Everything was rather quiet in the
hundred acre wood. The trees whispered to
each other as the wind rustled
their leaves. Under a large oak tree, there lived Pooh bear. From
inside Pooh's house, there came a steady bang...bang...bang!, that
was making his honey jars rattle on the sideboard. The light came
through the window, and in the evening sun Pooh raised the axe once
more and brought it down on the tattered remains of Christopher
Robin. "Why...won't... he...fit..." puffed Pooh to himself as the axe
came down once more. There was a small pile of earth, and a hole next
to it, which Pooh had hidden with his favourite rug. Christopher
Robin, selfish prat that he was, didn't quite fit in the hole Pooh
had dug, so instead of making it wider he had decided to hack
Christopher Robin's legs off. "A far more sensible idea", thought
Pooh, and hummed a little song to himself as he cut the last tendon
and rammed the rest of the body in the hole, finally covering it up
with the rug. "Always too bossy", thought Pooh, "Always too bossy,
always grabbing me by the paw and saying 'Come on Pooh lets have an
adventure' or 'Pooh you are silly!' in that affected cutesy spoilt
brat voice, and his stupid little shorts - bastard!"
Pooh had waited all afternoon for
Christopher Robin to come round, humming a little tuneless song to
himself whilst gazing blankly into the fire and fondling the oaken
handle of the axe. When C.R. had finally turned up, squeaking in his
child-actor voice "Come on Pooh! Open Up!", Pooh had answered the
door normal as anything, talked about the weather, and then went to
the cupboard and fetched the axe. While C.R. had sat there, prattling
on about what a silly bear Pooh was and how he had very little brain
(which wound Pooh up no end) Pooh had raised the axe high and brought
it down >>with a satisfying thud on Christopher Robin's skull,
cleaving it virtually in two, with just some muscle fibre in place to
keep the pieces upright, and freezing C.R's eyes wide in horror that
Pooh, lovable Pooh, could do such a thing! Pooh giggled a little and
wiped some saliva from his mouth with a shaky paw. Then Pooh, calm as
anything, had mopped up the blood, washed the axe and begun to dig
the hole. Piglet had wondered why Pooh had not called for him that
morning, to have his tea and biscuits, and so he decided to visit
Pooh instead. He admired the evening sun, blood red, and listened to
the birds singing. Pooh watched him get nearer and nearer, and
plugged in the drill. Piglet had no time to realise what had happened
- the drill pierced his skull, sending a beautiful fountain of blood
all over Pooh's orange hide. He rubbed the blood in and all over
himself, licking, licking, always licking. Then he pulled Piglet
inside and put him in the cupboard. The syringe lay on the sideboard,
and Pooh picked it up, paws shaking and sweating, and filled it full
of solution of the funny white powder that had been given to him by a
strangely spaced-out Rabbit. It was a strange effect at first, and
Pooh thought he had seen many strange things, but then experienced a
euphoric feeling of power. It made him irritable, and C.R. and Piglet
had everything that was coming to them, no doubt at all. When night
had fully fallen, Pooh dragged the bodies out and buried them in a
makeshift grave.
"Adios, dear 'friends'", Pooh
giggled, "Things are going to change around the 100-acre wood now I'm
in charge" he laughed hysterically and went indoors.
The next day Tigger and Roo made
their way happily to Pooh's house, to see if he knew where C.R. and
Piglet were, as no-one had seen them since yesterday. They were sure
Pooh would know, as he had had tea with Piglet yesterday and was
meant to be playing Pooh-sticks with C.R. in the morning.
When they reached Pooh's house the
door was wide open and Pooh was nowhere to be seen. Tigger and Roo
looked inside Pooh's house and noticed a large hole in Pooh's floor
and a notice was stuck on the wall with a large blob of congealing
honey "OWT CHAGIG THE DRAGGN" (spelling had never been one of Pooh's
strong points). "That's odd", though Tigger, "there are no dragons in
the 100-acre wood only heffalumps. What _is_ that silly bear up to
now?"
Not even Tigger would have imagined
what Pooh was up to at that moment.
That morning Pooh had woken with a
splitting headache and a rather snottynose. So he had taken a large
dose of the white powder and a little while later had a brilliant
idea! He left the house with a container marked INSECTICIDE in big
red letters. He took the container and went to Eeyor's favourite
patch of thistles. "This will serve that manic depressive donkey
right" laughed Pooh aloud, "always cheating at Pooh-sticks, cheats
never prosper", Pooh said to himself. Then he hid behind a tree to
watch the unsuspecting Eeyor eat himself to death - sheer poetic
justice thought Pooh as he dumped the nearly dead body of Eeyor in
the same grave as C.R. and Piglet - "Shouldn't cheat should you?",
shouted Pooh as Eeyor's eyes stared with disbelief - "You're lucky I
didn't chop you up into little bits and feed you to Tigger!", laughed
Pooh manically, before he covered the makeshift grave over.
Pooh didn't return to the house
until dinner time as he was totally out of it all morning. So when he
returned to his house he was in an awful mood and all he needed to
make him absolutely mad was the sight of Tigger and Roo bouncing up
and down outside his house singing "bouncy, bouncy, fun, fun, fun,
fun, fun, the wonderful....". "'Wonderful'?", thought Pooh aloud, "My
foot, you'd think the writer of this shitty story could think up
better lyrics for a song than that, and to think, they released the
soundtrack album on cassette and CD; a lot of people are going to get
ripped off." This lightened Pooh's mood somewhat, but the respite was
brief.
"What was that you said?", asked
Roo. "God does he never stop asking pathetic questions?", Pooh
thought furiously, "I'm going to have to deal with these prat as
well. Is there no-one in this place with intelligence apart from me?"
Pooh asked despairingly."
Pooh felt himself extremely lucky
as Roo had to go home for his afternoon sleep and that left Tigger at
his mercy. Even better, Tigger suggested that himself and Pooh go and
play Pooh-sticks; Pooh had smiled slyly as an idea formed in his
overactive brain, and agreed - "What an opportunity", Pooh whispered
to himself as he followed the innocent Tigger to the bridge.
Once on the bridge, and the rather
pointless game of Pooh-sticks was underway, Pooh thought he'd much
rather push his stick up Tigger's arse, rather than throwing it into
the stream. Tigger was leaning over the side of the bridge looking
for his stick. So he did not see Pooh's wide horrific grin as he
outstretched his arms and moved toward Tigger with the intent of
pushing the stupid cat into the stream - "Cats hate water, tee hee,
he'll drown."
There was a loud splash as Tigger
hit the water and started to struggle as his head was covered by
water, he gulped and choked. Pooh was holding on to the rail of the
bridge and jumping up and down with excitement and was joyously
shouting at the drowning Tigger.
"Why?", spluttered Tigger as he
slowly started to turn blue with the cold, which Pooh found
hysterical, after all a blue Tigger?? How absolutely silly. "I'll
tell you why you bastard", screamed Pooh, "It serves you right,
hiding behind doors and jumping out, and scaring the shit out of
people." But Tigger did not hear Pooh's answer as he was already
floating downstream face down in the water, dead - "Good riddance",
laughed Pooh, and looked at his watch, "Still time to get that little
dick head Roo before he wakes up."
Pooh sneaked to the sleeping form
of Roo's mum and saw Roo's ear poking out of her pouch - "Now I've
got you, you little git", Pooh thought, smiling, as he threaded a
needle with extra strong cotton. He was jolly grateful for Piglet's
sewing lessons now, because he would be able to sew up Roo nice and
tightly, so he would not be able to get out and his mum would not be
able to rescue him. So very slowly and carefully Pooh began to sew
Roo into his pouch and thereby suffocating the annoying idiotic twit.
After the deed was done Pooh made his way back to his house wondering
how Roo's mum would take the death of Roo. Badly, hoped Pooh, as he
began to cough uncontrollably and felt general nausea overcome
him.
By the time Pooh got home he had
puked up several times and was verydesperate for some more of the
white solution. He trembled as he picked up the syringe and gave
himself the remaining amount. An awfully large amount, one might say,
for a small little bear like Pooh. In fact too much, Pooh died of an
overdose, but he died with a smile on his face: he was dreaming that
he was the only teddy bear made with a willy and dreamed how he
surprised Eeyor one day - but that's a story for another day.
Well what a lovely
tale. Quentin Tarantino meets A.A Milne. Say goodbye to innocence
