Chapter 1 - Every Fucking Time

Through crusted-over eyes, Pooh first caught sight of the spinning ceiling fan, sending him straight to the center of a hangover-fueled tornado he didn't want (but well expected) to be in. He turned his head to the left. 

Piglet lay gently snoring, contributing a crystalline pool of drool to Pooh's 600-thread count Egyptian cotton pillows. 

He turned his head to the right and there was Minnie, naked and sprawled like a yard sale across the other third of the bed. 

On the nightstand, the coke-dusted mirror, a cut-off McDonald’s straw, and about a quarter inch of salvation left in the bottle of Belvedere they'd cracked at exactly 11:27p.m. the night prior.Every time with the vodka, thought Pooh. 

Every. Fucking. time.

Chapter 2 - Fuck Yes, Brunch

Pooh sat at the dining room table, clutching his coffee, eyes closed. "I've got to get my rumbly tumbly belly in shape," he thought. The late nights, the doe-eyed doe hoes, the vodka, his tree stump hovel where he couldn't even get his landlord to come fix the radiator…

He had to get it under control. This was no way to live.

His phone rang. SO LOUD. Piglet.

"Hey Pooh - wanna grab brunch with Christopher Robin and Roo?" Piglet asked.

Suddenly, Pooh felt a rumbly in his rather sizable tumbly. "Bloody Marys. There will be Bloody Marys at brunch," he thought. He also thought Roo to be a bit of a whiner, but what was one to expect with a helicopter mom like Kanga bouncing around all the time?"

Fuck yes, brunch," Pooh replied. He pulled on his favorite red t-shirt -- the one that used to come down to his waist but was now more a midriff-skimming discard from RuPaul’s Drag Race. "See you at the Honey Pot in 20."

He'd start his diet tomorrow. And he'd buy a new t-shirt on the way home, too.

Chapter 3 - A New Shirt

So, Pooh stopped to buy a new shirt on the way home from brunch that day. He brought a tummy-high pile of red shirts into the dressing room and quickly shed his too-small red tee.

He muscled the first one, a polo-style short sleeve with an alligator on the chest, over his head. Being a bear, he wasn't too keen on an alligator being so close to his face, but the alligator appeared to be sleeping (albeit, with its mouth open). He supposed this was alright. With the fresh shirt snugged down, Pooh took a look in the mirror.

Frat douche, thought Pooh. I look like a frat douche.

He wriggled free of the shirt in a wiggle or two and deposited it on the dressing room floor. He didn't like alligators anywhoo.

He took the second shirt and gave it the once-over, this one a button down. The tag inside said it belonged to someone named Ed Hardy. He wondered if Ed knew Christopher Robin.

Sleeve, sleeve, button button button (Christ, there were a lot of buttons) button button button. He turned to look in the mirror.

Date rape and Jersey Shore re-runs. That was the only thing Pooh could think. That, and there wasn't enough coke in the world to make Ed's shirt look good. Ed joined the douche shirt on the dressing room floor.

As Pooh got ready to slip the third red shirt on, his cell phone rang. Tigger. Still hungover, Pooh wasn't much in the mood for Tigger’s brand of bouncy-bouncy, fun fun fun fun fun. While Roo was a bit of a whiner, Tigger was more of a narcissist. Who the hell runs around yelling, "I'm the only one!"? He was one-man show on blow, tho. Yet, he pushed the call to voicemail.

Over his head and his rumbly tumbly went the third shirt, a soft red t-shirt whose label said James Perse. Damn, though Pooh, as he checked his reflection. This is reaaaal niiize. Pooh ran his Pooh Paws over the soft material, seeing how it clung to his belly while being forgiving all at once. He felt swank -- like a swank-ass bear. And it has been a long time since he'd felt like a swank-ass bear.

He left the other shirts in a pile on the floor and walked right to the register, still wearing James' shirt. Regrets, James -- you're going to have to find another shirt because this one now belongs to Winnie the Fucking Pooh. He told the cashier, "Ring this up. I'm wearing it out," and handed her his AMEX black card.

Swipe. Paw print. He was out the door.

Yes, he felt like a swank-ass bear. And it was going to be a good day.

Chapter 4 - Fiona

Pooh had to admit it: he was having one helluva day. Not only had he scored his new swank-ass bear shirt, but he'd scored the digits for that fox down at the barbershop.

He'd needed a trim for quite some time and his new shirt had given him the swagger to swag right on over to the barbershop. He saw her the minute he walked in.

Fiona. She made his Pooh Bear heart do a loopty-loop and a pitter patter. Tigger and Roo were always on his ass to go talk to her, but despite his newfound swagger and swank-ass bear status, he was rather the shy fellow.

"Hey, Pooh. Great to see you. Wow. Nice shirt," said Fiona, a slight smile turning up the corners of her lips.

And then, right there, Winnie the Fucking Pooh was tongue tied. He felt the same was as he had when Tigger had convinced him to try Malort for the first time -- like all the things in his mouth were evil but he certainly couldn't spit them out for fear of being rude. Which, by the by, should a friend ask you to try Malort, Pooh could recommend finding a new friend.

"Uhhrrrrr...thanks. Nice fur," Pooh mumbled. Fiona just stared.

Holy fucking shit, I'm a tool, thought Pooh. Nice FUR? Why do I even bother going out in public? Great. Now I sound like Eyore. She hates me. I should just really not speak. Ever. I mean, like never ever. Fuck this shirt and my mouth and my brain that's filled with Fiona and it's probably best if I run out the door right now and directly into traffic.

"It's sweet of you to notice, Pooh. I just got groomed yesterday," Fiona said.

Wait, thought Pooh. Did I say something right? She... liked it? Oh, well, this is even fucking worse because she's going to expect me to say something else. And that, thought Pooh, was the worst thing of all.

Aside from the thought of Tigger on that way-too-pure Colombian blow they had a few weeks ago. That was worse. And a bit amusing all at the same time.

And so it went with Pooh and Fiona. Pooh got his fur shorn (and his swank-ass bear status reinforced) and on his way out, Fiona touched his paw and slipped a folded piece of paper into it. He made sure he was well down the block from the barbershop before he dared steal a look.

He unfolded the slip of paper, squinting his eyes and turning his head ever so slightly, bracing for the fallout.

"555-555-9457 Fiona. Let's grab a drink."

And there, right there on the sidewalk that day -- in the hands of a bear named Pooh -- one bit of wood in the Hundred Acre Woods was created.

Chapter 5 - Last Night

Pooh Bear cracked the blinds. Sunshine. It's looking to be a pretty goddamn good day, thought Pooh.

Last night, he and Fiona had gone on a date. He'd managed to go the entire evening without spilling anything on his swank new red shirt.. More importantly, Fiona hadn't excused herself to the bathroom and never returned. She stayed. And she laughed. Even when Pooh Bear mispronounced "schwarma," she laughed. Which made Pooh laugh, too.

Going out for Mediterranean food had been Fiona's idea. Next time, thought Pooh, we're going to Sizzler. At least I can pronounce shit on the menu there.

As the evening wound down, Pooh Bear walked foxy Fiona back to her fox hole. The moon was out and cast a nice light on her front stoop. There was quite a nice maple tree right outside her door. An uptown broad, thought Pooh. What the hell is she doing with the likes of me? All Pooh could think of was his low-rent tree stump. Fiona had a whole tree.

Sigh.

And just as he was about to turn away and disappear into the moonlight-drenched woods, Fiona grabbed his paw and placed a perfectly foxy kiss on his Pooh Bear cheek.

Pooh felt like he'd eaten an entire hive full of bees. His tummy was buzzing and his head was spinning. He saw her eyes reflecting the moon's beams. Her smile, those pointy teeth glistening in the night light. And that dress. Damn, that dress. A little green number that was classy as all get out.

It looks good on her, thought Pooh. And he thought a bit more and for once, he didn’t say it out loud.

Instead, he kept his dirty Bear Thoughts to his dirty Bear Self. He simply shuffled off home to his tree stump where he promptly switched on ESPN.

And thought of what kind of soon would be too soon to call Fiona up and ask her out to anyplace BUT his tree stump.

Chapter 6 - The Dress

Pooh was putting the finishing touches on the spread for the afternoon shindig at his tree stump. Fresh guac -- he really enjoyed fresh guac. And granted, it wasn't honey, but he dug it anywhoo. A few six packs. A bottle or two of Pellegrino, especially since Eyore wasn't a big drinker anymore. Everyone was coming over -- Piglet, Kanga and Roo, Christopher Robin, Tigger, Owl, Eyore, and Rabbit. It had been a long time since Pooh had had his friends over.

And he was excited. It was high time he stop wallowing and start living – and friends always come first. He was sad he’d forgotten that.

One by one, the knocks on the door came. His guests rolled in. Owl even brought an Entenmann's danish, which was exceptionally thoughtful, thought Pooh. Tigger was into beer two before Piglet could count to two. Eyore was grazing on the sweet potato chips. Pooh had to admit that life had a fair sight gotten better since Trader Joe's had opened a few forest paths down, even though parking was an absolute bitch.

The party was in full swing and Pooh just thought wow. My friends, my house. I’ve even got a gal. His fuzzy heart was definitely a full motherfucker right now.

Just as Tigger launched from the sofa to the kitchen in a single bounce, there was one more knock, knock, knock on the door. Pooh opened the door and there stood Christopher Robin.

In a dress. 

Pooh titled his head to the side a bit. The dress was a lovely shade of blue and complimented Christopher Robin’s eyes nicely. Pooh thought it made him look like a walking piece of sky. And Pooh quite liked the sky.

Christopher Robin stepped inside and the room fell quiet. Even Eyore stopped grazing in the chips long enough to turn, stare at Christopher Robin for a moment, and sigh before dropping his nose right back down into the guacamole bowl.

Piglet put his little hooves to his cheeks.

“Oh, Christopher Robin — I didn’t know this was a costume party!” said Piglet.

“It’s not, Piglet,” said Christopher Robin. “I just like wearing dresses.”

“But you’re a boy,” said Piglet, wringing his hooves. “Oh boy, oh boy, oh boy. What will people think?” 

It was at this time Kanga hopped in front of Roo, shielding her son from Christopher Robin’s dress-draped self.

“I don’t much care what people think, Piglet. I like dresses. Have you ever tried one? They’re much more comfortable than shorts,” said Christopher Robin.

And Piglet looked down and realized that all he’d ever worn was this little green onesie. He’d never, ever thought of a dress.

“But I’m a boy and boys wear pants,” said Piglet. “You’re a boy and now you look like a girl.”

Eyore had sauntered over, his pinned-on tail gently swaying behind him. He stood next to Christopher Robin and sniffed him up and down.

“No, I don’t like it. It smells like Christopher Robin but it doesn’t look like Christopher Robin,” said Eyore. He sauntered back to his chip bowl.

And in the background, Owl and Rabbit had retreated to the far reaches of the inside of Pooh’s tree stump.

And Pooh just sat there, staring at his friends. He was hosting a party and no one was having fun anymore because Christopher Robin was wearing a dress.

Well, that just wouldn’t do.

So Pooh went over to where Christopher Robin stood, dragging his favorite little three-legged stool behind him. He placed his stool right next to Christopher Robin and sat right down. With a beer in one paw and a salsa covered chip in the other, he looked up at his friend Christopher Robin.

“Hello, Christopher Robin,” said Pooh.

“Hello, Pooh,” Christopher Robin said.

“I don’t know much about dresses,” said Pooh, “but I have this new shirt and it makes me feel like a swank ass bear.”

“I like your new shirt, Pooh,” said Christopher Robin.

“Thank you,” said Pooh. “Does your dress make you feel swank?”

Christopher Robin gazed at Pooh. A moment later, he put his hands on his hips and let a smile creep onto his face.

“You know, Pooh,” said Christopher Robin, “Now that you mention it, yes. I do feel quite swank.”

Pooh took a bite of chip and washed it back with a swig of beer. He nodded.

“Then I like your dress,” said Pooh. “I think the best we can do is hope that our friends have more days where they feel swank than those where they feel blustery and piddly-diddly.”

Pooh smiled up at Christopher Robin and Christopher Robin smiled down at Pooh.

Pooh looked around his tree stump house at his friends and simply said:

“And if there’s anyone here who doesn’t like Christopher Robin in his swank dress, they can get the fuck out of my house. Because if there’s one thing my bear heart knows, it’s that Christopher Robin is still Christopher Robin. A friendship lives on the inside. Not on the outside.”

Chapter 7 - Zillow it Up

It was the end of a rather dandy day, if the Pooh did say so himself. He'd spent the morning with a big cuppa and Zillow up on his laptop, determined to find something better than his hovel of a tree stump. 

He had his eye on this two bedroom place. Granted, it wasn't in the Hundred Acre Wood but Pooh had to be practical. Since the grizzlies had come in and started gut rehabbing everything, even Pooh's tree stump had seen a jack, jack, jackaroo in price. As a renter, the stump was affordable. As an owner? Pooh would rather raze the fucking thing than pony up the $279k the "Zestimate" was telling him the place was worth. 

But the two bedroom... that looked like it might have promise. It had real wood floors and stainless appliances (a far cry from Pooh's current dirt floors and cellar). Having two bedrooms meant doors and right now, Pooh only had one door. Pooh Bear was fond of doors and two bedrooms meant not just two more doors, but three! This new place had a thing called a bathroom, and that apparently came with a door as well. 

Finally, thought Pooh. I can finally take an uninterrupted and quite private shit in the woods. 

Pooh could think of nothing better. Except possibly a beer. If he got this new place, he could even imagine drinking a beer in his new bathroom. Behind the door. Three doors, a bathroom, and a beer, thought Pooh. 

And right then, he reached for the phone and called Fiona. She's the kind of girl I want to share a beer in my bathroom with, thought Pooh. 

Yes. And he'd never (ever) met a girl he'd wanted to share a beer with, much less in a bathroom. 

It was definitely a good day.

Chapter 8 - A New Stump

Pooh and Fiona walked up the steps to greet Pooh's real estate agent. Perched on the top step of the building's stoop was Sammy Snake. Green and yellow and coiled ever so neatly, a briefcase resting next to his side.

How the fuck does he carry the briefcase? thought Pooh.

Tiddly-widdly-anyhoo, said Pooh to his bear self in response. Doesn't much matter. Just let me get inside and see this pad. He was growing weary of his low-rent tree stump.

"Welcome, you sssssavvy couple," said Sammy. "Sssshall we sssstep inside to sssssee this wonderful placcccce?"

Fiona looked at Pooh and smiled. "Come on, Bear," she said. "Let's ssssstep inssssside."

At that moment, Pooh let out a snort-laugh. Fiona turned to look at him and he felt his Bear Face go red. She snickered and tugged his hand towards the door.

Up, up, up three flights of stairs they went, Sammy slithering ahead of them and all the while extolling the virtues of the remarkably clean building.

Sssssatin finished hardwood flooring.

Ssssstainless sssssteel appliances.

Sssssnow removal in the wintertime.

Sammy flung open the front door slithered in. Pooh stepped forward and ever so slowly-wowly peeked his Bear Head inside.

Holy.

Fucking.

Shitballs.

Thought Pooh. It's a goddamn mansion.

Sammy had been right with his ssssstories about the virtues of this two-bedroom ssssspot of sssssweetness.

Fiona let out a giggle. "Come on, Pooh -- let's have a look!"

Hand in hand, they jostled and jiggled from the foyer to the fridge, the living room to the bedroom to the bathroom and then bedroom number two, two, two. All along the way, Pooh counted the doors.

One door up front, to let in my friends.

One door to the bathroom, so no one will ever have to know what a bear does in the woods ever again.

One door to the bedroom, which has something inside called a closet. Fiona said he could keep his honeypots in there. It seemed practical and was a bonus door to boot.

One more door to the other bedroom, where Tigger could sleep it off after he showed up with that Wizard of Oz-rated weed he sometimes scored from that penguin in Never Never Land.

Five doors, thought Pooh. Do I really need five doors?

And right then, with Sammy out of sssssight, Fiona leaned over and grabbed Pooh's Bear bottom and planted a kiss right on his snout.

"It's lovely, Pooh. And you are, too."

Pooh felt his Bear Face getting all red like it had been stung by a bazillion bees. A smile crept across his face.

I definitely want to share a beer with this girl in the bathroom, he thought.

He took her by her Foxy Paw and led her back into the living room where Sammy was sssssitting, the briefcase still right by his ssssside.

The fuck, though Pooh once again. What's with the briefcase and how did he get it up here?!

"How much?" asked Pooh.

To which Sammy replied with a sssssimple number.

Pooh's Bear Jaw dropped and he saw Fiona's Fox Jaw drop, too.

"You fucking kidding me, Scales?" said Pooh.

And with that, Sammy slid down and his briefcase popped open wide. Out from it came some papers he had stashed inside.

"Ssssso I take it you'll take it?" asked Sammy the Snake.

To which Pooh replied, "Yessir -- goddamn straight."

And on that day, on the fringe of the Woods, Pooh Bear became a homeowner. And all was quite right and fucking-A good.

Chapter 9 - Moving Out and Up

It was a bright and blue day outside of Pooh's tree stump. He'd been up early, packing his house for the big move the next day. Box by box, honey pot by honeypot, Pooh had meticulously gathered everything in his teeny tiny tree stump and put it away, away, away. 

Box 1, box 2, box 3, and box 4 -- they were all ready to go. All that was left was a bag of red balloons and his favorite three-legged stool (that frankly had seen better days but it was comfy and fit his Bear Bottom quite nicely).

He stepped back and looked at his four boxes. He looked out the window.

He grabbed his iPhone and found the music. Ah HAH, thought Pooh. Now that's just the song for today. He pressed play. He stepped over to Box 2 and opened it. There on the top was a book of matches from The Honeypot Lounge down the way. Pooh smiled. He picked up the matches, ripped one out with his Bear Paw, and stuck it on the back of the book. The match lit, he dropped it right inside Box 2, Box 2. And that right there is a fine how do you do.

He grabbed the bag of balloons and his stool and stepped outside his tree stump house for the last time. Tigger rolled up a moment later dragging what looked like Christopher Robin's wagon. "Are ya ready to go, go, go you on-the-move Bear?" asked Tigger. "I've got a wagon and I'm draggin' it wherever you tell a Tigger to go."

"I've got everything," said Pooh, holding up the bag of balloons in his left paw and the stool in his right. "Let's get the fuck out of here."

And with that, Pooh adjusted his earphones, turned up the volume, and as the flames licked the sills of his stump windows, he thought…

He most certainly would not be getting his security deposit back.

Chapter 10 - Fucking Weasels

What a view, thought Pooh. Standing on his balcony (a thing that hung off the side of one's house where one could stand without falling to the ground with a BOOM), he could see the entire Hundred Acre Wood. Truth be told, it was likely closer to a 73 Acre Wood, what with the right wingers shutting down that big park on the west side and turning it into some sort of strip mall. 

"Industrial complex" my ass, thought Pooh. Some senator's probably paying off a weasel he shouldn't have been sleeping with in the first place. Senators always slept with weasels. While Pooh thought weasels to be sleek and not at all unattractive, they had a nasty habit of digging into one's stuff and life and such and generally making a scene. And sure, though Pooh, he'd had his incidents with head-in-honeypot shots during his youth, but that shit was over. And frankly, he didn't get the allure of weasels. Why stick one's head into the honeypot if one's just going to get it stuck there?

Pooh took a drag off his cigarette, and exhaled -- plumes of blue smoke floating up, up, up around his head.

Fucking senators, thought Pooh.

Chapter 11 - All a Bear’s Fucks

The Swank Ass Bear we all know and fucking love… well, he had been busy. He looked across the basement at the storage shed in the building of his new condo and it was completely empty. The metal door swung wide open, beckoning something (anything) to step inside so it could be held tight.

You see, this is where Pooh used to keep his Fucks.

He had Fucks hanging in his closet and in the cart next to his desk that held his printer. There were even more Fucks in that third drawer down in his kitchen next to the stove (you know, the one where you keep those tong this you can never find when you're broiling meat). After Fiona had moved in, he was tight on space (because damn, that lady has some S-T-U-F-F) so all his Fucks were relegated to the storage unit in the basement.

And today, in a fit of winter rage, Pooh had loaded all of his Fucks up in his little red wagon, the one he used to pull when he used to take walks in the woods with Christina (did you miss that chapter?) Robin, with all his Fucks.

One Fuck...

Two Fucks...

He grabbed Fucks by the paw-ful and dumped them right into the little red wagon.

It took him a good three hours and about sixteen trips to the dumpsters out back, but he'd finally gotten rid of all of his Fucks.

Granted, his neighbors weren't going to be too happy when they came home to find their dumpsters full of random Fucks, but fuck them.

Pooh stood in front of his storage unit, satisfied. He took a deep, deep breath, wheeled the little red wagon into the storage unit, closed the gate, and re-attached the padlock through the nifty little holes.

“Now,” thought Pooh. “I’m gonna ask that fox to marry me. Where the hell does a bear buy a goddamned ring in this town?”

Chapter 12 - The Ring

Swank Ass Bear blinked.

Blinked again. He was completely fucking blinded by the nine rings laid out in front of him.

"The ladies dig this shit?" he thought.

And out of nowhere, the gazelle in the white button down behind the counter said, "The ladies love diamonds, sir." Of course they do, thought Pooh.

It's what's on the inside that counts, right? Not these silly, nilly, willy, shiny things staring back at me. A formality, thought Pooh. Fiona wants ME, he thought.

Yes. She just wants me.

"So," inquired Pooh of the gazelle, "Do the ladies really care about the size and shape and shiny of things? I mean, Fiona is in love with ME. A bigger ring doesn't equal bigger love, right?"

Which made Pooh think of a silly show on HBO about a guy names Hank who got a whole lot of tail but it was AOK because God and stuff and things and that wasn't important right now but he'd add it to his Netflix queue later if he could find it.

The gazelle just stared at Pooh with a blank glare. He looked right. Looked left. And once he had Pooh's eye once again, he leaned forward and had this to say:

"Look, this shit is ruh-DIC, but don't you play me. I saw you roll up in that 5-series with the custom plates that say HNNYPOT. You've got it," dropped the gazelle. "Yeah, you've got it. So here's my piece of advice for you: Quit fucking around. You've been staring at these nine rings for an hour and you can either pick one or not. But if you get that fox of yours a piddly ass, fairy fart of a ring, she's going to remember that YOU gave her a piddly ass, fairy fart of a ring. And then she's going to marry your piddly ass with that fairy fart ring on. And if that's how you want your wedding -- you know, the day you trade in all of that strange, furry ass you've been getting for the SAME piece of ass for all of eternity -- to go down, that's cool. But my advice is to quit fucking around and pick one of these two rings."

And with that, the gazelle nosed the first one forward. "This one says 'Yeah, you want this. Your girlfriends will talk and you'll be the envy of the day spa for years because none of your friends could ever hope to score a grown-ass bear like you scored. Just touch that for a minute, Bear."

Pooh touched the ring. He got a little tingle as he took in the shine. After a moment, the gazelle told Pooh to put down the first ring and nosed forward the second ring.

"This one? This one says, 'KWEEN, you can't NOT marry me.' And frankly, my yellow friend, you're a bear of incomparable confidence. It takes balls to walk into a shop like this because you're thinking of giving your balls over to your lady love. And if you've got balls that big, my friend, this is the ring. Fuck those other eight rings because you deserve the ring that will ruin it for every other creature in the forest and lock it all up for you."

Pooh just stared. After a moment, he reached forward and gingerly took the ring. And suddenly, he felt another 20 acres being added to his Hundred Acre Woods down below.

And at that moment, he felt like a fool with a credit card at a Tony Robbins seminar but he couldn't help himself. He was tingly all over because he realized that more than the ring, he wanted to see the look on Fiona’s face when he gave it to her. And on that day, in that jewelry shop, that thought is what made Pooh say:

"Wrap this up. THIS is my lady's ring."

And once again, Pooh found himself slapping his Black Card on the counter and thinking of Tigger.

Tigger? The fuck.

Yeah, Tigger. That bouncy motherfucker was never going to believe this.

A swipe, a paw print, a tiny sack, and a smile later, the gazelle ushered our Swank Ass Bear out the front door.

And yeah. It was good day. A good fucking day, indeed.