First Lemonade Stand Post In 10 Years One of 'Kieran McConville's' 'Stories'

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Kieran McConville

ONE love, blood, life
Dec 18, 2001
Hi, Violet
Pooh Bear & Friends In "Special Delivery"

One day Pooh and Twitchlet were lounging in Pooh's hole when there came a ring of the doorbell far above.

"It's the mail man!" keened Twitchlet, overturning his overflowing hubcap of cigarette butts. "Don't touch the mail, it might be infected!"

"Nonsense," Pooh pooh-poohed with the genial detachment of a nebula. "There hasn't been any mail in aeons. It's probably just the wind."

There had been no wind in Pooh land for aeons either, since the Great Old Wind Machine constructed by the land's mythical and half-forgotten Creator broke down. The air had sat stale ever since, and was largely unbreathable.

"Go on up and see, Twitchlet," taunted Pooh with a dim flicker of muddy wit like a willo-the-wisp over some sour swamp. "See what it could be!"

Twitchlet did a complete somersault of anxiety in mid-air and fished through his overturned hubcap for an unsmoked bit of stub to ease his panic. Finally he mustered up the nerve to crawl through the tree roots and dirt to the door of their hole. A lone golden envelope sat by the doorbell. It was addressed to "The Master Of The House".

Overcome by curiosity, Pooh had compacted up behind him and now exited the hole with the satisfying plunk of a well formed stool. Pooh swiped up the envelope and opened it. "Why, it's from the Creator! He says I have won a lifetime's supply of <redacted>!"

"It's a trap," squealed Twitchlet, but Pooh swatted him away like a bothersome mayfly, and proceeded to do a little bobbling dance of happiness right there in the dirt outside their hole. "A lifetime's supply of <redacted>! Oh boy, oh boy, oh boy, this is better than honey or bacon, or anything I can think of, which is not much!" (This was true).
I believe the statue of limitations have passed to allow the redacted pieces to be published. kieran, do you mind updating?
Pooh is the sort of fellow who could, to paraphrase Clive James, go through a lifetime's supply of anything in about two weeks.
I knew it was shit all along.

Can we get another Pooh 'story', Kieran?
Pooh Bear and Friends in 'Eyeore's Funeral'

One day, deep into the fourth millennium, the half-life of Eyeore's charcoal carcass finally gave out its last. Towards the end, his dim complaining had constituted a sort of gentle background radiation, bathing the denziens of Pooh corner like a half-forgotten summer shower or a radio station from the far side of the moon.

Twitchlet immediately donned a black armband and forced the others to do so as well, except for Pooh who was too large for an armband to fit and so was given a black cape instead. The disorderly procession through Pooh corner and the road up by the Great Old Wood lasted for weeks, with gangs of the ferrets whipping themselves while a military band played the famous Funeral March of Eyeore, an experimental dirge penned by Eyeore back in the mists of time when the world was slightly younger.

During the third week of its progress, the funeral procession reached the general store, and Twitchlet, already screwed up to the hilt, saw that Rah-Bit was not wearing a black armband.

"Kill him! Kill the apostate!" squealed Twitchlet, and a motley rabble of ferrets, Tiggit, and some strike breakers from down at the mill broke ranks and descended on the hapless Rah-Bit, who quickly scurried into his hole like the yellow bellied creature that he was.

Pooh counselled restraint. "I'm sure poor old Rah-bit just didn't hear the news yet. News travels slow in these parts," he gurgled. This was not entirely untrue; the news of the Emperor's death had taken centuries to ripple out from the old imperial core, collapsing in upon itself like an apple consumed by worms. But Twitchlet was unconvinced, and did a somersault of panic in mid-air before clutching at the dry earth in an effort to hold on.

"We must show Eyeore the grandest sendoff ever, as it says in the plan! The Plan For Eyeore's Funeral that he made us all memorise one hundred times over!"

Pooh had quite forgotten The Plan For Eyeore's Funeral, supposing the last weeks of marching to have been a spontaneous celebration. Reluctantly, he put the whole contretemps out of his mind, and Twitchlet got down to the business of dragging Rah-bit out of his disgusting hole to face the rough justice of the mourning party.

Some years later, when they reached the Mausoleum, where the leopards already sat lapping from the chalices of blood, Pooh and the others were so tired out that they forgot all about Eyeore's remains, a load of coal most of which had fallen out along the way. They rested there a long while, eating honey and fishing in the dried up stream.

Now that Pooh is in the public domain, have you thought of shopping around these ‘stories’ to the various movie studios?

Now that Pooh is in the public domain, have you thought of shopping around these ‘stories’ to the various movie studios?

Do you know some jerk made a Pooh bear movie based on nothing. Its just some lunatic in a Pooh mask. What the hell does that have to do with A.A. Milnes classic characters?
Pooh Bear & 'Friends' In No More Apostrophes

Pooh and Twitchlet sat watching the buzzing sun machine stuck in its tracks like a scarab beetle, far above in the peeling Great Old Sky Dome. It hadnt rained for aeons, and the strike at the mill had gone on so long that everyone forgot what the mill was for.

Fluid leaked from Poohs worn old stitching, although he was oblivious to this as he was to most things.

There were no more apostrophes. They had died like a crop of mayflies. Twitchlet was more exercised over this than Pooh, burning through a hubcaps worth of smokes every few hours as they watched the Great Old Sun machine buzzing in its tracks, taking bets on when it might fall (it already had, long long ago, but had been repaired. in those days things still got repaired).

Presently Twitchlet spotted Rah-bit scurrying surreptitiously through the edges of the Great Old Wood, and his already heightened anxiety ratcheted up several notches.

Kill him, squealed Twitchlet. Kill the traitor!

Rah-bit was already gone, vanished back into the deep green shadows of the Wood like a spirit. Nobody ventured far into The Great Old Wood nowadays, since a Shadow had fallen upon it, and The Necromancer had taken up residence once more in His ancient stronghold. Rah-bit was undoubtedly one of His factotums now, busy with noisome errands and mischievous schemes.

Some (Twitchlet, for example) said that The Necromancer had stolen all the apostrophes, for purposes best known to Himself. Perhaps they were fashioned into parts for His infernal machines, which ground and bellowed in the depths like tormented beasts.

Pooh was agnostic on the subject. But on the matter of honey, he was more inclined to stake a position, and the present arrival of a fresh honey shipment from Outremer caused Twitchlets dark musings to waft from his mind like cigarette smoke on a windy night.

The great pod drooped from the ferret-drawn carriage like a ripe, pregnant belly. Pooh licked his chops and hauled his bulk up out of the dirt.
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