"There is a difference, I think," mused Pooh, as he carefully lifted first one foot -- then the other -- and examined the soles of his feet.
Eeyore rolled his eyes in embarrassment and muttered an expletive under his breath.
"I mean," continued Pooh (whilst furrowing his brow in deep thought -- which is not an easy thing to do, if you happen to be a bear of very little brain to begin with), "I should think it would be more polite to call them 'donkey droppings' than something sounding like my own freakin' name. Wouldn't you agree, Christopher Robin?"
Christopher Robin nodded, pretending not to hear Eeyore's colorful swearing in the background. "Here, Pooh, let me get a stick and scrape you off! Silly old sod!"
Just then Tigger bounced onto the scene. "GOOD GAWD!" hollered Tigger. "What the hell smells like **** around here? Is that YOU, Pooh?"
Pooh merely shrugged his shoulders, and both he and Christopher Robin stared very pointedly at Eeyore, smirking as they did so. Eeyore glared back at Pooh, Christopher Robin, and Tigger, the long pent-up rage slowly building in the normally submissive little donkey.
Tigger should have known to to keep quiet at this point. But Tiggers are never quiet. "Daaaay-AM!" continued Tigger, "Did you take a crap right out here in the Hundred Acre Wood, Eeyore? What the-- "
Tigger never finished that fateful sentence. For something finally snapped inside Eeyore, and the little donkey suddenly ripped the straightpin out of his butt which customarily held his tail in place, and violently drove it right through Tigger's left eye and into his brain, killing him instantly.
"ANYONE ELSE HERE GOT ANYTHING TO SAY?" bellowed Eeyore. Both Pooh and Christopher Robin vigorously shook their heads "no", and slowly started to back away...
"BECAUSE IF YOU DO
(We regret to inform you that the author of this Winnie-the-Pooh tale has just been dragged off this message board, and is now receiving her medication to combat a reaction from an overdose of A.A. Milne literary innocence and charm...)