PART THREE

Lumpy rapped on the door of Tigger's apartment. Tigger lived in a small apartment that was up over Kanga's garage. To Lumpy and Roo, Tigger was some sort of god that knew everything. Tigger always was having a good time. After all, he got to roll with Randy Moss's nephew, and always had an endless supply of gorgeous women. Tigger would know if there was a Santa Claus. Roo decided to come with Lumpy, but still stuck to his notion of no Santa.

"He's going to disappoint you," Roo warned.

"No he's not," Lumpy retorted. "You are going to be mighty upset when I not only get to meet Peyton Manning, but I also get your X box."

Tigger was watching the Red Wings play the Sabers with Christopher-Robin, Pete Moss, and Pooh. The inviting smell of beer, cigarettes, pot, and Tigger's special of macaroni noodles slathered in tomato sauce with ground beef, onions, and jalapenos greeted them at the door.

"Come in buddies," Tigger said warmly. "Wings are up by 2 and got the power play."

Roo and Lumpy stumbled through the sea of empty beer cans, porno mags, cheeze-it boxes, and pizza boxes that made Tigger's apartment. Pooh had brought over some homemade quesadillas with salsa and guacamole. Lumpy helped himself to some, while Roo asked for a Sprite.

"Tigger," Lumpy asked. "Is there a Santa Claus?"

"Good Question," Tigger replied as he opened a can of Heineken.

"There used to be," Christopher-Robin cut in, with eyes glued to the TV. "But not anymore. They shot him."

"They did not shoot Santa Claus," Pooh interrupted. "I am a bear of minimal brain, but even I know that. They didn't shoot him, they put him on trial for molesting little boys, like the priests."

There was a long period of silence after this, until the Wings scored.

"Eeyore says there is no Santa," Lumpy announced.

"Yeah but Eeyore is a bitter old cuss," Tigger answered. "Of course there's a Santa Claus."

"Really?" Pooh asked looking up from the plate of shit he was eating.

"Yeah dude," Tigger said. He took a swig of beer, and scratched his privates. "He started out in the Netherlands."

"No he didn't," Roo said superiorly. "There is no Santa, and if there was, he'd start out in the North Pole."

"Hey asshole," Tigger said shaking a finger at Roo. "Shut up. I'm telling my story now! I'm a grownup, so I know shit that you don't know. Santa started out in the Netherlands. He was born there, shot out of some chick's snatch just like everybody. His parents named him Nick, Nick Claus. It's a good name, sounds like a drummer. Anyway, he became a priest and eventually a bishop."

"Told you," said Pooh. "Even a bear of limited brain knows he likes the little boys."

"Shut the fuck up!" Christopher-Robin screeched. "I'm listening to Tigger's story."

"He lived back in the day when everyone was poor, and kids had to work in fields and shit like that," Tigger went on. "So as a treat for the kids he would leave candy, and little things such as toy soliders carved out of wood and shit like that in their shoes."

In their shoes?" Roo asked. "Come on, no present worth getting fits in one's shoes."

"That's because you aren't some poor kid working in a cornfield," Tigger replied. "Those kids were thrilled to find candy in their shoes."

"Were the small toys and candy made by the elves?" Lumpy asked.

"Nah," Tigger responded. "The nuns made it. The nuns made the candy and shit." He didn't have reindeer either, just a small wagon and a mule. He did have a sidekick though. He was a black midget. They called him Black Pete, and he was for the bad children. If you were bad then Black Pete would come to your bedside, take out his whip, and beat the living shit out of you."

Roo and Lumpy both turned to stare at Pete Moss, who was squirting some cheese onto some chips.

"What? You think I beat children just because I'm black? I ain't no midget!"

Roo and Lumpy both cowered away. "What?" Pete went on. "Been bad this year?" He flung the bowl of chips, sending the terrified Lumpy and Roo into shrieks.

"Black Pete was a wicked little fucker," Tigger embellished. "Some of the really bad children he would stuff in a chicken feed sack and take with him."

"Where would he take them?" Roo asked.

"Well first he would beat them," Tigger replied. "Some of the really fresh ones he would skin. There was one asshole rich boy who was a real prick. Pete wanted his head. He searched the world with Santa, until he found the boy somewhere in Beverly Hills. I think he was a Baldwin or something. Anyway, the one thing that Black Pete wanted most in the world was this boy's head on a platter." Tigger went to open another beer.

"What happened?" Pooh Bear pressed.

"Wings scored!" Tigger answered.

"No with Black Pete and the Baldwin kid," Pooh demanded.

"Oh, well when the brat was sleeping on Christmas Eve, Santa went to put the presents under the tree, because this happened in the age where presents no longer went in the shoes. Black Pete took a big meat cleaver and SLASHED OFF HIS HEAD!" For effect Tigger sent a beer bottle flying across the room where it barely missed Pete Moss, and broke into a million pieces as it hit the wall. Roo and Lumpy descended into shrieks.

"So if you turds don't behave yourself Black Pete might come after you and skin you, or worse yet, kick your ass!"

"I'll skin your ass!" Pete Moss roared and laughed wildly! He picked up a table knife that had been used to cut pizza earlier and hurled it in Roo and Lumpy's direction!

Roo and Lumpy fled Tigger's apartment shrieking in terror. They didn't stop running until they were safe in Roo's bedchamber. The boys sat in silence collecting their thoughts and their breaths. Finally Roo spoke.

"You can't really believe some mumble-jumble that a drunk Tigger comes up with. After all, if there was a Santa even Jewish kids would get presents," practical Roo said.

"No they wouldn't," said Lumpy. "They're Jewish."

"Santa Claus is supposed to be good and fair, meaning Jewish, Muslim, and Hindu kids would still get a present. He's not a Christian thing you know," Roo was back using his superior tone, and once again gave Lumpy something to ponder.

"We need to go see Santa," Lumpy said trying to steer away the subject. "I have to tell him about Peyton Manning."

"True," Roo agreed. "If you want a chance of keeping that jacket at all." Roo ran his paw on the soft red and black leather of Lumpy's stunning Dale Earnhardt Junior jacket. "This will be sweet. It will look pretty cool on me."