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.