Tuesday, July 20, 2010

House at Spew Corner

Chapter 1

We are introduced to Winnie-the-Spew and our story begins

So here comes Christopher Robbin and his precious Bear kerplunking and headthunking down
the stairs, bump, bump, bump, one at a time, having awakened Daddy, MS, from his sound, bearlike slumber. One swift kick and Christoper Robbin and Winnie-the-Spew are already downstairs for breakfast, all of their arms bent in funny and unusual ways.

"Oh, look at this, Spew, I can point in two directions at the same time with only one arm!"

"I'm sorry," says Christopher Robbin, "but I just wanted you to tell us a story. Please tell us a story, or I'll simply have to tell Mummy you've kicked us down the stairs again. And you know how much she hates that when her hands are still shackled in the morning."

Usually Bear likes some sort of game when he comes downstairs, a game of matches or running with scissors. But today Winnie-the-Spew, for that's the name Christopher Robbin most often calls him, though it's more of a girl's name and makes Bear piddle, wants to hear a story.

"And what kind of story do you want me to tell you?"

"Oh, please, not about wine and bouquets and drinking and feeling the lovely bumps on Jancis again. Spew likes stories about himself. Those are his favorite stories. Tell us about the adventures of Winnie-the-Spew!"

And so our story begins.

Once upon a time, a very long time ago, it must have been before 9/11, Winnie-the-Spew lived all by himself in the vineyards under the name of Mondavi. Winnie Mondavi. It was on a big gold-plated sign so that's how we know. This is all the explanation you're going to get.

("But what does it mean, 'under the name?'" asks Christopher Robbin.

"Shut the fuck up and listen."

"I hope you die," says Christoper Robbin.)

One day when Spew was out walking in the vineyard he came to a strange building and from the building there was a lot of noise and many strange smells. Spew sat down and stroking his chin with his paw he started to think.

"I don't have much of a brain," said Spew, "but I know that there is a lot of noise coming from this building, and there wouldn't be a lot of noise unless there was something going on. If I'm in a vineyard and most of the grapes are gone it means the noise is wine being made. And if wine is being made then there's only one thing to do. Get shitfaced."

And so Spew entered the large, strange building and there in front of him were giant, shiny steel tanks. "That must be where they keep the wine!" thought Spew. And so he began to climb. He climbed up and up, higher and higher, up and up, and while he climbed he sang a little song.

Isn't it fine
How a bear likes wine?

Slurp Slurp Slurp

You can smell it on my burp.

He kept climbing...and climbing...and climbing...and he climbed so long that he thought of another song.

Wouldn't it be funny
Wish I'd thought of it sooner

If instead of tasty wine

This is filled with fuckin' Gruner?

Spew was getting rather tired now but he was almost at the top. He began to sing a Complaining Song, but we shan't sing it here, and when he was through he was peering over the top of the giant, shiny steel tank.

"I wonder what it smells like," thought our nearly brainless Bear, "if it smells like melons or figs or catpee or Christoper Robbin's bed sheets, though he's nearly nine years old." To find out what the wine smelled like, Spew lowered his head into the giant, shiny steel tank and took a deep breath.

It was carbon dioxide and Spew fell into the shiny steel tank of wine and drowned.

Chapter 2

In which we meet Eelaub and search for his nose.

One day Winnie-the-Spew was walking through Nap Valley and came across his friend, the ever-morose Eelaub.

"How are you today?" asked Winnie-the-Spew.

"What's it to ya, you stuffed piece of crap?"

"Oh, bother, you are a pompous ass. Let me take a look at you." And Spew walked round and round Eelaub until he noticed that something was missing.

"Something is missing," he said.

"Yeah, your genitalia, for one thing."

"No, it's your nose. You don't have a nose."

"Are you sure?"

"Well," said Spew, "you either have a nose or you don't have a nose. I think everyone would agree you don't have a nose."

So Eelaub walked over to the Nap River and peered at his reflection. Where once he'd had a nose, and a very nice nose, there was nothing. "Where's my goddam nose?"

"I'm sure that's what everyone in Nap Valley wants to know, Eelaub. Should we try and find it?"

"Well, this accounts for Everything," cried Eelaub, "it explains it all. I've lost my nose. Somebody must have taken it. Isn't that just like them? The whole Valley's full of assholes."

Spew didn't know what to do. He wanted to be helpful, but, really Eelaub was a smelly ass. So Spew decided instead to be helpful, and off he went to look for Eelaub's nose.

Through tasting rooms and walking wine train tracks, Spew searched and searched for Eelaub's nose. Then he came to the CIA, a Stone Grey building where his friend Owl in Meadows lived. Spew knew Owl was home but he banged and banged with the door knocker and nobody answered. The door knocker was kind of wet and mushy, not like most door knockers Spew had seen. Though he'd seen very few knockers of any sort save for Christoper Robbin's mother's set.

"Owl, come to the door. It's me, Bear."

"What is it? I'm rating coats right now. Coats of Bone and Coats of Nuts."

"Something terrible and wonderful has happened. Eelaub has lost his nose. What shall we do?"

"Reward! We'll offer a reward to anyone who has seen Eelaub's nose, though I don't know why anyone would want his terrible nose. But you'd have to believe they'd give it back."

"That's a great idea, Owl in Meadows. We'll offer a reward. And we'll get Christopher Robbin to write out the reward, if his arms aren't still broken."

Then Spew took a closer look at the door knocker. It was a very suspicious looking door knocker, not at all hard and not at all attractive. "Just where did you get this door knocker, Owl?"

"Why I found it in the vineyard. Why do you ask?"

"Because I know someone who wants it. This is no door knocker, Owl, it's Eelaub's nose! We've found it! Hooray!" And Spew grabbed the door knocker, which was really Eelaub's lost nose, and left Owl standing there in amazement.

"Where's my fucking reward, you silly ol' sack of bear shit?" But he never got a reward. And there's a lesson in that for everyone. There are no rewards in life.


Knows The Difference Daddy said...

This story reminds me of the time that Jory Vineyards had a label with comment about the Emperor having no nose.

Different emperor in that case, however.

Anonymous said...

Thank you for ruining this childhood classic in the best possible way.

Thomas said...

I'm working on the references...don't think I've got 'em all yet.

My verifier is lingr--can't; got work to do.

Arthur Esteban Franciso Maria Conchita Alonzo Conception de Corazon de Jesus de la Vina Przebinda, MD, PhD, PDQ, ret. said...


Where is Osama Bin Lauben?

Anonymous said...

Didn't you mean Osama Elaubeen?

Anonymous said...

Of course, he pronounces it Elaubin.

El Jefe said...

So, if I understand your point, you had a wine last night that had a lot of ass on the nose...?

abc said...

I'd comment on this post but I am too depressed about the fact that Steve! thinks that I look like I am 50.

ValveKeeper of Must said...

abc: Since when is STEVE! possessed of accurate judgment?

Samantha Dugan said...

Owl in Meadows
I am so sending him a link to this, gonna crack his ass up.

Pinot Noir Daddy said...

Owl In Meadows.

Agreed. Brilliant.

Marcia Macomber said...

Sick! Sick! Sick!

I don't know what to make of this denegration of such fine literary work.... Gadzooks! I fear for the honey pot.

Samantha Dugan said...

I would not dear dear lady, I have a sinking suspicion that our fearless HoseMaster has a profound adoration for the honey pot. Just sayin'

Ron Washam, HMW said...


Does Jory winery still exist? I hadn't thought of those oddball and funny labels of theirs in a long time. They were certainly iconoclasts.

Imaginarycircus and Marcia,

So it's OK for Disney to ruin it, but not me?

When I was a kid, Winnie-the-Pooh was the very first book I remember owning and cherishing. That and "Charlotte's Web," which no doubt I'll also ruin one day. So I see this as a tribute, an homage, a tip of my HoseMaster chapeau to A.A. (appropriate initials for us) Milne.

I may even have more chapters of Winnie-the-Spew in me.

El Jefe,

Nice line.

My Gorgeous Samantha,

Well, yes, I've been known to lick a few honey pots, especially after a few Stingers.

I adore you!

abc said...

Please don't ruin Charlotte's Web.
I'll send you all the books you want.

You were missed today.

Thomas said...

If Ron ruins Charlotte's Web I will never speak to him again. Wait--did I just give him a reason?

Anonymous said...

The Oxford Book of Parodies. By John Gross. Oxford University Press; 368 pages; £16.99. To be published in America by OUP in August. (or amazon.co.uk)

K said...

Poor Eelaub. He always hailed a cab but left his nose behind the coat door.

Ron Washam said...

Amy and Thomas,

I actually thought about Charlotte's Web, and have a very vague outline in my head, but I'm going to let it simmer and see what emerges. And then there's always The Velveteen Rabbit...

abc said...

Feel free on Velveteen Rabbit. No sentimental attachment at all. Now Secret Garden would be just wrong.

Thomas said...

Velveteen Rabbit? Isn't that a Kraft cheese-like product?

By the way, my copy of the Oxford Book of Parodies came all water stained. Anon: can I get another one?

Kathy said...

Thomas, how do I know? Just found it and thought it had a place here. Don't know about water stain as it is a very dry summer in England. Did it fall off the boat?
And sorry, I was in a hurry,and didn't identify myself.

PS Ron, just don't get too involved with Little Women. But I would love to see another chapter dedicated to winnie Napkins. (And why is it that Napkins make a story and Sonoma doesn't?)

Thomas said...


Kathy, don't you know that you can sign onto a blogspot forever and not have to keep identifying yourself?

Charlie has all those names on purpose--I think it has to do with the IRS and sundry agencies being on his trail, or maybe La Cosa Nostra.

Ron Washam, HMW said...

I'm not making any promises about what I will or won't satirize. Secret Garden sounds way too sexual in a Charles Dodgson sort of way. Hey, little girl, how about I photograph your secret garden? Kind of Freudian and creepy. So, perfect. But I've never read it.

Kathy, I've no doubts Pooh has been parodied to death, but I've never read one. I try not to read other parodies, really. Hell, I try not to read my own. I like my mind to be just the way I found it, a blank slate. And I think I may just have to do more Pooh. Even Tom Wark was talking about Pooh on his blog today, though only in regards to making it disappear.

Thomas said...

Ron: isn't blog just another word for pooh?