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The Complete Tales and Poems of Winnie-the-Pooh

The Complete Tales and Poems of Winnie-the-Pooh - A.A. Milne, Ernest H. Shepard CELEBRITY DEATHMATCH REVIEW*(* entertainment purposes only) The Complete Tales and Poems of Winnie-the-Pooh v. Heart of Darkness(from the diary of Joseph Conrad)Entry #1Every passing day up this river takes me further from civilization. They call this place "The Magic Kingdom", and in the capital city, that name may be fitting. Cinderella's Neuschwannstein-esqe castle is certainly a sight to behold, and the many charming storefronts on "Main Street, USA" would almost have me believe I were back in Europe. It was in that place that I first boarded the riverboat. I was naive. Entry #2It's been four days since my last entry. The heat and humidity of southern Florida is as wretched as Hades itself, and the insects seem to be a cruelty this land has perfected especially for the foreign visitor. The last vestiges of colonial propriety and organization have disappeared from the riverbanks now. I don't see any more tourists; just ghastly, goofy cartoon creatures- unnamed and unknown to Western taxonomy. We landed at the first river station yesterday. There is heavy trade of merchandise here from upriver. Coffee mugs bearing the likenesses of characters from The Kingdom. Keychains and t-shirts with the same. Hats with mouse-like ears on them. One item in particular seemed to be selling well: a stuffed animal in form of a red-shirted bear. It stuck in my mind all day, and when I met up with a Disney patent lawyer in a bar that evening, he told me the bear was a disciple of the one they call Robbins. He spoke in hushed, awed tones."He surrounds himself with locals. The bear. A rabbit. Two kangaroos. An owl... there's probably about ten main characters, and some assorted minor. They adore him. There's nothing they wouldn't do for him."He eyed me for a second, considering whether to tell more, then drew a long puff from his cigar and leaned in towards me."This kid's some sort of merchandizing force of nature. He can sell anything with them on it; I've never seen anything like it." Again, hesitating, he downed the rest of his beer and then leaned back in towards me, lowering his voice, and confided: "In one of the stores down on Main Street, I once saw a plastic ice cube tray with his friend's images in each little compartment. $9.00! Imagine it! An ice cube tray?! If you can sell an ice cube tray for $9, what can't you sell? ...And at what price?"It was then I resolved to find Robbins and bring him back to civilization. Failing that, perhaps I could at least discern some of his mysteries, which I might employ in the promotion of Lord Jim.Entry #3The atmosphere has turned decidedly less hospitable. Natives on the bank have taken to bombarding our boat with novelty honey pots and bicycle "license plates" bearing assorted Christian names: Jenny, Steve, Brad, Amy... They chant their grotesque and indecipherable incantations at us, the meanings of which are beyond my ken. ("It's a small world, after all?"...)Undeterred, my crew and I press on.Entry #4It is now twelve days out from the capital city. We arrived at an encampment populated with the very characters the lawyer had described at the first river station. The owl, the sad donkey, the piglet. I enquired about Robbins, and it was there I learned of his condition. He was ill. I demanded to see him at once, and they took me to his hut, but would not go inside with me. I stepped in. It was dark. Dank. Robbins was huddled in a corner, wrapped tightly in a flannel "Goofy™ " robe, with a "Pooh™ " blanket over his shoulders and a "Tigger™" hot water bottle balanced on his head. His feet were soaking in a basin of warm water, and he had a thermometer in his mouth. On seeing me, he plucked it out."I suppose you're here to fetch me." he ventured."I want you to return with me. We're going back downriver." I tried to sound firm, intimidated though I was."You're not the first to try this, but it won't work. I'm sick, and I'm not going to school today. You can't make me."And there it was. I knew it would do no good to fight him further. So I turned to take my leave."Wait!" he was rummaging through the pockets of his robe, until he found a document, which he offered into my hand."When you get back to the world, please give this to my Intended."I took the document, and left him to his miserable fate. I know not whether illness overtook him, or what other horrors the jungle might have served him, but he was not seen again, by me or any other mortal man.It was only hours later, aboard my steamer, heading back downriver, that I unfolded the document. It was a copy of the Sonny Bono Copyright Term Extension Act of 1998.The Horror.MATCH POINT: Heart of Darkness