By the time they were halfway up Beadle Street Tamar’s arms were cramping from carrying the rabbit, which was quite fat. He sat the rabbit down and his mind reeled with criticism, I see, when the going gets tough the rabbit gets fucked!
It’s just that you are fatter then you look. I thought all of that was fur.
At least I don’t look like some big-headed starving Ethiopian kid. Look, we need a solution to the incompatible nature of the not yet symbiotic relationship between my fat ass and your weak dumbass. That’s the ticket right there; that shit right there!
Where, you aren’t pointing?
The rabbit then leaned forward and pointed its nose and both ears at a large black motorcycle.
Oh, no! That is some big biker’s motorcycle, and I can’t ride anyhow.
Listen dumbass, I knew that. What I’m suggesting is a portable seat for myself, and one that offers some protection as well. You see those two helmets, the one with the spike and the one with the playboy bunny ears on it?
Grab the one with the bunny ears and put me in it. Then you can lug me around by gripping the chin strap, like your some prissy little faɡɡot carrying a bucket of strawberries—but it will be a bucket of armor-plated brains with two radar dishes I might add. Dude, I’ll be your mobile command and intelligence gathering center, like the big police RV!
That is a neat idea Mister Joey Rabbit, but that would be stealing.
Alright kid, I can see that we are going to have to work on your ethical flexibility.
Look at it like this. You see, the big fat biker man bought that little bunny helmet for a smokin’ hot little biker mamma. Now that was some years ago mind you. Now she’s a chain-smoking, pot-bellied nagging pain-in-his-ass! He can’t even get on his iron horse and ride, because Mamma’s like, ‘Nah, no you don’t, you’re not picking up some young bitch and letting her wear my bunny ear helmet. Get your ass back over here and rub my feet.’
Now if you take that poontang IQ protector away, then the bitch has to stay home! Get it! You’re a hero kid!
Tamar had to agree with the conspiratorial rabbit, Yeah, I could see a mom being bossy like that and see a dad—even a big fat biker dad—wanting to get away, maybe buy a taquito at the 7-11. Okay Joey, in you go.
Dude, watch the ears; they’re my early warning system. That’s right smooth them back. You know dude, I’m not feeling too well. Rabbits don’t deal too well with stress. How about if I snooze while you get us to your digs?
Sure, that’s cool dude! I’ll keep a lookout and I’ll wake you up when we’re home.
This was the first time that Tamar had been happy, particularly about going home, in some time. There were still hours of daylight left and Indian summer was breathing its warm breath across the asphalt trail. Tamar was feeling like he was on a real adventure, and was really enjoying having a telepathic pet. You couldn’t just pick out these at the pet store. He was particularly excited about the prospect of his cotton-tailed military advisor awaking from his power-nap refreshed and with some diabolical plan for prevailing over the bullies that tormented him. Tamar was good and ready to fight back after that time laying in the Dead Dude Weeds.
“Sleep fast Joey Cotton-tail. Sleep fast.”
