Why did I even start smoking anyway? he thought to himself. Sighing, Johnny threw down the smoldering cigarette, stomped it out, and began to go back inside. He paused and turned as he began to feel the building shake, just in time to see a huge blur of brown fur fly at him.
Falling to the ground from the impact, Johnny slowly got up, still reeling a bit. He stared in shock at a large bear in a ranger's hat and jeans, growling menacingly, ready to pounce at any moment.
"All right, that does it, I definitely shouldn't have started smoking. But I don't remember hallucinations being one of smoking's hazards," he muttered to himself.
Of course, the fresh bruises told Johnny this was no hallucination, but then again, he figured an angry bear in jeans probably wasn't too close to reality either. As Johnny pondered his predicament a little more, the bear suddenly seemed to lose patience, rushing Johnny again.
"No smoking! Fire is bad!" The bear said between growls in a guttural voice. Seconds later, he swung his large claws and--what appeared to be a shovel--at Johnny. He barely managed to dodge the raging bear, jumping back while trying desperately to formulate a plan. Searching for weapons or any means of escape, Johnny found none. Finally, he gave up and ran the bear, hoping he would come back with all major limbs intact and promising whatever deity that happened to be listening he would quit as soon as he got through this.
Johnny ran and kicked the bear--who had apparently damaged his shovel and was trying to fix it--as hard as he could. The bear, whose back had been turned, slumped forward, hitting the roof hard enough to make the whole building shake. He was out cold. Or so Johnny thought.
The bear, still semi-conscious, rolled over and pounded his paws on the ground as hard as he could manage. Johnny by this time, had been distracted by a small business card from the bear, reading simply "Smokey". This was why he didn't notice the hordes of birds, squirrels, raccoons, and other assortments of forest animals bearing down on him from the hills surrounding the studio. By the time he looked up, Johnny knew it was too late. The smaller animals latched onto his arms and legs, causing him to roll frantically, trying to shake off the angry little menagerie, but they wouldn't budge. The other animals were kicking him and laughing in their own ways--including Smokey.
Hours later, Johnny was seen walking down the studio stairs, his clothing torn to shreds, not to mention his skin, and possibly his sanity. On his way out, he tossed the cigarettes into the nearest garbage can.