E R N I E ' S H O U S E O F W H O O P A S S
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credit given to original author if known
This is the tale which began it all for me, in 1978. It earned me
trips to the Guidance Counselor's office and the principal's office;
it was referred to by my Creative Writing teacher as "completely
sickening and disgusting," (hey, the assignment was to write a damn
children's story, and that's what I gave the uptight bitch) and
asked me what my mother would think about this horrible product of
my sick mind. (Mom just laughed, which may explain a little something
about me. Dad was appalled, though.) The title character (including
stories about, references to, and images thereof) has been banned
from over a dozen classrooms, rejected by high school and college
literary magazines, been the subject of discussion by at least three
licensed clinical psychologists, and been described as "the last
bastion of 'Absolute & Un-Forgiving Moral America'."
I hope you like it.
MR. BUNNY HELPS OUT: A CHILDREN'S STORY
One fine morning, Mr. Bunny woke up and rubbed his eyes. The sun was
shining brightly through his bedroom window as he hopped out of bed
and stretched. "Oh, my!" thought Mr. Bunny as he combed his hair.
"What a fine day this is! It's a perfect day to go to the market and
get some nice, fresh, carrots." He made some toast with butter and
jam for his breakfast, and drank a cup of tea. Then he brushed his
teeth, put on his favorite red jacket and trousers, and hopped to the
door. In the hallway, he picked up a wicker basket covered with a
white cloth. Then he opened the door and hopped down the road towards
Mr. Bunny was enjoying his journey. The sun was warm, and he could
hear the birds singing. "Hello, Mr. Bunny!" the chirped. "Hello,
birds!" Mr. Bunny called back. He smiled and laughed as he watched
the birds flying and having fun. Suddenly, he heard angry voices!
"Dear me," thought Mr. Bunny. "Who could be arguing on a lovely
morning like this?"
He looked across the road to his right, and saw the two Raccoon
brothers, Ricky and Rocky, standing beneath Old Apple Tree. The
brothers had a large pile of apples between them, and they were
shouting angrily. Old Apple Tree had a sad expression on his wise
old face. He saw Mr. Bunny and called out, "Mr. Bunny, please come
and help!" Mr. Bunny hopped over to the Raccoon brothers and said,
"Boys! Boys! What is the matter?"
Ricky said, "Mr. Bunny, Rocky is trying to take all the apples for
himself! He won't let me have my fair share!" "But I should have
more," Rocky replied, "because it was my idea to go apple-picking
this morning." And they began to argue again. Old Apple Tree said,
"Mr. Bunny, the boys can't decide how to divide the apples fairly.
They have been arguing all morning, and it's giving me a headache.
Can you help them?"
Mr. Bunny's nostrils flared imperceptibly, and his upper lip twitched
once or twice. "Certainly, I'll help, Old Apple Tree." And he got
in between the two boys. "Now, boys," he said, somewhat sternly, "is
it right that you two should be arguing on such a nice day, and giv-
ing Old Apple Tree a headache, and being mean to each other?" "No,
Mr. Bunny," replied Ricky and Rocky. "Well, then," said Mr. Bunny,
"how can we solve the problem? Let's put our thinking caps on."
So the boys thought and thought. Mr. Bunny's facial muscles began to
spasm at a slightly faster rate. Then Ricky said, "I know! We can
co-operate! Rocky, you take one apple, then I'll take one apple,
and we'll keep doing it until we both have equal amounts. It will
be such a nice and friendly way to get along!" And a smile came to
Old Apple Tree's face.
Mr. Bunny shook his head and said, "No, Ricky, that is not a good
way. The best way is to use these!" And from his wicker basket he
took out a pair of Smith & Wesson Model 27 revolvers, each carefully
loaded with six shiny brass jacketed-hollowpoint .357 Magnum cart-
ridges. He handed one to each of the boys, and made them stand back
to back. "Now, when I say GO!" said Mr. Bunny, "each of you will take
five steps, turn around, and fire your guns at each other, all right?"
The boys smiled and nodded. They still hadn't noticed the twitching
which had now spread to the whole left side of Mr. Bunny's face. Old
Apple Tree, with a puzzled look, said, Mr. Bunny, don't you think
that...." He fell fearfully silent as the Rabbit fixed a steely gaze
on him and made a barely perceptible guttural sound from his throat.
Then Mr. Bunny turned back to Ricky and Rocky with a happy smile and
So each of the boys took five steps, then turned around to fire. Rocky
was a little faster than his brother, and had a good aim; his pistol
boomed and Ricky staggered backwards, dropping his own gun. The slug
entered Ricky's chest at the middle of the sternum, expanding beau-
tifully into a deadly flesh-tearing mushroom shape. It grazed Ricky's
left lung, which instantly began to collapse; then it went on to rup-
ture the aorta, through which his heart began to frantically pump blood
into his thoracic cavity. A fraction of a second later the bullet
erupted from Ricky's back, the exit wound spraying gouts of blood and
tissue onto the bright green grass. Ricky flopped to the ground on his
back; he lay there gasping and twitching, straining to reach his revolver
which lay just beyond the grasp of his little paw. Then, with a final
gurgle as he drowned in his own arterial blood, Ricky lay still. Old
Apple Tree gasped in horror, and began to stammer, but was again silenced
by Mr. Bunny's twitching, murderous stare.
"Oh, Mr. Bunny!" cried Rocky. "What have I done? I hurt Ricky!" And
he threw his pistol away. "Boo-hoo-hoo! Why was I so selfish? I won't
ever, ever, ever, ever, ever be selfish again!" And he stood there
With an odd look on his face from all the twitching, Mr. Bunny said, "Yes,
I know you won't!" He snatched Ricky's gun from where it lay near the
little raccoon's lifeless paw and fired at Rocky again and again.
Rocky screamed in pain as the bullets thudded home, for, in the savagery
of his attack, Mr. Bunny had shot only to wound, not to kill. Both
Rocky's kneecaps were shattered by well-placed .357 slugs. Rocky began
to stumble backwards as Mr. Bunny shot him again, once in each thigh,
destroying his femoral arteries and transforming Rocky's legs into drum-
sticks of gore. Mr. Bunny followed up with a quick surgically-placed
shot that perforated Rocky's lower descending colon, creating horrible
sepsis as fecal material was sprayed into his abdominal cavity. Mr.
Bunny began to laugh, a deep, evil, droning sound as he humorously con-
templated the fact that septic infection was now the least of Rocky's
problems. He walked up to the gasping raccoon who, despite his wounds,
was vainly attempting to rise and crawl away; slowly the Rabbit thumbed
back the hammer on the Smith.
Old Apple Tree, who had been struck dumb with fright, shouted "Mr. Bunny,
NO!" But the Hare paid him no more attention than he would a common
dogwood as he leaned down and put the muzzle to Rocky's temple. He
whispered hoarsely, "See you in Hell, you selfish little unsharing bas-
tard!" Mr. Bunny pulled the trigger, blowing away a huge chunk of
the raccoon's head; cerebrum and cerebellum were splashed about like
gelatin in a high-speed blender, and skull fragments whizzed through the
air like the shrapnel Mr. Bunny remembered so well. Mr. Bunny gave a
shrieking war-cry of delight as he jumped up and down on Rocky's chest,
causing frothy blood to bubble out of the raccoon's wounds. Then he
turned towards Old Apple Tree, who stood weeping like a willow at a
Mr. Bunny ran over to his wicker basket and took out a large plastic
bottle of Zippo lighter fluid. He began to splash it all over Old Apple
Tree, who regained his senses and began to beg the Rabbit for mercy.
"Please, please, Mr. Bunny, don't do this! I didn't mean to interfere!"
he howled. But Mr. Bunny would have none of it. Having liberally doused
Old Apple Tree with the fluid, he stepped back a few paces, tossed aside
the empty Zippo bottle, and lit a Chesterfield. He cackled with glee for
a few moments as he savored the cigarette, and the sight of Old Apple Tree
vainly attempting to tear himself up by the roots to escape enhanced his
nicotine rush no end. After a final drag on the Chesterfield, Mr. Bunny
flicked the butt, glowing cherry-red with its heat, onto the base of Old
Apple Tree's trunk.
At first, there was no visible reaction. Then small rivulets of smoke
began to rup up the side of the tree. Old Apple Tree let out a trembling,
high-pitched squeal of pain, and began to yell, "Water, water!" Mr.
Bunny unzipped his trousers, yanked his penis through the open fly, and
began to urinate while spinning around and around like a top, mocking
Old Apple Tree with a sneering shout of "Water, water!" As Mr. Bunny
sprinkled the raccoon corpses and the apple pile with his bodily waste,
the smoke rising from Old Apple Tree got thicker and blacker. Suddenly,
large flames began to appear amid the smoke; owing to the recent spell of
dry weather, Old Apple Tree went up like a torch, screaming and thrashing
wildly as if caught in a gale, his branches transformed into hideous arms
of flame. Seeing that his work of vengeance was completed, Mr. Bunny
launched himself onto the pile of apples and began to tear out chunks of
the sweet, nourishing fruit with his teeth, ramming the half-chewed pieces
of tasty fruit down his throat, snarling and grunting as he force-fed
himself. The horrible wails of arboreal anguish, the greedy roaring of the
fire, and Mr. Bunny's growling, savage feeding noises combined to create
an unearthly din. When he vomited from overloading his stomach, Mr. Bunny
did not pause but continued to gorge and glut like the Romans of old, even
re-swallowing the regurgitated fruit as he crammed himself full again. At
last, after falling into a series of uncontrollable bodily spams while he
bellowed incoherently, Mr. Bunny passed out in a pool of vomit, drool,
urine, and half-chewed apples.
When Mr. Bunny awoke several hours later, he stood up, rubbed his eyes
and stretched. He seemed not to notice the buzzing and thrumming clouds
of black flies and mosquitoes as they fed on the raccoon corpses and rot-
ting fruit, nor the thick, coppery smell of blood and putrefying flesh,
nor the pile of hot, smoking ashes that lay just a few yards away, nor
his exposed phallus, nor even the sodden state of his favorite red jacket
and trousers. "Now what could have happened to those two nice Raccoon
brothers?" Mr. Bunny asked himself as he picked up his wicker basket.
"I guess it was time for them to go." And with that, Mr. Bunny began to
hum a merry tune as he hopped happily back down the road to his little