Well, Platypus09, decided that if I could write a 1,000 word essay on how Molotov could speak, I could be him in Total Drama Horror 3, and this is my "essay". I hope you guys enjoy it, and to you Plat, HA!

Molotov's Story

Molotov is one of the smartest and most talented bear in the world. He can perform circus acts, such as juggling balls, and dancing. Over many years of training, Molotov became the perfect circus bear. He would go to many cities in many countries, picking up different words each time he would visit the communities’ circus tents.

People would cheer him on in the crowds. “Go Molotov! That’s hilarious!” At first, he had no idea what these people were saying. “What did hilarious mean?” He couldn’t speak their strange language. To them, all he could do was grunt and groan.

After a while, he got sick of it. “Enough!” he would say in his bear language. “I will find out what these strange creatures are saying!”

He worked many hours every day just learning one word. The first word he ever learned was “sucks.” He heard many people hear that word when he was spending more time on his practicing than his act. He was punished after, but he didn’t mind. He could explain his mistakes to his trainer as soon as he could speak “human language”.

After many years, he had still not mastered the human language. He could speak what his master called “Latin” and “French”, as well as a little bit of “Spanish”. He didn’t know what these meant, either.

“Tu est vir occupatus?” he would ask his trainer when he wanted to play. His trainer would just clap slightly, and then turn around to work on his papers.

It turns out that the papers he was filling out were the documents needed for Molotov to go into Canada.

“Red-dy?” Molotov would ask his trainer as he was filling them out. It was five minutes to his trainer, but to Molotov, it felt like five hours. He wanted to learn his master’s language, but he couldn’t unless he was in the area his master was from.

“Canada?” he would keep asking.

“Yes,” his master would reply. “We’ll be there for a couple of years. You’ll like it. They have plenty of fish.”

Molotov almost jumped with glee. Fish was his favorite food, especially when he was in this so called, “Canada”.

After many days of waiting, at least that’s what it seemed like to Molotov, he was finally being boarded on the plane.

“Now you’ll be in the cargo,” said his master. “You’ll be fine.”

Molotov wasn’t that sure. He had never heard of anything such as a “cargo”, but he had heard of a plane. His master had explained it to him using the words he had learned already.

He was being pushed into a small space, with luggage, as his master had called it. Some of this “luggage” seemed to have “clothes” sticking out of it. Molotov stared at it for quite a while, before he felt the plane lifting off the ground.

“Slow,” he said as the plane took off. He felt the shifting of the luggage, and the slamming into him, but nothing else. He couldn’t see anything.

“Help!” he screamed. He had learned this word a while ago, but it was still a bit new to him. “Help!” he managed to scream again after many minutes of trying.

By now, the slamming had increased, and it felt like his cage was sliding open. It was dented on one side, from the entire luggage slamming into it, and it was the same side the opening was on.

“Help!” he screamed at the top of his bear lungs.

After a while of screaming, he could not take it anymore. He began to roar in the loudest voice he could. The door had opened and the luggage was slamming into him.

Finally, the door to the cargo had slammed open and Molotov slid out. “Help!” he shouted as he watched the plane. He saw one of the wings on fire, and a glimpse of his master in the window, as he plummeted down, into the ocean.

He had finally woken up. He had been unconscious for a long time, having found a log he could rest on. But before he could enjoy more relaxation, the current was picking up, and he found it hard to stay on the log. He climbed up and stood on his hind legs, knowing that this was the only way he could stay on.

He began to move his feet along with the log, maneuvering his way to stay on. He found it hard, but after a couple of hours of being pushed by the waves, he saw an island.

           “Land!” he shouted in glee. His master taught him this word on his first flight.

He floated for ten minutes before he was able to hop down from the log. “Happy,” he said. He smiled, to some extent, when he saw trees and people, but ran away when he saw a mean-looking guy wearing a white hat.

He found refuge in a desolate cave, only housing a family of bats, which he could snack on.

“Hi,” he greeted them with. They were asleep, so they did not respond. Molotov was offended, but shrugged it away when he realized he was alone.

“Scary,” he whimpered.

He had spent a few weeks in that cave, up until a girl, dressed in green, came swinging on a vine to the very same cave he was living in.

“Mine!” he exclaimed.

The girl grinned. “Cool! A talking bear!”

Molotov welcomed her into his cave, when she came back with fish.

“It tastes good raw, doesn’t it?”

Molotov the bear, laughed, in a way that bears do, and started to warm up to this girl.

“My name is Izzy, what’s yours?” she asked him as they ate.

“Molotov,” he replied.

Molotov and Izzy started to become like family, and Izzy began to give him lessons in hunting, and learning words.

“Cheese!” he said, and later clapped when Izzy rewarded him with some.

“I like you big guy,” she said to him.

“I like you, too,” he responded.

Three weeks later, Izzy disappeared. Molotov searched frantically for her, but he couldn’t find her. He finally put himself to rest, and concluded she didn’t want to see him anymore. But he didn’t care. He still loved her. And he would still continue to teach himself, as Izzy had left him a dictionary.

“I rove you,” he spoke into the night. And he looked at the moon, and remembered how Izzy, his mother, loved to howl at it.

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