Death of a Stuffed Bunny

Almost every action has fairly logical reasons for occurring. If you can see some logical reason to blow up a huge stuffed bunny you found on the side of the road you are a better man than I.

While driving through the great city of Etna, Mr. Frog picked up a large stuffed bunny off of the side of the road, apparently left for quite some time (it was rather nasty). It was passed between people's garages for the better part of a year, the smell of which would attract the curious parent to the large and ominous black garbage bag that was its home. Mr. Frog eventually got sick of the thing, and decided that we needed a burial. No normal burial would do, it needed to be spectacular. Burial at sea, a return to its roadside home, and a bonfire were all discarded.

Death by explosives was mentioned. Yes.

The contents of what had been the bunny's guts slid out of the now gaping hole from the back of its head to its ass.

The morning the bunny was put to rest, the same lackeys, along with Bacon the Rambler, came over to my house with model rocket engines. There were 2 or 3 D engines and a C engine (for you rocket enthusiasts). These engines were ground into a powder and dumped into a Ziploc bag.

In our excitement and anticipation to see the bunny go up in all its glory, we left the rocket fuel in the car. Over the dinner conversation of bigger and better explosives, the fact that we still had this fuel came up. The possibility of a second explosion that night was getting better and better. We couldn't just light the fuel on fire and see what it would do. No, it was us, we had to do this with some style, some pizzazz. We needed something to blow up, and it had to be funny. A trip to Walmat was in order. We searched around for a cheap stuffed animal to record its hopefully hysterical demise. After much searching, and of course much arguing, we found a small teddy bear. This teddy bear was renamed, Osama Bear Laden. Tonight's explosion would be a political statement. Over to a lackeys house to arm the bear.

This time we almost had a clue as to what we were doing. A small incision was made in the back of the bear's head. Into this incision were placed the bag of rocket fuel and a bag of 250 match heads we had cut so see what would happen. GO BIG OR GO HOME was our motto for the evening. Now we need a fuse.

FUCK, ALL THE FUSE WAS USED ON THE BUNNY.

All we had left was about two seconds worth. That was hardly enough. The two lackeys were discussing just running like hell after lighting it and hoping for the best. With nothing else that would work, this was our only option. To complete the style for the explosion we needed some props. An old t-shirt was sacrificed to draw a picture of the "Camel-fucker" and was wrapped around the bear. A turban was added to complete the ensemble.

Now the search for ground zero began. The suburbs, especially an extensively settled one, did not allow us many choices. Also, night had set in barring us from wooded areas. We drove around, walked over cliffs behind construction sites, and finally found the perfect spot. There is this baseball field surrounded on three sides by forest. The fourth side... well, that was my church, complete with a convent and priests who all knew who I was. But I didn't care, except that normally it would have been abandoned this late on a Sunday night, but there was a Christmas concert by the church choirs going on. Oh well, we didn't care, the show must go on. We set up the tripod for the camera, set up the bear, readied the fire extinguishers and buckets of water, and hid in our bunker as a lackey lit the short fuse.

HOLY SHIT!!

The bear's head went up in a "Whooosh" of bright light and flaming match heads shot out of the back of the head providing a shimmering backdrop to the now decapitated bear. The autopsy revealed that the body was fine, and part of the face was left. The ears, an eye, and the mouth were all that was left of the bear's cute face. The entire back of the head, an eye, and all of the stuffing was gone, left on the baseball field.

This was the birthday celebration for Bacon the Rambler. However, he went back to school, then headed off to Utah. I stayed back home and listened to the ambitions of the lackeys, who wanted bigger and better explosions.