British Winnie the Pooh Postage Stamps
Courtesy of Britain's Royal Mail
[The 90th anniversary of Winnie-the-Pooh will take place on October 14, 2016. As if that wasn't exciting enough, here is a transcript of Winnie the Pooh's recent candidate speech for President of the Hundred Acre Wood, delivered at the House at Pooh Corner.]
My fellow mammals, amphibians, birds, fish, invertebrates, and reptiles--thank you for gathering here today as I continue my campaign for the privilege of serving as your President of the Hundred Acre Wood, the best one you've ever had--and reveal my strategy to Make the Hundred Acre Wood Great Again.
I really feel your unconditional love and support today. In fact, I could stand in the middle of the Hundred Acre Wood and maul someone to death, and I wouldn't lose any voters, okay? It's, like, incredible.
As you know, it's been a very competitive field of presidential contenders this year. We've had Little Piglet, Lyin' Owl, Low-Energy Eeyore, Goofy Tigger, Crooked Christopher Robin, Australian Kanga, Terrorist Roo, and, as I found out yesterday, sadly, Syphilitic Rabbit.
And not to bring you down, but in the midst of all this, an 'extremely credible source' has contacted me and told me that Crooked Christopher Robin's birth certificate is a fraud--he was not born in the Hundred Acre Wood. I know, I know--I'm just as stunned as you are. This means, of course, that he is not legally entitled to run for office and should take himself out of the race immediately.
Now, I have no idea how Crooked Christopher got into our Hundred Acre Wood in the first place, but my associates are looking into it and I can assure you that if you elect me as your president, no outsider will ever get in here again. How can I be sure? Simple. I will build a great Wood wall - and nobody builds Wood walls better than me, believe me - and I'll build it very inexpensively. I will build a great, great Wood wall on our southern border, and I will make the outsiders pay for that Wood wall. Mark my words. In the meantime, I am calling for a total and complete shutdown of human beings entering the 100 Acre Wood until we can figure out what is going on.
Okay, so Christopher may be Crooked, but at least he tells the truth, unlike Lyin' Owl, who said the other day about my paws: "If they're small, something else must be small." Now, I ask you, look at these paws; are they small paws? I guarantee you there's no problem. I guarantee. And if you don't believe me, ask my fully satisfied wife, Poohlania, or my beautiful daughter, Poohvanka, who is so lovely and sexy that believe me, I'd be dating her if she wasn't my daughter. Now, some pundits may say that dating one's daughter is sick and sleazy. Not the way I'd do it.
Then there's Australian Kanga. Now, if you know me, you know that I've got nothing against Australia. The Australian people love me; I've done a lot of honey business there. But, to be honest, when Australia sends its marsupials, they're not sending their best. They're sending marsupials that have lots of problems, and they're bringing those problems to us. They're bringing non-stop hopping, they're bringing Pouch Rot--right, Terrorist Roo? They take our jobs. And some, I assume, are good marsupials. But the 100 Acre Wood has become a dumping ground for everybody else's problems.
So, the Australian thing aside, the only card Australian Kanga has is the marsupial's card. She's got nothing else to offer and frankly, if Australian Kanga were male, I don't think she'd get 5 percent of the vote. The only thing she's got going is the marsupial's card, and the beautiful thing is, marsupials don't like her. So at least they've got some standards. Hey, I'm not trying to hide this. I told Kanga all this to her face. And she was upset. You could see there was blood coming out of her eyes, blood coming out of her pouch. Blood coming out of her... whatever. And besides, if Kanga couldn't satisfy her husband, what makes her think she could satisfy our 100 Acre Wood?
Now, some say I'm too tough. I say if we don't get tough, and if we don't get smart, and fast, we're not going to have our 100 Acre Wood anymore. There will be nothing, absolutely nothing, left. And your lives will become more annoying than Rosie O'Donnell.
We're going to be tough and we're going to be smart and we're going to do it right. The 100 Acre Wood will be a tolerant and open place. It will also be a safe place. We will protect our Wood borders at home. We will defeat the hunters. We have no choice. We will ensure every parent can raise their children in peace and safety. We will make the 100 Acre Wood rich again. We will make the 100 Acre Wood safe again. We will make the 100 Acre Wood great again. Please, be seated. I appreciate your enthusiasm, but I'm almost done. Then you can continue my well-deserved standing ovation.
Bottom line--We need a candidate who will take this Wood and make it great again. And that candidate is me. And I'm aware of all the things being said about me, the insults and accusations. That I'm naïve and slow-witted. That I'm an anthropomorphic toy bear. That I'm a fictional character created by an English author. That I'm a Disney slave to the studio's unending desire for TV shows, movies and holiday specials. Sticks and stones, folks; sticks and stones. Envy is such an ugly emotion and make no mistake, the world envies me. And for good reason--I've got enough money to buy the world. Which I have not ruled out, but that's another matter.
And stop asking me for my tax returns. I do plan to release them--just as soon as there's peace in the Middle East. Besides, there's nothing wrong with my returns, believe me.
But it's more than my awesome income, stunning wife, business acumen, and architecturally amazing bear hair. My IQ is one of the highest -- and you all know it! Especially you, Eeyore. So, my fellow animals, please don't feel so stupid or insecure; it's not your fault. Please do the right thing for this Wood we all love. Vote for me. And read my book, The Art of the Meal. God bless you. God bless the 100 Acre Wood. And especially--God bless me.
Your friend,
Winnie the Pooh