he entire Hundred Acre Woods were in a state of shock this week with the harrowing discovery of the bodies of local favorites Tigger and Piglet, in the aftermath of an apparent murder-suicide. Authorities are uncertain as to what motivated the affable jungle cat to such drastic action, but evidence points to Tigger having a long history of mental illness.

“In the end, Tigger just wasn’t able to bounce back from his manic depression,� the tiger’s psychotherapist, Dr. Melvin Dirth, explained sadly. “One day he’d be bouncing off the walls, driving everyone around him nutso! But then the next, you’d find him down at Eeyore’s place, watching sad old black and white movies and gorging himself on Valentine candies.�

According to friends, the effervescent tiger was also afflicted with mild schizophrenia, haunted at times by an imaginary beast known only as the “Heffalump,� which Dr. Dirth believes represented the exteriorization of all Tigger’s inner demons.

“I think we all have an inner Heffalump,� explained Dr. Dirth. “For some of us, it might be a weight problem, or a fear of heights. For Tigger, it was some kind of deadly woodland beast no one had ever seen. Tigger battled his inner demons by pretending to be a jagular on the prowl, though he’d usually only end up scaring Pooh and Piglet in the end.�

“I keep thinking about the last thing he said to me,� sobbed Hundred Acre Wood resident and Tigger acquaintance Kanga. “He said: ‘Woo-hoo-hoo-hoo! TTFN!’ I didn’t realize he really meant ta-ta-forever.�

A funeral service held Sunday featured a mournful poetic reading of the lyrics to the Tigger favorite “The Most Wonderful Thing About Tiggers� and a gag coffin filled with springy nut-can snakes, which everyone appreciated except for Eeyore.

Less is known about Piglet, the diminutive victim that friends describe as a shy, reedy-voiced pig with a fondness for taxidermy. Family friend Winnie the Pooh, a bear of very little brain and longtime Piglet confidant, paints a similar picture.

“Piglet loved nothing more than smacking his lips all the way down to the bottom of a delicious pot of honey,� Pooh reminisced fondly. “No, now wait a minute. That’s me! Who was Piglet again?�

Sentiment and remembrance gave way to practical concerns over the weekend, as industry insiders began to gossip over who would be taking Tigger and Piglet’s places in the two highly-anticipated upcoming Disney films about the Hundred Acre gang, A Roo with a View and Eeyore’s directorial debut, Jackass 2. Though final casting decisions have not yet been made, early rumor points to Tony the Tiger and Porky Pig as strong likely replacements for the deceased pair.

“If you ask me, and I realize that no one has, though they should,� rambled Tigger neighbor and woodland asshole Owl, “Tigger was a victim of cartoon violence. You can’t let children or large cats grow up watching millions of acts of senseless violence on the television and not expect it to penetrate their psyche. Just look at the violence with which Tigger lived his life, crashing around like a whirling dervish, the end result should have been obvious! I saw this coming a long ways away, which is why I’m the only Hundred Acre Wood resident with doorknobs on his doors. That stupid cat never did figure out how to use a doorknob.�

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Ah, hello! How'd it happen? Yes, yes, Boris is good too.

Already Boris feel American like John Sinatra. Louis teach about football, andcheese in can. What wonderful thing! Boris press button on can, and cheese jumpout like "Here I am to eat!" Boris is master of cheese.

Boris eat much can cheese while watching thing that is Superbowl. So much sothat fun is had and Boris cannot make toilet for week! What way to save time. Notoilet time wasting for Boris, who is busy doing Superbowl.

Talk about fun things that are Superbowl! Men in costumes who run outside, thisis football. What great things this is, or as Louis say shit. What great shitswe are having when men run with little turkey thing that flies. "Shit!" saysLouis when turkey flies long way. "Shit!" says Boris who is having Superbowlfun.

But there is more than costumes to Superbowl, there also have nice men fromgovernment tell stories of football while wearing suit. They tell rules why menson field not getting up. Nope! You stay down on field, you are dead. You arefootball dead, sorry. Boris love this part of excitement.

Louis love dancing girls who are girlfriend of players on sides. "Hello!" hecheer when they are dancing in small clothes. Louis want give them babies inass. Ho ho! Louis is generous robot.

Boris like dancing girls, too, but they are bad at catching turkey, almost neverthey get that thing. But they are girls, so persons understand. No persons yellat them and they are on T.V. and happy.

Boris favorite football part is wonderful commercials which do funny thing. Alltimes there is dog talking or little animals doing magic. Aha! Who teach thosebeers to play football? Boris does not know! It is a funny magic.

Speak of magic, Boris thinking America have magic beer. In Homeland, beer makesBoris fat and go home with ugly woman. But not so America! America beer makepersons strong and have sexy womens and fun all times, not never woke up in dogpounds. Persons run and jump and have beer fun but not chuck up beer in backseat of taxi. And also them are on T.V.

Boris have so much fun doing Superbowl, why not invite all persons for Superbowlparty? Large fun to have with many persons doing Superbowl and sharing can ofcheese. So Boris press numbers on phone until persons talking to Boris.

"Hello! Boris is Superbowl party!"

Many time Boris call robots who speak not Boris language and instead answer"Baaaaaaaaaaaah…" in robot voice. Hello? Is this yes? Only robots know is thisyes. If Louis home he could ask robots is this yes, but him out getting robotmoney.

When Louis come home Boris tell of Superbowl party and invited telephone personsand robots. Louis excited!

"Boris, you inbred beer fart, the Superbowl was last month! It's only once ayear!"

Oh, ha ha. Louis is funny with robot jokes.

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Life is funny sometimes.

I was out prowling around and whatnot the other day when I ducked into a store in the mall that had this huge life-size statue of Xena in the window. Now, Omar Bricks isn't a huge Xena fan or anything pathetic like that, but he knows a key piece of interior decorating décor for the Bricks Manor when he sees it.

I was hoisting the Xena statue onto my back when the pre-pubescent store manager asked me if I needed help with anything, like he was going to crap out a disc helping me carry this thing out to my bike. I asked him if he had could get me a dickfour, which I figured would keep him busy for a while. But he was unphased, this cat was all business. We shot the shit for a while, and I was disappointed to find out that this backwoods store doesn't accept SuperAmerica calling cards as a form of payment. No shit! In America no less. It was probably for the best though, since $10,000 for the statue probably would have gone over the minutes I had remaining on my card. I'm not sure, but there's a pretty good chance. Thus began a fruitless bartering session that went nowhere but gave us both a good excuse to yell in public.

I sent the dude to go check with his regional manager to make sure they didn't need a used Nordic Track for the store, and while I was waiting, some salivating dweeb trapped me into a conversation like a sparrow caught in flypaper. He had his retainer all in a twist about some computer program that had just given the King Geek chess guy a wedgie or whatever. Something about chess, anyway. I said I knew what he was talking about, just because the reflection of my face in his glasses was starting to wig me out and also I wanted him to stop talking.

Now Omar Bricks knows a thing or two about chess. For one, there's a dude that looks like a horse, but he's not called a horse. Don't ask me why. I think it's stupid too, but I didn't make up the game. And the other thing is, don't try to mix and match checkers pieces while you're playing, because nothing pisses off chess geeks more than bringing up the subject of checkers.

Since the manager still hadn't come back yet, I was stuck in a socially awkward situation that only wholly unexpected display of breakdancing ability would get me out of smoothly, and I wasn't wearing the right kind of pants for that. So I was trapped like a gimp as the chess guy showed me over to a computer where there was a herd of nerds crowding around, all taking their shot at beating this Deep Fritz genius chess program that had so recently bookslammed the Grand Dragon of the socially stunted chess world. Of course, they were all getting smoked like cloves at a junior high school party and giving each other wet willies for losing and all kinds of retarded shit I don't even want to go into.

Since I was kind of stuck there anyway, I decided to make it interesting and I announced that Omar Bricks had come to kick Deep Fritz in his chess-loving taint, once and for all. The dorks were dubious, but when I stated flatly that Omar Bricks had never lost a game, they were impressed. Or non-responsive, whatever. But technically it was a true statement, thanks to the patented Bricks end move where you "Ah, shit!" accidentally flip the board over with your knee when defeat starts to look imminent. It works in pretty much any kind of board game, though if you're going to pull that during a game of Scrabble, you might want to duck out the door while everyone is confused because that's one mess you don't want to help clean up.

So in the end I knew I had that ace up my sleeve, and I doubted the computer had anything like that to fall back on. Generally computers don't have sleeves to hide things in at all. That would require computers wearing dress shirts and nobody not recently off crack wants that, since at any time you could turn around and find big bird-headed lamps pecking at you and scary pants come dancing out of the closet and then you realize you're in some kind of Herbie Hancock video nightmare and oh shit.

The match started well, with me moving some horses and the computer moving some big dick-shaped things around for a while. I think my concentration may have lapsed because I was wondering if this computer had that naked golf game on it when one of the nerds yelled in my ear "Omart! He's got you in check!"

Now I don't claim to speak chess, but I figured this was probably bad. One of the other geeks pointed out the computer's little castle and how it was lined up to put the smackdown on my bedpost. Shit. NOW they tell me you can move the castle. What the hell kind of unrealistic game is this? No matter, either way I had to move fast. I told the dorks not to worry. Then, when the computer was about to put the "Castle of Death" whammy on me, I jumped up like I had just seen an underdressed high school girl out in the food court and in the process banged my shin like a motherfucker on the computer table. That sent the whole thing down like a pup tent on a Special Ed camping trip, no lie. The effect was basically what I had been after, though with more shin banging than I cared for.

Of course, that's just when the manager shows back up, when there's broken crap everywhere and I'm hopping around, holding my shin and cursing out Bill Gates. The nerds were long gone, off checking the food court for cleavage. The manager kid was going on and on about the broken computer and this and that, and I thought I was going to have to windmill my way out of there after all, but he changed his tune after I threatened to sue the whole mall over their defective computer tables. For a second I thought I might be riding home with that Xena statue strapped to my back thanks to my lawsuit ruse, but finally I had to settle for this little pewter statue of some kind of fat gremlin thing.

Tell you the truth, I don't even know what the hell it's supposed to be. But it sure makes a badass hood ornament for my bike.

Bricks out.

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