The Little Jackhammer

I was just reminded my mom had a pet bunny. I had completely forgotten. It used to be my sister's bunny, and everyone in my family thought it was the cutest thing. Except me. I don't want to say I hated that bunny, but I couldn't say I loved him. First of all, I'm totally allergic to rabbits! Bubba the Bunny was my mom's third pet that made living in the same house with her miserable. All I had to do was turn seventeen (read: almost out the door) for my mom to give in to cuteness and start collecting cats and bunnies that made me a runny mess while conveniently blaming all my allergies on the evil Christmas Tree. Also, bunnies poop all over the place. And what looks like black jellybeans is fucking nasty to step in. Then there are the yawns, the licking, and the fucking. That's right. As the vet said, bunnies' strength is in their numbers. Which means that bunnies like to fuck like rockstars. And my mom's bunny had his own loveslave: a stuffed chicken doll. Let me tell you, nothing is more unsettling than hearing that cage rattle, then your mother looking over lovingly at her pet bunny going at it and saying "That's my little jackhammer..." Now that Bubba the Bunny is no longer with us, I'm trying to be a bit nicer about the whole thing. I almost enjoy this picture of a bunny yawn that made me remember the torture of Bubba in the first place. I like to imagine this bunny either almost attacking a fat person or about to bust out ACDC's "For Those About To Rock."