Read part six and all other parts before continuing.
“Pooh?” says Jenny as the door opens. An overwhelming shine of light overtakes me as the doors open and as it fades, slowly, the items in the room pop more and more into view: strange chairs in the shapes of apples, hanging vines that may (or may not) be completely fake, tight ropes stretched tautly between two poles that sit on opposite ends of the room (with fire juggling acrobats performing flips on the wire) as well as walls filled with the type of pop art that blessed the psychedelic age (endless album covers of first, second and third rate psychedelic bands are among them, carefully framed with lights lovingly shining up on each, casting odd shadows on the ground while Ralph Steadman-esque paintings take up whole walls, intricate, disturbing and obviously drug fueled.

In the corner, an ancient record player tucked in a corner creaks out old time jazz in a tinny, unappealing tone. The record keeps skipping (“my baby left me ‘scratch’ my baby left me ‘scratch’…”) and nobody seems keen to stop it.

“Why hello there,” a soft, light voice purrs out from behind the wide, inward swinging doors of the room. Robocop pushes me to the ground as Jenny walks next to me and helps me up. Robocop pushes the doors close and locks them. We turn to the source of the voice.

Winnie the Pooh reclines on an intricately designed and luxuriantly decorated personal bed. Young, female teddy bears feed him grapes. A tight, long strip of rubber is tied around his upper arm, stretching down to the floor. His eyes are hazy and distant yet dangerous.

“You seem to think that you can come here…and get my honey…” says Pooh, reaching down and grabbing a huge, cartoonish looking honey pot. The word “honey” is emblazoned across the front. He opens the top and pulls out a huge plastic bag filled with…well, it’s not honey.

“Nobody gets my honey…” he says, handing the bag to teddy bear gal who smiles, giggles and turns to the stand sitting next to the bed. She opens a dresser on the stand and pulls out a box, carefully reaching in the box and pulling out a hypodermic needle.

“Uh…” says Jenny as the girl bear carefully fills the needle with Pooh’s “honey.” Pooh stares at the needle and pulls the rubber band around his arm tight, lying back on the bed with a grin. The woman bear injects him with the needle, pumping the honey into his veins.

“Fuck yeah,” says Pooh as his eyes close.

Robocop walks over to Pooh and props him up. He whispers something into his ear. Pooh just smiles and laughs.

“I don’t have time to deal with every third rate ding-a-ling that hops their way down the rabbit hole…where is Rabbit?! Rabbit?!”

Robocop whispers in his ear again.

“Right forgot: too much honey. It gets us all in the end. Christopher Robin gone. Too young. Piglet on the street corner…too much…not enough honey left in the world for me, Stanley,” says Pooh. Robocop nods grimly.

“What the fuck is going on?” I say.

“Language, pleaaaasssse language,” says Pooh as his head rolls back on Robocop’s hand.

“No swearing,” says Robocop, pointing his gun at me and pulling the trigger. Click.

The girl bears take Pooh from Robocop and begin tending to him: back rubs, sponge baths, stretching his limbs and whispering carefully into his ear. Pooh smiles and rubs their hair and backs as they speak.

“My girls…my teddy girls…they’re the best, don’t you think so Stanley?”

Robocop nods.

“Do you want one, Stanley?”

“I have no use or need for a teddy bear female,” says Robocop.

Pooh laughs that high pitched, grating laugh that is his trademark.

“Right…no man only robot…down there, right?” says Pooh reaching for areas on Robocop that no teddy bear should ever consider.

Robocop gently pushes his hand away.

“What about these invaders?” says Robocop, pointing to Jenny and I. “They have disrupted our harmony.”

Pooh shakes his head and sighs. It takes him a few moments to answer. Nobody dares to interrupt or push him to hurry.

“Do what we always do: integrate them.”

Robocop nods without passion, excitement, fury or joy.

“So take him to the lizard quarters?”

Pooh nods.

“And her to the sewing area?”

“Of course,” says Pooh.

“Wait what the…heck do you mean…lizard quarters? And sewing area?” says Jenny.

Robocop looks at her and his facial expression changes slightly to a more mournful look that fades away as quickly as it appears.

“The lizard quarters…they will take him, operate, make him a lizard acrobat. You, they will sew up to be a teddy bear concubine for Pooh.”

“No way! I could never do that!”

“You have no choice!” roars Pooh, standing up on his bed. “We replace your brains with fluff. He will be a great ‘fire lizard’! One time performance! Set him on fire as he jumps from the top of the complex and onto a bed of spikes! The blood flies for hundreds of yards!”

Pooh is just starting to rant and foam at the mouth when the door behind us kicks in. Everybody turns to stare, including Jenny and I.

A small, brown bear stands in the doorway, draped with guns, ammo belts and other heavy machinery. He is a cartoon come to life, a bit more crudely drawn then Pooh but with a more realistic “bear” look to him that makes him seem infinitely more real.

He begins screaming what at first sounds like gibberish but which I quickly realize is actually the harsh, barking tones of a rather rural form of Russian.

“Who the fuck is that?” I say.

“Winnie Pooh!” says Robocop.

“My insane, communist cousin…” sighs Pooh.

Winnie Pooh continues to screech Russian insanities as he opens fire.

A snap shot of “Winnie Pooh” moments before he opened fire.

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