WINNIE THE POOH AND A WEE STASH OF POT TOO

Twas a beautiful, bountiful, tranquil, evening in the merry merry month of May. Twlight was just starting to set on the Hundred Acre Wood meaning the residents would be out and about visiting the dumpy, corner, ice cream, stand, or roasting marshmallows around a bon fire.

Eeyore sat on his cruddy sofa inside of his single-wide trailer. Candles were lit, an empty bottle of Jim Beam sat on the coffee table. Fade to Black by Metallica played on the boom box.

Slowly, Eeyore lifted the gun and placed it into his mouth. He began to pull the trigger back just a hair.

There was a knock on the door.

"Damn it all!" Eeyore ranted and threw the gun down. Roughly he got up, turned off the boom box, and went to the door to find Gopher standing on his front stoop. What did that piss ass weasel of shit want?

"Am I interrupting something?" Gopher asked.

Interrupting was a vast understatement.

"Yeah actually," Eeyore spat.

Gopher being the nosy ball of fuck that he was tried to peer around Eeyore, into the trailor.

"Eeyore, what were you doing in there?" he pressed. "I smell alcohol."

"I smell ass," Eeyore replied and shot the door behind him, so Gopher could no longer look inside. "What the hell do you want?"

"I need you to deliver this money for me," Gopher said. With a flourish he took out a thick, manila, envelope. "Deliver this to Mr. Fox, he lives over in Auburn Hills near The Palace. Here is his address." Gopher scribbled it down on a piece of paper.

"The sooner he gets it the better, he's leaving to go on a mission tomorrow afternoon, so he has to have it by then."

"Go fucking deliver it yourself," Eeyore barked.

"I can't. If I do I'll get my ass kicked," Gopher replied.

"So you want me to deliver it and get my ass kicked instead," Eeyore finished. "You're a real piece of dick Gopher you know that? I am sick of you fucking middle class pro American bags of shit acting all nice and white bread, and then turning around and making me roll in your shit and do your dirty work for you so you don't have to get your ass kicked!"

"Eeyore he is not going to kick your ass," explained Gopher. "He only wants to kick mine. You don't even have to see him, just leave it in his door. It's payment, an overdo payment, an overdo payment for a large sum of money. He's pissed off at me because I haven't paid and I fear he might try and hurt me. He won't be mad at you though."

"Whatever the fuck is it for?" Eeyore asked.

"I just bought ten pounds of fresh hashish from him," Gopher admitted. "He's a prominent Detroit drug lord. I'm late with the money, it's a lot of money and I know he will bust my ass for being late."

"How much money?" Eeyore asked staring at the envelope.

"About ten grand," Gopher replied flatly. "Ten grand cash."

"Jesus!" Eeyore cried. Eeyore was lucky if he could come up with the lousy five hundred bucks of cash to pay his shit-fuck landlord his rent each month. Eeyore had no credit or checks, and five hundred was the most he had ever had of cash in his hands. He couldn't even fathom 10 thousand mother fucking dollars!"

"I had to sell my boat," Gopher explained. "Can you do it? Just run it over to him tonight."

"Give me one reason why I should help you out," said Eeyore. "I'm not friends with you, I don't even like you, I actually think you are bit of a tool. I don't really care one way or another if this Fox guy shoves a ram rifle up your ass and blows the trigger!"

"I will pay you a favor in the future," Gopher said sincerely.

Eeyore snorted.

"Yeah, I've heard that one before. You people are all mouth. You talk to cover your ass but all in all you don't give a shit fuck what happens to me. Go back to your shitty little Suburban home with your flat screen TV, GMC Tacoma, three kids you can't really afford." Eeyore turned to go back inside. Gopher grabbed him.

"Please," he pleaded. "I will give you two pounds of it, the hashish!"

"Oh?" Eeyore said interested. "I want half of it."

"Half!" squeaked Gopher. "That's five thousand dollars, no way!"

"Half," said Eeyore.

"Four pounds," said Gopher.

"Half," Eeyore said again.

"Four and a half," Gopher said. "That's final."

"Fuck you then," Eeyore replied and went back inside.

Two seconds later Gopher rapped on the door again.

"Okay you get five pounds of the hash," he said. "But you must give Mr. Fox the money as soon as possible."

"Yeah, yeah," Eeyore nodded and took the fat envelope.

After Gopher had left for kicks Eeyore opened up another bottle of Jim Beam, and opened up the envelope just to see what ten grand looked like. The money was 500 and 100 dollar bills, all crisp and new off the press. Eeyore put a handful up to his nose and inhaled the fine, musty, vintage, scent, of cash. Soon he would have a handful of fine, Columbian, hashish to sniff as well. Before long, Eeyore had counted up all the money, and he put it all back safely into the envelope. He was just about to go find his car keys so he could deliver it, but decided to finish off the bottle of Jim Beam. He ended up drifting away on the couch in a deep, deep, whiskey-induced sleep.