funny, morbid, perfect.
if you are a winnie the pooh lover, and reading this makes you angry, don't email me complaining, I didn't write it, I just think its awesome
POOH GOES APESHIT
Apologies to A.A. Milne
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 side- board.
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 snotty nose. 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 spaced out
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
prats
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 under
way,
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 very desperate
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 Eeyore one day - but that's a
story for another day.
THE END
courtesy of sean the bastard
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