she lays her head,
Or you’ll end up a blanket, a rug, or worsedead.

The End.