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The True Story of The Jungle Book

The True Story of The Jungle Book

Everyone knew Mowgli’s story—the one where he skipped through the jungle like he was on a gap year abroad, singing with Baloo and dodging Shere Khan like it was some kind of adventure camp. But, of course, no one asked me—Kaa—about my side of things. Because, naturally, I was just the snake, right? A peaceful, misunderstood reptile, minding my own business while all these mammals ran around causing chaos.

You see, my life was perfectly serene before Mowgli showed up. I had my sunbathing branch, a reliable supply of small, tasty rodents, and, most importantly, peace. Then this hairless little human cub bumbles into the jungle, and suddenly, everyone’s acting like it’s a Broadway musical. No one asks if I’m interested in being part of the ensemble.

Now, let’s talk about Baloo. Oh, Baloo. The bear who thought the secret to life was lying in the dirt and mumbling a song about ‘bare necessities.’ He called it wisdom. I called it a severe lack of ambition. Or lazy. Plain-O-Laziness. I’ve seen moss with more drive than that bear. But somehow, Mowgli—bless his confused little heart—thought Baloo was some kind of jungle philosopher. Maybe because Baloo was tall. When he bothered to stand up.

Then there’s Bagheera, the panther who fancied himself the jungle’s life coach. Don’t let that shiny coat fool you—he was as uptight as a monkey with a banana shortage. ‘Mowgli, don’t run!’ ‘Mowgli, don’t play with the monkeys!’ ‘Kaa’s up to no good!’ Oh, because clearly, me minding my own business must be suspicious. I couldn’t even slither in peace without Bagheera showing up like an overenthusiastic parent at a school play. The guy had trust issues, obviously.

Now, let’s address the whole ‘hypnosis’ thing, shall we? Everyone loves to make a big deal about how I can ‘hypnotize’ others. Look, I have a naturally calming gaze. It’s not my fault that when I look at someone, they tend to relax… maybe even doze off. Honestly, this jungle could use more naps. Mowgli was a nervous wreck—raised by wolves, running barefoot, dodging a tiger with a grudge. The boy was a walking stress disorder. I was doing him a favor! But no, apparently giving him a little ‘reptilian relaxation’ makes me the bad guy. If you ask me, the jungle could’ve used more of my techniques. Maybe then Baloo wouldn’t be lying in the dirt pretending it’s philosophy.

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Speaking of tigers… Shere Khan. Oh, Shere Khan. The jungle’s drama queen. Everyone trembled when they heard his name, but really? The guy was about as scary as a housecat looking for a sunbeam. He strutted around like he was some untouchable predator, but most of the time, he lounged like he was on a permanent vacation. And that whole ‘I hate humans’ shtick? It was getting old. For someone who supposedly hated them, he sure spent a lot of time chasing one. Honestly, it was embarrassing.

Ah, and the monkeys. Don’t even get me started on those little pests. They’re the jungle’s equivalent of hyperactive toddlers on too much sugar. Always swinging around, shrieking about their ‘kingdom,’ which was really just a glorified pile of rocks. So when they kidnapped Mowgli, of course, I got dragged into it. Not because Baloo and Bagheera respected my wisdom—oh no—but because they needed someone competent to clean up their mess. It was always me who had to deal with the monkey chaos, and did anyone say thank you? No. Instead, they accused me of trying to eat Mowgli. Can you believe it? Like I didn’t have better things to do than snack on a human cub.

And then the grand finale—Mowgli wanders off to the human village, singing some ridiculous tune about who knows what, while I’m left hanging—literally—from a tree. The jungle returns to its usual chaos: birds squawking, monkeys throwing fruit, and Shere Khan slinking around like he’s waiting for an invite to the jungle prom.

And what do I get for my trouble? A reputation as ‘sneaky’ and ‘untrustworthy,’ just because I wanted a quiet life and a decent meal. No appreciation for the hard work I put into keeping this jungle from falling apart.

The moral of the story? In the jungle, don't expect any credit if you’re a snake with good ideas and a calming gaze. You’ll just be labeled the villain while everyone else lounges around like they’re on vacation. But that’s life, isn’t it? No good deed goes unpunished. Especially when the jungle’s full of overgrown cats and dancing bears.”

The end.