Some Like It Hot

Jonathan Livingston Seagull, Don Juan, the other Don Juan, Zorba the Greek, Winnie the Pooh, Madame Blavatsky and Alice from Wonderland had been invited.

An apology was received from Madame Blavatsky. She said she wasn’t currently on a compatible plane. Blavatsky had successfully claimed to be alive under the 23rd Ammendment and was therefore a free spirit.

Alice had been the first to arrive. She was slumped in an armchair, staring at the rococo ceiling.

There was a muted bang, and Winnie the Pooh appeared. Alice, though equally fictional, recognized him from the shared matrix.

Pooh said, “What the fuck?”

“Oi! Potty mouth,” said Alice. “Not toilet-trained then, Teddy Bear? It’s a fantasy dinner party.”

Winnie scanned the matrix. “Right. What the fuck?”

Alice said, “You’ve not done this before?”. Pooh said, “No. I don’t think so.”

Alice said, “Well, you’ll get used to it. Enjoy it while it lasts.”

Pooh strode around the large enclosed space. A sofa appeared. Pooh flung himself onto it. “Any honey? Honey?”

“Fuck you, Bear. That’s your real name isn’t it? Edward Fucking Bear.”

“Jesus, give it a rest…” He looked at her. “Alice.”


“You’re a funky chick, Alice. How old are you?”

“Eww. I’m legally a child. And you’re a bear for fuck’s sake! A bear from a children’s story.”

“Been updated. Like you, apparently, Little Miss Muffett. And, well, nobody’s perfect. That’s a witty quote, by the way, from, er, a movie…”

“… Some Like It Hot. Very good. But tell me, Winnie, can you hold an actual conversation?”

“Well, we’ll see, won’t we? Who else is coming?”

“Jonathan Livingston Seagull, Don Juan – the Fidelio one, Don Juan – the Castenada one, Zorba the Greek and Madame Blavatsky.”

“Christ Almighty!” said Pooh. “What half-baked stoned numpty would come up with that?”

“That would be our host. You better watch your manners if you want to make it to the drunken after-dinner conversation.”

“Sounds good,” said Pooh. “I’ll be on my best behaviour. I see Blavatsky’s not coming. That’s something.”

He sniggered. “I suppose there’ll be some raw fish for the seagull. Or chips. What about you? Magic mushrooms?”

“That wasn’t… it was… Oh, never mind.”

“Talking about real names, what about yours? Alice Liddell, isn’t it?”

Alice sighed. “I’m sure we’ll get to that. Here comes the table.”

The table appeared, with eight settings. “Eight,” said Pooh. “In case Blavatsky turns up, I suppose.”

They sat at one end of the table. “It could be worse,” said Alice. “I was at one where they invited God.”

“God!” said Pooh. “What happened?”

“Well, God couldn’t come, of course. He sent Jesus instead.”

“Jesus!” said Pooh. “I bet he was a laugh.”

“He was alright, actually,” said Alice. “Didn’t drink much.”

To be continued…?

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