'I'm telling you, Pooh, it's most unwise.'
'I care not.'
'Look, we've been through it times --'
'I know we've been through it times enough. To the point where there isn't enough time to time the times we've been through what you've put me through till I'm through in the face.'
'Well, then...if it's you, or me, or Eeyore, or Owl, then you add (he / him / his). If it's Kanga or Tigger's PA...whatever her name is--'
'Tiffany Breathless.'
'Right...then you add (she / her / hers).'
'What's that little shushing sound you're making?'
'I'm opening and closing brackets, Pooh.'
'Oh, is that what they sound like?'
'They should. If the runners are oiled and they're flush with the woodwork. Which mine are.'
'Well I don't care a fig for--'
'Pooh, you just can't present yourself as Edward Bear (it / wot?).'
'That, Piglet, is just the start of it.'
'What?'
'I'm not just Edward Bear. I'm Edward Bear, Winnie-the-Pooh and Pooh. I'm a confection, Piglet. A plurality. A cornucopacabana.'
'So - '
'So on other occasions I may advert to my being as Winnie-the-Pooh (them / more of 'em / "Zulus, Sarge, thousands of 'em").'
'That's even worse.'
'How so?'
'You're not a Zulu. And it's not right to claim--'
'How do you know?'
'What?'
'How do you know I haven't been channelling my essential Zulu-ness on our homeward walks?'
'For pity's sake, Pooh --'
'What?'
'You're just Pooh!'
'I see. So now I'm a victim of your mono-descriptoral malfeasance.'
'My what??'
'You're a fascia!'
'It's fascist, Pooh. I've told you--'
'Now don't you try baffling me with your high tone and semantications. I suspect that you need re-educating.'
'Do I, now?'
'Oh, yes. You need training out of your unconscious Gonzales Byass.'
'And what on earth might that involve?'
'For a start, a free crate-of-twelve...and with Christmas coming up...'
'And where does the unconscious bit come in?'
'I'll repeat it slowly, Piglet...A. Crate. Of. Twelve.'
'Please, Pooh, just stick with (he / him / his).'
'You do know how annoying that shushiness is...'
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