Part Three

Pooh, Eeyore, and Tigger had agreed to meet for a meal of booze and buffalo wings at Buffalo Wild Wings. Pooh was feeling merrier than ever thinking about the ball, and the plate of 45 greasy chicken wings slathered in honey blazing sauce that awaited him.

"So," Tigger said after a swig of his beer. "I hear you and Eeyore were invited to some hoity-toity Christmas dance at the von Maurer Mansion."

"It's not a dance," Pooh corrected. "It's a ball."

"Right," Tigger nodded. "At a dance you get laid. At a ball you don't."

"Oh Tigger it will be fun," Pooh defended. "Everyone will be dressed to the nines. And the food is supposed to be unimaginable. Like on the cruise ships!"

"Well I haven't been on no cruise ship," Tigger said sullenly. "I'm not some pretty boy born with a piece of cake in my mouth. You go hobnob with your rich la dee da friends."

"Tigger," Pooh exclaimed. "You are still one of my best friends! Just because I am going to a party with a bunch of different people doesn't mean I'll forget you."

"Yes you will," Tigger gulped the rest of his beer and barked for the bar maid to bring him another one. He slammed his fist on the table, causing Pooh and Eeyore's beers to shake, and almost sent the order of nachos that Eeyore was devouring flying.

"Watch it will you!" Eeyore exclaimed with annoyance. "Jesus! These damn cunt nachos are seven bucks!"

"Right," Tigger spat. "You are Mr. Play Boy richie too, so you can afford seven bucks for an appetizer."

"Fuck you," Eeyore grunted through a mouth of chips, cheese, guacamole, and black beans. "I have spent most of my miserable life living in a shit hole dump, working a dead end job, and being neglected and ignored by everyone in society. No birthday cards, no birthday parties at Hooters with lovely buxom strippers. No cake, no Christmas presents. I've been addicted from everything from smokes, to Risperdol, to Vicodin. I have been in and out of rehab and psychiatric care, and to top it all off I haven't been laid in over six years. I deserve more than anyone to go to this ball."

"Don't worry Tigger," Pooh said cheerfully, trying to override Eeyore's darkness. "Eeyore and I will take pictures, so you can pretend you actually came with us."

Tigger cracked an empty beer stein over Pooh's head.

"How can you two dill weeds possibly go to the von Maurer Mansion? How can you swish around dancing with his people and drinking his wine as if you are the best of friends?" He shrieked. Now everyone in the bar and restaurant had turned to stare at the scene.

"I'm not mad at Felix von Maurer," Pooh replied hotly. Tigger took another long gulp of his beer.

"Well you sure as hell should be," He snapped. "He's fucked up our football team, and he fucked up the city of Detroit."

"I think Detroit is a nice city," Pooh replied.

"He's fucked it up," Tigger growled. "His poor business decisions have ruined Maurer Motor Company! Maurer Motors is the heart of Detroit. We're loosing jobs! People!"

"I thought the Japanese making far more superior cars than the Americans is what killed Maurer Motors," Eeyore said.

"Well he did fuck up the Wolves," Tigger went on. "Hiring inadequate coaches, not spending a dime on the team because the idiot shit heads fans still buy tickets even though the team sucks!"

"Well that's true," Eeyore replied as he daintily dipped a chip in some sour cream.

"He hoards money from the fans all to himself," Tigger went on. Tigger loved going on political rants and what not, it was just hard for him to find a subjective audience. Now he had one at Buffalo Wild Wings. "Instead of getting better coaches and players for the team by expanding the salary cap he pisses away good motor blooded hundred Acre Wood fan money on fancy new football fields, fancy cars, private jets, and elaborate parties that you candy ass shit-lizzies attend!" Tigger got up from the table and threw on his dirty, worn, brown parka, and navy blue knit cap. "Go to your fancy ball in your 3000 dollar suits, with some plastic breast bimbo on your arm! Drink his wine, and eat his meal like you are the best of friends. I guarantee that you won't even see him! He don't give a damn about you. None of you! You are only invited to keep Shawsey Sanders from getting pissed off and releasing von Maurer's dirty secrets in some tell all tabloid book! He don't give one twittle fuck about you!"

"Well nobody gives a twittle fuck about me anyway," Eeyore shrugged and went back to his nachos.

"Oh bother," Pooh sighed as Tigger stomped out. The waitress brought over the chicken wings. "Oh bother," Pooh muttered. "Tigger is right. Perhaps it is wrong for us to attend the ball."

"Felix von Maurer doesn't care if we are alive or dead," Eeyore said after a swig of beer. He belched lightly. "Scuse me. Who cares why we were invited. We can go and enjoy the free food, the music, the girls."

"That's true," Pooh nodded. "Right now I am going to enjoy some of this food. Since Tigger left I guess we get double."