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

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 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

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.