Jan 10

Ate a lot of hunny yesturday and now I’m really paying fore it. Tumbly ache central. One up, down, touch the ground was the trigger, per yoosual. Then came pot after pot of yummy yummy hunny in my hunny-luving tumbly.

Oof, why does hunny hurt me so? There must bee other foods to eat that won’t make me feel so horrible all the time. Eeyore eats grass, Rabbit carrots, and Tigger – I don’t no. He’s hopped up on something, that’s fore sure.

Feb 30

Piglet worries me. He’s so small, a wittle runt. Easily swept up on blustery days, allways fawling over, getting lost or trapping himself in a gravel pit. He has no wits about him. Acts like a doormat when confronted.

Eeyore gave Piglet’s howse to Owl and Piglet just let it happen, didn’t even bat an eyelash or squeel like he shood. I offered to let him stay over bee-cause I felt bad. He’s so odd. Doesn’t eat hunny at all. Just wants to find Heffalumps. Those things aren’t even reel.

Dee-lusional.

March 4

I think I got Kanga pregg-er-nit, dear me. I’m not ready to be a father. And Roo is already such a handful. Handful. Handful.

Handful of hunny sounds mighty yummy right about now, yes it does. Good thinking, Pooh. That will take away my worries while Kanga bangs on the door outside. She always wants to talk about the fyoochur, breathing down my fuzzy wuzzy neck. But I can’t hear her if I’m slurping up some sticky, oozy, gooey hunny, ho ho ho. I can stuff some in my ears to drown her out.

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Yes, yes.

April 11

Owl told me that the Persians used hunny for torture by forcing it down the gullets of prisoners and lathering their bodies in more hunny bee-fore tying them to hollowed out tree trunks and setting them afloat. Then insects and bugs wood be drawn to them to burrow and breed inside their flesh while they rotted in the sun and shat themselves. Dredfull.

Spent the rest of the day imagining what it wood be like to be coated in hunny, milk, and choc-o-late. Yum yum yum. X-ta-cee.

May 20

Ate all of Rabbit’s hunny and got stuck in his rabbit hole. Not my fault. Stoopid door too small. Rabbit sent fore help, then Owl showed up. Eventually everyone came to hoop and holler, so embarrassing.

Don’t no how long I was plugged up in there. Days? Weeks? Gopher took pity on me. Tried to give me some hunny. Rabbit took it away, rude.

Got out eventually, sailed clear out of the book. Almost died.

June 17

Eeyore finally offed himself. We all knew it was coming, and what did we do? Did nothing, sed nothing.

I shood have been a better friend. I shood have been there fore him. He was suffering fore so long.

Dammit, I just remembered that Piglet gave him a popped balloon for his birthday, what a tit.

But I’m no better. All this chubby little cubby all stuffed with fluff cared about was eating some darn hunny. I have to get a grip on these crayvings or I will end up like him. Tho I don’t have a nail-on tail to hang myself with, so there’s that.

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Oct 4

Eeyore’s deth has sent me into a hunny spiral. The past three months have been a sticky wicky blur of hunny. Always a perpetual rumbly in my tumbly – a thirst I can’t quench. It’s stuck to me like a little black rain cloud hovering under a hunny tree.

Eat something sweet to feel better, to forget about Eeyore. Growing more stout and round each day. Short, fat, and proud of that – what a sham.

I hate myself.

Dec 15

Christopher Robin said the first step towards ree-cov-er-ee is admitting that I have a bothersome bit of a lifestyle problem. And so I’ve done it. No easy feat, no. Terribly hard to do. So hard. So difficult.

I should reward myself for being such a good little Pooh. Perhaps with some hunny? That sounds nice. A tasty treat for revealing my flaws. Nothing wrong with that, no, not at all.

Perfectly ree-zon-able.

Jan 1

Who am I, really? Winnie the Pooh? Or Mister Sanders? Which is it?! Oh how I wish someone wood tell me.

I talk to myself all day in the mirror. Thinking is so hard. Think. Think. Think. What do I no about myself? I am a yellow bear. I am naked from the waste down. Full of cotton and sewn together. No secks organs. How in the Hundred Acre Wood did I get Kanga pregg-er-nit?

How am I even alive? Am I even alive? Am I even real? What does my life mean?

Jan 2

I’ve just had an ee-piff-an-ee. I’m completely made up. Oh bother.

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