Ninnie-the-Poop Visits His Friend Jiglet by J. Andrew Haknort

(with apologies to Milne)

One fine day, Ninnie-the-Poop, or Poop for short, was walking through the Thirty-Eight Acre Wood to visit his friend Jiglet, who lived beneath the Big Ash Tree. Poop was singing a song to himself that went like this:

Oh how nice to be a bear!

Without a worry or a care!

The sun is out, the sky is blue!

So little time, so much to do!

Poop sang this song to himself, over and over and over again, when all of the sudden he realized he’d walked much farther than he’d intended.

“Oh bother,” said Poop. “I really fucked up this time.”

So he (he being Poop) sat down under a small elm tree to contemplate his position while he smoked some crack cocaine.

That shit fucked him up, but good.

He was about to light another rock when he saw his good friend Eyesore, the old gray donkey, walk by.

“Hallo, Eyesore,” said Poop.

“Blow it out your ass, faggot,” was Eyesore’s reply.

Poop frowned.

“Did you lose your tail again, Eyesore?” asked Poop.

“No,” said Eyesore. “I just found out I have prostate cancer.”

Poop laughed and laughed at his silly friend.

“Don’t worry, Eyesore. I can fix you.”

Eyesore spit out a big loogie and gave Poop the finger.

“That rock has fucked up your very small brain, Poop,” said Eyesore. “You can’t fix me. I’ve got a tumor up my ass the size of a casaba melon.”

So Poop pulled out his 9mm and shot the old gray donkey between the ears.

The back of Eyesore’s skull blew off, and a stream of blood flowed out of his forehead like a fountain.

Eyesore fell to the ground and convulsed.

“There!” said Poop. “I fixed your ass good!”

Then Poop got on his way again.

Poop wasn’t walking for very long when he ran into his friend, Winchester Probin.

“Hallo, Winchester Probin,” said Poop. “What are you doing there?”

Winchester Probin had a hammer and some nails.

“Hallo, Poop! I’m nailing Bunny’s ears to this tree.”

“Oh, hallo Bunny!” said Poop. “I didn’t know that was you under all that blood. How are you?”

Bunny didn’t answer. His mouth was stapled shut.

“So what are you up to, you silly old Bear?” asked Winchester Probin.

“I was going to Jiglet’s house, but I got lost. I’m so angry I could fuck broken glass.”

“That’s too bad.” Winchester Probin said. The small boy picked his nose. “Would you like to stay here and play with Bunny and me?”

“No thank you,” said Poop, rubbing his ass in recollection of the last time he had played with Winchester Probin.

“Can you watch Bunny for me while I go get my propane torch?” asked Winchester Probin.

“Sorry, no,” said Poop. “I must be going.”

“I never loved you, you fucked-up little cocksucker!” cried Winchester Probin, reaching out to grab Poop.

But Poop was faster. He pulled out his 9mm and shot the small boy four times in the chest.

Winchester Probin fell to the ground with a sucking chest wound. His belly looked like hamburger.

Finally, after puking up a lot of blood and part of his intestinal tract, Winchester Probin died.

Poop stopped playing with himself and turned his attention to Bunny.

“Would you like me to let you go, Bunny?” Poop asked.

Bunny nodded, his big eyes wet with tears.

Poop spent the next hour sodomizing Bunny.

When Poop was finished, he poked Bunny repeatedly with a very sharp stick.

After Bunny died, Poop raped his eye socket, and then he continued on his journey to Jiglet’s house.

He was halfway there when he ran into his dealer, Trigger. As usual, Trigger was bouncing up and down on his tail.

“Hallo, Trigger!” said Poop.

“Hallo, Poop!” answered Trigger. “Need some meth? That’s why Trigger’s are so bouncy, don’t you know.”

And Trigger began to sing his song:

The wonderful thing about Triggers!

Is they love to smoke dat rock!

I’m so goddamned bouncy!

I just bounced on my cock!

Poop waited patiently while Trigger sang his song about eight thousand fucking times, jumping up and down like he’d been given a caffeine enema.

Finally, Poop had had enough. He pulled out his 9mm and blew off Trigger’s tail.

“Take your Ritalin, you ADHD freak,” said Poop.

“My bounce!” Trigger cried, picking up his bloody tail.

“Hurry the fuck up with that crack,” chided Poop. “Or I’m killing your parents.”

Trigger dug out some crack vials, and Poop threw a twenty at him.

“You had better see a doctor, Trigger, and get that looked at,” said Poop.

Then Poop continued on his way to Jiglet’s house.

He was almost there when he saw Rooga the kangaroo standing next to the trail.

“Bitch, where’s my money?” Poop asked.

He slapped Rooga in the face.

“I’ll get it, Mack Ninnie,” said Rooga . “It’s been slow! I swear to Christ!”

Poop grabbed one of Rooga’s tiny arms. He stared at the track marks.

“Don’t lie to me, ho! You’ve been shooting smack again!”

Poop kicked her in the pouch.

“I’ll make some cheddar, Ninnie! I promise!”

“Damn straight you will!” Poop forced Rooga to her knees. “Now nibble on this furry bear hotdog.”

Rooga made a face. “Poop—it smells like Bunny shit.”

“Suck the poop off the Poop. Get to it, or I’ll pimp stick you up the stank.”

So Rooga got to it.

When she finished swallowing, Poop gave her a friendly slap across the face.

“You know I love you, bitch,” cooed Poop. “Now get that sweet marsupial ass back on the street and make Daddy some money. And tell the same to your bratty kid. If he don’t earn, the child will burn. Dig?”

Then Poop once again continued on his journey to Jiglet’s house. But being a Bear of Very Little Intelligence, Poop got lost again.

“Oh, bother,” said Poop.

Poop logged onto the Internet with his iPhone and tried to use MapQuest.com. He followed the directions closely, but came to a dead end.

MapQuest had fucked him, like it had so many others.

“Cock sucking monkey fucker,” said Poop.

Poop finally arrived at his destination by pure luck, several hours later.

“It’s about fucking time,” Poop thought.

He knocked on the door.

“Hallo, Jiglet!” Poop yelled. “Are you home?”

“I’m taking a shit! Fuck off!” Jiglet yelled back.

Poop picked the lock and let himself in.

Jiglet appeared behind the corner. He was naked, brandishing a stiff six-shooter. He also had a gun.

“Oh, Poop! It’s only you!”

Jiglet put down the gun and leaned against the counter, leaving a brown smear because he didn’t wipe his ass.

“Who were you expecting, Jiglet?” Poop asked.

“My bookie, Guido. He told me he’d hammer my nuts flat if I didn’t pay him.”

Poop squinted. “He wouldn’t need a very large hammer.”

Jiglet farted.

“Fuck you, Poop. What the fuck do you want, you fat fuck?”

Poop smacked his lips. “I was wondering, perchance, did you have a smackeral of honey?”

Jiglet sat down, leaving another brown smear.

“Sorry, you freeloading fat ass. I don’t have a thing to eat.”

Poop took out his gun. “Maybe I’ll just eat you instead.”

Jiglet tried to get up, but his sticky poo-butt was stuck to the chair.

“You don’t want to eat me, Poop! I’m just a little animal, small and stringy!”

But Poop wasn’t listening. He was thinking about pork chops and bacon strips.

Poop preheated the oven to 350 degrees.

“Poop, please!” pleaded Jiglet. “We’re friends! Friends don’t eat each other!”

“We aren’t eating each other,” said Poop. “I’m eating you.”

Poop yanked Jiglet out of the chair and shoved him into the hot oven. While Jiglet screamed and screamed, Poop sang this song to himself:

I’m cooking my best friend!

I’m cooking my best friend!

See what happens when

You don’t wipe your rear end!

Then Poop pulled out his crack pipe and lit up a rock.

Unfortunately for Poop, he was careless with his Zippo, and accidentally set himself on fire. Within seconds, the fur had burned off of his arms.

Poop tried to beat out the flames, but soon his whole body was ablaze.

“Oh bother,” said Poop, as his face burned away. “I really fucked up this time.”

The end.

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