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.

After much debate and surfing of E2 for homemade explosives recipes, we decided in favor of our fingers and made the pilgrimage to Phantom Fireworks in Ohio. We couldn’t afford anything fancy, so we ended up with 2 large bricks of small M-80 brand stringed fireworks, and a pack of Silver Bullets, along with 20 feet of fuse. Our crew consisted of me, Mr. Frog, and three lackeys. Mission equipment consisted of a minivan, explosives, various tools, the bunny, camcorder, and a burning desire to see bunny fluff fly through the air.

Our basic concept was a skeleton of explosives. Hollow out the inside a little bit, connect the materials, spread them out and time them so they would go off more or less in sequence. We needed a way to connect the fireworks inside systematically, so someone brought up the concepts of making bricks of 5 of the M-80s. We taped the bricks together into 6 groups: 1 large pack for the chest, 1 medium pack for the head, and 4 small packs for the hands and legs. These packs were then connected together with roughly the same lengths of fuse. The bricks, once fully wired, looked so much like dynamite strung together that no one could go more than two minutes without saying, This is so fucking cool!

One of the lackeys suggested that we test the fuse to make sure it would light the other fuses that were taped to it. Our first trial didn’t light, which really scared everyone, but each trial after that worked. The entire ordeal was carefully documented by the camcorder, including much more arguing that anyone would care to admit. The skeletal explosive set was wrapped in newspaper and carefully inserted into the back of the bunny through a large incision along the seam. Once inside, more newspaper was stuffed inside in case the fuse failed and we needed something to burn. The inside of the bunny was mostly this plastic fluff that would just sap together when subjected to heat.

Two long days later we took the bunny onsite to the location we had picked. Nestled behind the KDKA radio tower was an isolated valley that was only rarely frequented by bike riders, and on this day, ATV enthusiasts. We had to walk deep into the valley, past a waterfall, almost to the point where the creek dumped out into the river which ran along the large road that we lived by. We put the bunny in a large open area, and prepared the portable fire extinguisher we had brought, along with two creek water filled coke bottles. The fuse was lit, the camera on record, and the dog running towards the bunny. What?? Where did the fucking dog come from?? Unbeknownst to us when we lit the fuse, two hikers and their dog were watching the festivities from around a bend, and the dog couldn’t resist the action. We ran towards to dog and the bunny, yelling and screaming until the dog backed off. He ran back to his owners, who were fairly interested at this point as to why our attention should be so focused on the bloated and dirty bunny, sitting in the middle of a creek bed.

The fuse had been lit, the dog chased, and the show must go on. We backed to a reasonably safe distance to watch, and waited impatiently for what we hoped was an exciting event. The fuse acted like a sparkler, allowing us to see if it was still burning. After what seemed like an eternity, the bunny’s ass started to explode. We all jumped at the suddenness of it, the immediate machine gun sound of the M-80’s destroying the bunny’s ass. It started to smoke black, and the bunny slowly slumped forward onto its chest. The Silver Bullets went off in unison, sending showers of multicolored sparks out of it’s arms and legs. The charge in the head went off in less than a second, blowing out the neck in a large shredding action. The whole back had been ripped open and gutted, with smoke billowing out and the newspapers burning in large flames that continued to spread and catch stray charges. When what we determined was the last charge went off, we slowly advanced. A lackey picked up the bunny by the ears after we doused it with water.

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 lackey wanted to see if all the explosives had gone off, so stuck his hand in to dig around in the arms. Each movement made a slosh sound, and he pulled out charred black mush that had been the stuffing. Even for a stuffed bunny, everyone agreed it was completely sick. We packed up quickly, and left the bunny lying dead in the creek bed. Climbing out of the valley, no one saw the two hikers, and we can only assume they had an interesting story to tell when they went home that night. That evening I took everyone involved out for Chinese food, as it was my birthday. The entire dinner in the crowded buffet consisted of ideas on how we could have made the explosives larger, how to time them better, all with no doubt in our minds that we would do it again.
As Bacon the Rambler has so notably reported, yes we did blow up a stuffed bunny. After that we did go out for Chinese food. And, during dinner we did talk about how we could make bigger and better explosives. It wasn't long at all before our dreams came true.

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.

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