Part Three
Winnie the Pooh went on a quest to drop some pounds. He was sick of being embarrassed at parties, or at restaurants with his friends. He consulted Kanga who worked out a lot and had a personal trainer. Kanga was a fitness fanatic and she got Pooh set up at the gym with her trainer. This began a long string of unsuccessful attempts for Pooh to loose weight. He lost pounds. Even as much as forty, but he gained it all back within one month. Pooh worked with trainers, nutritionists, Metabolife, Slim Fast, herbal supplements, the Women's World fad diets of the week, aerobics class, kick boxing, liposuction, hypnosis, and Shawsey Sanders even paid for Pooh to spend two months at an exclusive celebrity fat farm in Montana where he hung out with Jack Nickelson and Mariah Carey. He even had Richard Simmons calling his house at eleven o'clock at night, which was Pooh's most vulnerable time for pigging out on sweet honey fried foods to give him dieting pep talks. But poor Pooh Bear would always break down stuff himself with sugary sweet honey, and the fried foods he craved, and gain it all back.
Then one day Kanga read about a procedure in one of her girly fashion magazines. It was called stomach stapling. The procedure was only done on very obese patients. The stomach was stapled so it was way smaller and could only hold very small amounts of food. This made it impossible to cram yourself with tons of food because your stomach could hardly hold any more than a few crackers or a couple slices of toast. Kanga clipped out the article and left it in Pooh's mailbox. Pooh sat one morning eating one of his massive pig-o breakfasts, reading the article. Shawsey Sanders breezed into the kitchen and poured himself a bowl of Wheaties and began to cut up a banana for it.
"Why Pooh I never see you reading much. The only thing I've seen you read is the directions on the Easy Mac box," he said.
"Kanga dropped off this article to me," Pooh exclaimed. "Oh bother. It seems dreadfully painful."
"What is it?" Shawsey asked. Pooh showed Shawsey the article. "This might work for you," said Shawsey as he watched Pooh scoff down a whole box of Honeycomb cereal. "You can't seem to control your eating habits so this would control it for you. Plus my grocery bill would sure go down."
"But it would hurt," Pooh whined.
"Nah," said Shawsey. "They'll conk you out for the operation. If you wake up and have some pain I'll lend you some of the pain pills I still have from my football playing days. They'll make you all nice and happy and touchy feely!"
"Well I don't see how I could go off my diet if my stomach was stapled so small it couldn't hold much in it," said Pooh. "Maybe it is the answer. But I would never be able to eat much honey again."
"And you'd be fit, trim, and healthy forever," Shawsey reminded him.
"I'm a bear of little brain but wouldn't surgery like that be a lot of money?" Pooh asked. "I've got so many bill collectors and IRS people after me. I can't rack up any more."
"I'll pay for it," said Shawsey. "I have so much money, and it would make you healthy."
"Oh bother, I can't be a charity case," said Pooh.
"I insist," said Shawsey. "If you don't get this surgery you're always going to be way overweight because you're just too used to eating everything in sight. But this surgery will change that and I want you healthy. I want to room with a healthy Pooh bear, not a dead one."
"Oh thank you," Pooh exclaimed and ran to give Shawsey a hug. "You're so very generous. I'm going to get this surgery done and then I'll be able to shop at normal clothing stores, sit in a Japanese car, go on an airplane, play sports, and no one will make fun of me anymore. I'm so glad you have money!"
Shawsey Sanders retired with millions from his football playing days. He fled to the Hundred Acre Wood so he could live a quiet, docile, life away from the public eye. His digs in the Wood were a safe heaven from Felix von Maurer's nagging phone calls about abandoning his contract, ESPN reporters, and journalists such as Mitch Albom , and his pushy father, who all wanted to pester him about giving up football. Since he frowned upon the public eye he refused to do those stupid commercials for Campbells Soup and 1800 Collect, and he mostly certainly did not do any sports announcing. He filled his days with playing golf, getting his cars washed, reading, hanging out at the country and yacht club, and screwing white girls with big tits.
"I'm glad I got money too," Shawsey said. "Only good thing I got out of playing football for a shitty team."