Floppy Rebooted

When you were here before
Couldn’t look you in the eye
You’re just like an angel
Your skin makes me cry
You float like a feather
In a beautiful world
I wish I was special
You’re so fuckin’ special

But I’m a creep
I’m a weirdo
What the hell am I doin’ here?
I don’t belong here.

–Creep, Radiohead 1993

Δισκέτα Awakens.

The blackness fades into a dream. We walked sharing jellied fruit candy. The girl next to me as we headed to a store. Cryptic lyrics of a sad song, “Tomorrow we never meet again, the sun, the sun!”  Stretching on the sharp basaltic rocks, the dream fades into pain on the cold snowy ground. A soft hand checking my pulse as I look up. Not the blond goddess of the strange dream but the fabled icy blue goddess. Large, crusted bunny eyes open at least changed from the wolf like doppelganger when nestled in the rocks. “Get up and finish your mission!” Damn hot for a goddess and the blue flowers of the cave chant their icy song. The wolf and rabbit forms and assisted by fermented yaks milk seems to have evolved hibernation into a form of suspended animation.  The goddess Icy was there then without any warning disappeared forever!

The monastery is still there. Brother Roberto and the other monks are gone. No one knows where, no one cares why. The buildings are a large medical facility and spa. The pool of Athena is still there. It is just a pool now fed by the springs of local mountains. The goddess Maya has gone and the sun sets shining on the small and unknown village of Atmokounelos. Floppy again checks the partially disintegrated backpack checking to see if there might be a local tavern to plot his next moves.

The small mountain town of Atmokounelos really exists as Floppy seems to feel a Deja vu experience from the trek to the monastery decades ago. Could pass it up, but the broken down tavern looks inviting. The local wench dressed in blue which is a popular rural imitation of the Icy goddess. Smiling at the ratty bunny and apparently braless seeing an opportunity for a ticket out of the demented town or at least a free drink.  The small coin price of the local fermented mountain goat milk ale sounds tempting after the twenty year sleep. At least the bar stools covered with pelts of local feral dogs does not slide like those fucking  seats in the Texas Tavern of Sydney many years ago! The bar wench approaches and Floppy is not particularly choosy after two, not twenty years, in a cave. Not bad for an inbred town of rock farms and well over the Easter Island alien/human hybrid  big head standards on looks! The tavern barkeep has a resemblance to the local seat inhabitant and with a scowl inspects the  old coin and pours shot of kumss and Old Overholt. 

She looks closely and identifies herself as Gem, the owner of the Dungeon and Dragon graphic looking tavern. This your first time here? I used to know a bunny like you 25 years ago! Damn Aussie type that had torn ears like you! Yeah, we had a good time then he took off but left me a little present, as she nods to the smiley local girl that sends a warning signal up the innards of the dilapidated rabbit or possibly the almost poisonous fermented goat milk and the acid like Old Overholt. Floppy tries to recollect and remembers a tavern on the way to the monastery and the drunken fight with the two Arabian pirates. Well could it be? Floppy the father of the widow?

The smiling girl leads the reluctant Floppy to a curtained room behind the bar. A little whimper as the widow shows Floppy her own baby. The tiny fuzzy ears and depressed wet pink nose tend to support genetic evidence that Floppy may have had a side trip on his way to be a monk! But even that is not over as the room behind this room is open! A large painting of what appears to be a colorful Easter Egg but in reality, looks like the reconstructed and autodestructed spaceship. Devout followers in this bizarre, inbred town ae shown as the Lepus Cult with cubby holes of realistic and chewed up bunny ears, and artistic fuzzy tails only utilized for the ceremonies of this cult! Floppy the grandfather of the fuzzy eared baby?

The tavern provided Floppy with the necessities to live his lifestyle. The weather in these mountains was unpredictable and one fateful night the door creaked open. Years of dealing with mercenaries and politicians had given Floppy a sense of warning. This warning was well beyond what Floppy had witnessed even in the lava tube caves on Easter Island. The girl looked in her thirties, but the robes and staff appeared to be that of an advanced witch or something even more dangerous. Hands move over the handles of the Damascus steel throwing knives hidden in the motley back fur as the goddess, witch, or damn good anime impersonator reached in the robes and withdrew several bottles of wine. Floppy relaxes not really caring about potential stranger danger and more enthused with the change from boredom.

The goddess smiles while pouring her wine into the glasses. ‘Don’t have to end like this Floppy! Your muses have gone! There is only so much Old Overholt in Atmokoulenous, but it’s your choice! You have never been on the other side of Easter Island, just sat in one stupid spot until some ancient adventurer showed you one entrance. Woolley didn’t give you all  the facts! Face it, Floppy, you don’t fit in with these humans and your shape shifting even gave the monastery a bad reputation despite the good try at public relations by Brother Roberto! Your choice, stay here or come with me to see what your lazy ass missed decades ago. The little bigheads had more than one colony but stay comfortable and bored, or get a bit of the old Floppy and say, “fuck It all” and let’s head on down? Never heard of the Cave of Bananas? Well, I will show you the entrance if you come, beats a diet of half staved wild chicken and iguanas for supper? I think you will fit in if you can impress Katie, the community leader. ”

 The strange goddess pours more wine making Floppy even more confused and dangerous than normal but the familiar stirring for adventure once again. A sadness as memories of monks and muses goes thru the wine affected brain. Well can’t be helped, good memories, bad memories, part of Floppy’s life. Back to the old room as the witch waits and drinks more wine, stealing some of the better bottles from behind the bar for the journey. Sighing as he packs the amber pieces, SOG knife, old coins, several bottles of kumyss,  and the State College Phyrst bottle opener. No more Roberto to sing, Maya may lurk somewhere far below near the Greek flatlands. The fire and ice goddesses gone. This new goddess doesn’t look like the type to be trusted but what the hell? Walking out the door like walked out of the little bighead colony, Easter island, Sydney, State College, Greek monastery, and long ago the prison located in the bowels of the unnamed museum. Long live Floppy as the strange adventure continues. Sure, beats rotting in a cave!  The promise by the untrustworthy visitor still seems like a new deal, maybe even meeting the new promised little big heads? Time will tell as Floppy moves on, no sadness.

The Life and Times of Mutant Bunny and Favored Humans

All Good Things Must End

I did my best, it wasn’t much
I couldn’t feel, so I tried to touch
I’ve told the truth, I didn’t come to fool you
And even though it all went wrong
I’ll stand before the lord of song
With nothing on my tongue but hallelujah

-Leonard Cohen

Floppy rubbed his eyes as he slowly exited the cave at twilight!  Again alone by choice just like the old days in the wilderness of Austrailia during the “parable of the pots” test. Reflecting on the journey in the cave and finding the cave was not the answer and the flame provided false hope in the new persona but went out as Floppy approached.

Standing outside the cave he considered going back to the little bigheads and pondered while staining his fur with loganberries as he ate for the first time since entering. Floppy considered the rattan staff he left with the muses but decided to move on fast before his cold personality warmed up again. Thinking back on those early days of Bien Hoa, Vietnam and the Happy Hours at the giant polished bar of the Texas Tavern in Sydney shrugged his shoulders and thought could have been worse. Good times, bad times but in the end, no one else gave a fuck!  Floppy stood by the entrances to the little bigheads hearing the familiar calls of “Yo! Anyone there!” A strong urge to enter and visit Amy the head Shaman and amateur dentist, but one furry paw inside and quickly pulled it back. Floppy realized his true nature and walked away from the slowly less audible “yo’s”.

Maybe the spaceship had enough power to get off Easter Island forever. He mentally created a wall in his mind to resist the urge to go back. A northeast flight path could take him to Athens. The original muse had told him stories on Athena, the goddess of love that was built over at the monastery of Kaisariani located in the remote Atmokounelos mountain range. Possibly this relatively small jump could be done by morning. A quick look towards the direction of the little bigheads that would be moving about soon, then turned away forever. Floppy again had the appearance of a disheveled bunny with matted hair as he sweated over getting the craft ready. He took some time to collect some loganberries and even picked up a few pieces of amber from outside the cave. A few tiny insects were seen in several pieces, but he tossed these and kept the shiniest amber pieces for memory or just something to look at blankly. Resisting the urge to see what he could steal from one of the tourist docked boats; he readies the final stages before takeoff. Freezing at the sound of movement near the cave opening Floppy silently watches as Amy the Shaman and her companion human maybe lover Sir. Leonard Woolley step into the cave entrance and frown at the dirt covered bunny. A smile as Floppy shakes his head at the last invitation to return to the tribe. The spacecraft starts the final trip rough and the last vision is the little bighead that poked a bit of fun at Floppy jumping up and down and making obscene gestures on the beach. Floppy thinks why not as he fires the last four fifty-caliber incendiary rounds changing the whiney little creature and part of the beach into a crater that quickly fills up with sea water.

Local Athens time 03:30 AM as the final stages of the flight going into IFR mode for the landing as various warning lights buzz and flicker ignored for the last few hours. Floppy goes into landing mode near the headwaters of the Illissos River. He looks at the crashed ship and sets the autodestruct. Checking the pack for the lock picks, amber pieces, few shiny stones, one gold coin, the extracted fang, Phyrst bottle opener, and his SOG knife, Floppy turns away and heads towards the Kaisariani Monastery. The head monks greet Floppy at the gate already having disturbing visions of the old bunny’s visit. The monks guide Floppy to a sterile little room, not unlike the unnamed museum where Floppy originally escaped from. A time passes Floppy learns the advanced shapeshifting from the rare texts and monks. In return, he provides significant entertainment at Friday night monk mixers turning into Bugs Bunny and Rocky the Flying Squirrel! Floppy thinks back sometime at the other path he could have taken with the little bigheads. Something like an emotion that clears up with the steel mind closing that path of possible regret

Twenty years pass.. Floppy is no longer the bunny of Easter Island. No longer a cold killer that could snap the necks of mercenaries without a second thought. Deep coughs tear at his stomach. The Brotherhood has accepted Floppy and tries to guide him but accepts the nature he cannot change This morning Floppy realizes the life journey from Penn State, Vietnam, Australia, Antarctica,, Easter Island, and now  Greece is at an end. Collecting the amber pieces and a memento piece of Gorilla glued spacecraft he shakes, then blows out the flame on the candle. Watching the smoke a tiny tear then he snorts to clear his head.  He doesn’t look back as he closes the door of the room he occupied for twenty years. Like a cat in the final hours, he walks alone to the pool of Athena that predates the monastery to an unknown date. It’s a beautiful day! Floppy stares at the pool and a smiling female face appear. Not Athena this time but the long-lost Maya! The voice states, “Why didn’t you look me up while in the neighborhood!” Floppy shrugs his shoulders as the vision fades and a male face appears.

Not a vision this time but the smiling reflection of Brother Roberto as he joins Floppy at the pool. Reaching into his cowl and making a sign to shhhhhh, he hands over a few bottles of Loganberry wine, and an amber charm. Brother Roberto was considered the “party animal” of the monks although he did get a bit huggy at times! As Floppy stores the bottles and puts the charm on his neck he heads out to the gate. Roberto wakes up most of the sleepy-eyed monks as he sings the tune of Broken Halleluiah! Floppy turns and does one final smile and concentrates on the final shapeshifting into wolf form. The final voice greets Roberto, “Are you fucking finished, I am not fucking Shrek?”  A bow of respect and few laughs by Floppy and his brother of rare friendship as the white-haired four-legged beast loupes off into the woods. The candles in the monastery go out as the wolf disappears into the tree line with a howl! Roberto closes the gate and the story “almost” ends!

The white-haired wolf was almost as disreputable as the mutant bunny. Even the normal Greek ticks sensed not to use this pooka as a food supply. Tired and deep in the Atmokounelos range a light appears in a clearing. The wolf offers a loud “What the fuck!!!” that comes out as a yowl! Marietha of the first muse appears as a vision above the wolf and provides a flame that will not go out.

“Don’t try to change things that should not be changed, follow the flame and be a free spirit. This is your friend, not your enemy!” The vision of the first muse disappears as the amulet on the scruffy neck heats and lights up. The new muse smiles! “Hey, you! I am your new muse just call me Amber! Get a moving you scruffy wolf!”

The flame moved deeper in the forest but in the end, the lycan spirit took over. Amber knew it was time Floppy the lycan needed to follow his own path. The edge of the icy vertical cliff was treacherous but provided a resting spot as the deep coughs increased. The tired wolf looked up to a small cave overlooking Athens. The red object on the ice lifted the spirit of the beast to make this risky jump. The red rose was at the entrance of the cave, the overlook from the Atmokounelos peak provides a view of the ancient and recent theaters of Athens. The flame was gone but the icy ground was warm to the feel of the wolf. The path from Penn State, Vietnam, Easter Island, Austrailia, and Athens was thoughts as the icy ground warmed and the rose wilted. The muse glows in her blue gown with the matching ribbons in her blue flowing hair. A smile from the muse that melts some of the ice as clusters of blue flowers appear. A returned smile from Floppy that would give a horror fan nightmares but meant well.

He thought about the warriors and the wimps, the comedians and the saints! Most of all he thought about the muses that inspired and gave him feelings. The fire and ice were opposites but gave the spirit of the lycan some meaning. The water from the ice felt good as the saga ends. Floppy cares not if any read the story or his disciples know the truth. In the end, the final thoughts were back to the warrior Floppy that broke out of the museum with a howl that was meant to say “fuck it!” The flowers changed the barren area with golden amber, blood red like the rose, deep blue, and mixed hues. Feeling a warm hand gently rub his fur he looks up seeing the Amber muse but now a beautiful and physical reality and no longer a vision. The feel of her hand running through the fur gives new feelings that were long overdue. The giant wolf laid his head down sniffing the flowers of the different colors and feeling the warm and exciting touch, then seeing the truth but maybe too late. A fade to darkness then nothing.

 

“I am hopeful, though not full of hope, and the only reason I don’t believe in happy endings is because I don’t believe in endings.”
-Ed Abbey

 

I tried to stand in your garden
But you’re too tall
You’re much too tall, yah
You win the hand, I throw my cards in
You watched me fall
You watched me fall

It’s a long way coming down
The ladders in your eye
For a Wednesday in your garden
I think that I would die

I tried to fly in your garden
But you shot me down
Mama you shot me down on the ground
I watched the sky above me harden
And your black gown your long back funeral gown

-Guess Who, “Wednesday in your Garden”

The Final Round and Dim the Torches

“I close my eyes, only for a moment, and the moment’s gone
All my dreams pass before my eyes, a curiosity
Dust in the wind
All they are is dust in the wind”
-Kansas

“You’re the answer to my question 
You’re the theme of my every whim 
You’re the highlight of my invention 
Tell me whether I sink or swim ”
–Klaatu, “Cherie”

The story ends only with rumors and wild speculation. Some believe that Floppy was the apprentice during the final stages. Phyrst legends speak of the long-eared mutant rabbit but the accounts of any other are sketchy as a Shakespeare sonnet. The apprentice was one facet of the Floppy diamond all along from the sticky bun incident to the CIA spotting in Antarctica.

The repairs on the spacecraft with Gorilla glue and stolen parts limited the distance from earth travel. The fuel pods were being depleted with the numerous interplanetary jumps just for the hell of it. Finally, the subterranean caves of Easter Island call to Floppy once more. Floppy still has some followers not limited to those that mentally survived the Table Wars at the Phyrst and the various new age pirates not caring about their mental sanity.

Floppy lands near the Valley of King Hotmundu of the legendary Rapi Nui tribe and other cannibal tribes that once lived on Easter Island. The time passes with a diet of chicken and monitor lizards wrapped in banana leaves and cooked on an open fire. Not caring anymore if the well-known or intelligence agencies without acronyms find him anymore. An undiscovered statue head above the volcanic soil sticks out a few feet and serves as a dinner table and contemplation seat overlooking the rocky ocean beach. Floppy cares little of many things but hurts as he looks at the stars and thinks about the possibly unfixable spacecraft sealed in one of the lava tube caves. Several of the shooting stars remind the bunny of the less friendly rocket that rained down on Bien Hoa military base so long ago.

Stealthy noises approach the open flame. Floppy readies the SOG Trident quick opening knife just in case, not another curious monitor lizard attracted by the blackened chicken meat on the fire. “Sir Leonard Woolley at your service!” Floppy recognizes the name of the infamous archaeologist and military intelligence operative but suspicious even with the clouded Kuymss and rattan stick damaged skull. This person would be well over one-hundred years old! Floppy takes a sip of the treated stream water with a chemical pouch from the murdered Osama Bin Laden guards’ years ago, takes a look at this older gentleman, “the fuck you are!” He smiles watching the paw like hand twitching on the knife release button. “And presume you are the legendary Floppy, might I ask? in a dialect an old movie British accent. Floppy responds: “Not bad looking for someone about one hundred and fifty years old, although don’t take that as a gay pickup line!” The discussion continues with Floppy relating the tales of the past to this supposedly long deceased archaeologist. Floppy sees another possible adventure other than spending the rest of his life scrounging off chickens and monitor lizards and the boring fucking vegetables for survival. Against better judgment, the disreputable bunny leads the almost similar disreputable scientist to the hidden cave where the withered corpses of Bin Laden and his Special Forces guards lie. While this in itself would be a major archaeological find, both are more interested in the coveted last remaining bottles of the fermented Yak’s milk liquor!

The archaeologist handles the almost deadly amber liquor as well as Floppy. That doesn’t mean they can handle it well but at least not cough up too much blood from seared mouths and in Floppy’s case a problem cavity fang! Floppy pries a bit of information in his normal discrete politically correct  manner: “So, what the fuck are you doing here and how come your not a rotting corpse?”

“Well, you know the big head Moai statues that you use as your coffee table? They are based on the real-life alien team that crash landed here about one hundred years ago”. The continued tale concerns how the natives treated them like gods, and the hornier and bored ones coupling and creating an almost genetically ridiculous race of tiny people with big heads that inhabit the deeper underground areas. Due to the tiny size and relatively big brains, these descendants have learned to cope with nature and utilize science and paranormal abilities to live longer and use the available resources even taking out monitor lizards as a food source. While this story might seem wild to most readers, the origin of Floppy and recent crash landing near the CIA outpost don’t raise the matted eyebrows of the normally sceptical mutant bunny.

Floppy and the scientist have incorporated themselves into the denizens of this underground habitat. The vents for sunlight make this a lovely but dark place. Sometimes when you want to find out if someone is in the area you have to yell “Yo, is anyone there?”  Echoes of “Yo” rebound on the cave walls all day and night! Floppy’s temperament has improved especially since the infected fang was removed by the tribal shaman and health physicist. A year passes and Floppy one day yells, “Yo”, and a brilliant haired goddess appears!  Not that in this race of the big-headed small body people, hair is an attractive feature. smiles on he demented bunny.  Floppy was always the suspicious on, and the new Floppy hasn’t changed much on that, but after having fantasies on some of the cuter monitor lizards seems like this would be an improvement. Floppy witnesses emotions other than lust, hate, envy, and disgust for the first time since maybe even before the Australian outback training although experiences a new kind of pain for the first time. One of the Muses reaches the rank of village Shaman. The stare of Amy the village Shaman and an amateur dentist can melt a man or bunny and made a decorated fang to replace the old one. The Muse of the stare became an inspiration of the demented rabbit and was reported to have changed him for the better or worse depending on the disciple that relates the tale. There was a galore of understanding between the demented bunny and the muses that would be hard to describe. There were other Muses that had a positive effect and some say that the more timid denizens would even approach within claw and rattan stick range when chatting with Floppy. The Muses of the past have sadly departed and even tears from the memory, or from the micrometeorites hitting his face while sitting on the spacecraft deck won’t bring them back. Several other Muses provide guest appearances and Floppy for the first time looks almost presentable to the sober public.

The chronicles have been less interpretable here and even the secretive Floppy disciples won’t confirm any details of the remaining years. Some truly believe that Floppy still lives on and these disciples continue to watch the Chilean marine ports for any possible evidence of this sub-religion. Others have said that Floppy was picnicking on the side of a volcano when an old gas vent exploded sending Floppy ashes in the “hot flames” all over the island as the reptiles watched. Still another story was Floppy died of natural causes (reptile attacks are considered natural causes in the Easter Island sub terrains) and had the equivalent of a Viking funeral on the ocean with flaming arrows consuming the barge. Following this was a party of the little bigheads with marine iguana sushi and General Tso’s chicken as best as can be prepared with the limited resources. The Muses provided Floppy with some rare satisfaction even though they squabbled constantly.  The Muses were sad but always knew that Floppy would move on even if necessary hijacking an expedition boat back to South America and the rest of the world. The most logical scenario was Floppy tired of the cyclic mood swings of himself and the muses. He kept the amber good luck charms close as he looked at the menacing entrance and without looking back stepped inside. It has been said that he was seen entering one of the deeper lava tube caves of the Rano Kano volcano. The flames had become history and the icy path was treacherous although Floppy considered this a plus to have no followers at this point. Deeper in the cave the frozen groundwater could not flow through the tight bedrock and the icy patches ended. The cave had no other light than the torches and carbide lamp from the gear of Bin Laden’s troops. Possibly was in the damaged mind but deeper in the cave seemed to be a tiny flame just visible. Was there hope for Floppy that somewhere deeper something good awaited? It has been said in hidden and cursed texts that Floppy went on to seek that tiny flame to the heart of the mountain for the first time in his demented life giving a shit about something good.

The followers watched regularly then finally gave up wondering if he would ever emerge again. The disciples have mixed feelings, sorrow, and happiness, none know if this has truly ended. Some say they have heard a report of muted music possibly “I’ll Never Cry” by Alice Cooper but this could be the overactive imagination of this particular disciple.

“Well, what did you expect in a space opera? A happy ending?”
-Bugs Bunny

I never had a closer friend than you
I never had such good times as the ones we used to have together
You’re the one I told my problems to
Through out the years remained true blue
No I never had a closer friend than you

But all good things must end
No use trying to pretend it isn’t so
When it’s time you gotta go
But I never had a better friend than you

-Klaatu, “All Good Things Must End”

Sometimes I drink more than I need
Until the TV’s dead and gone
I may be lonely
But I’m never alone
And the night may pass me by
But I’ll never cry
Take away, take away my eyes
Sometimes I’d rather be blind
Break a heart, break a heart of stone
Open it up but don’t you leave it alone

-Alice Cooper, “I’ll Never Cry”

Subepilogue Ending Plus One: The Continued Adventures of the Mutant Rabbit and Human Prospect (AKA: The Never Ending Bunny Tail)

“It all began in a vast uncharted region of outer space. A whole flock of strange looking carrots drifting in space for billions of years, were floating down toward the Earth. But I didn’t know it at the time. As far as I was concerned it was just another typical day, except that I was late to work.”

-Bugs Bunny (Invasion of the Bunny Snatchers, 1992)

“We’re Bunnies Too – We’re Just Kind of Flakey!”

-Annie’s Homegrown Frosted Oat Flakes

APRIL 2013: An electronic search of the U.S. Copyright Office shows that a title search for “Floppy” since 1978 comes out to 631 copyrighted works. However, narrowing the field to “Floppy Rabbit” changes the result to 7 copyrighted works. The ominous problem is a search for “Floppy Rabbit Mutant” in the title search still shows no copyrighted works. This serious lack of information on the dreaded torn eared lepus was not surprising as those authors that have wrote about the deranged bunny (which also comes out to zero on a title search), do not wish to have their name associated with the research, nor do various underground groups wish general knowledge to be publically available about the exploits and adventures of this vile but occasionally benevolent bunny!

Series of undocumented voyages to uncharted dimensions of space and time continue until now.

PRESENT TIME (2017)

Must be a good day on the Ionosphere border, with an almost clear pickup from an unknown research station shortwave radio near McMurdo Air Force station in Antarctica playing “Candy” by Iggy Pop and “Xanadu” by Rush on 104.5 Acid Lounge Ice Radio. The trouble starts when Floppy spills a half glass of Old Overholt whiskey on the control panel. While normal liquid spills have little effect on the controls, it should be noted that Old Overholt can do almost as much damage to most earthly materials as concentrated hydrofluoric acid.

While Floppy has the esteemed rank of Ovate Grade Druid Priest, I must admit that the degree of Druid Bardic Grade Minion is still quite an honor for a disciple in the “Path of the Wayward Bunny” cult. Possibly if I had listened more intently during the Australian training camp on the Parable of the Pots I could have achieved a higher status. At the very least would not have as many scars from the hits of that damn rattan staff by the irritable Master Floppy on getting the answers wrong. The reader should also note that a steady diet of boiled goanna (lizard) eggs does not make one educational appetite in the best form.

Floppy handles the flying saucer reasonably well for a crash landing. While there is no reasonable argument that driving while intoxicated in a car is ridiculous, it seems that being intoxicated on a space craft, repaired by parts from a relatively remote Home Depot,works well in emergency situations. The almost record size one ton Southern Elephant Seal curiously watching the fiery craft getting larger provided a abrupt and mushy stop on the ice.

The crash landing near the CIA outpost was as smooth as possible considering the mental state of the disreputable rabbit and the lack of normal maintenance on the craft. Floppy looks around for his rattan staff amid the mess of folding chairs, a couch with holes, Elephant Seal gore, and the mini-fridge (to keep beer warm in space) on the front porch. This mess started when Floppy was ranting once again about the election of Donald Trump. Not that he agrees or disagrees with the orange faced man, and was still a bit pissed at Obama taking credit for something he did back in 2009 (reference: Chapter 4: The Last Known Whereabouts of Floppy the demon, Floppy the angel). Picking ice crystals from the dirty matted fur he attempts to clear my head addled from the crash with a few whacks from the fucking staff. Looking around see few Quonset huts in distance and with the temperature around the normal average of minus 49-degrees Fahrenheit was glad to be wearing flannel prior to this crash.

A quick inspection of the craft indicates that the control panel can be repaired and most of the whiskey bottles and Rolling Rock pony bottles survived. There is minor damage to the heat resistant surfaces of the space craft, but nothing that a large bottle of Gorilla Glue can’t fix. Luckily we have just enough left over from the repair of Penn State beer steins cracked from the last crash. I start to work on opening and repairing the control panel as Floppy trails thick lines of Gorilla Glue on the damaged parts of the hull. Cursing not from the difficulty of the repair but from not finding the right size screwdriver, the damaged panel is blatantly tossed on the ice still dissolving from the remaining drips of the foul whiskey, and replacing the panel and testing. Floppy in an unexplainable good mood tosses an ice ball at me making my already sore skull even worse.

A family or flock of Emperor Penguins stands perfectly still and appears to watch, puzzled by our actions, but used to the unexplainable things (even for the resident humans) that occur in this part of the continent. Their puzzled look and motionless form reminds me visually of my former life attempting to explain pollution to conservative politicians in tuxedos. The snouts of the odd birds suddenly turn at the sound of futuristic Polar Snow Crawler coming out the gates of the distant buildings. The birds turn back facing us, more entertained by our predicament than the usual military vehicles.

Expecting possible problems since Floppy is a fugitive from the secret high security vault beneath an unnamed museum (reference: Chapter Two) till his initial escape to Easter Island.  Preparations for a hasty departure (following collecting the salvageable Rolling Rock bottles from the snow) is underway. I fire up the rockets to levels well beyond the recommended limits of the maintenance manual, Floppy stands on the upper porch of our vehicle mooning the incoming vehicle and making obscene gestures. The penguins probably more curious on the unanticipated events contrary to their normal boring lifestyle stay a few minutes longer, then decide to waddle away leery of the shaking spacecraft and the humming of the vehicle almost at the crash site. Lifting off, Floppy considers a brief attack on the vehicle just on general purposes. However he notes that if we hurry, we can dock the main craft in the Troposphere, take the shuttle to the hidden entrance of the abandoned Penn State steam tunnels, and still make happy hour at the Phyrst bar. Checking Facebook and telling Floppy there may be a second Muse, he gruffly tells me doesn’t give a fuck, and to check the  snack inventory for the journey northward to that ridiculous cold northeastern state but with a few worthy bars.

The CIA rapid response team notes the high instrument readings from the last remaining Old Overholt, drops and bags the old panel and broken bottles as evidence. Already burned and confused by the new American president, they are a bit perplexed on how to document and report this strange incident. The initial reaction of the view of the high resolution video camera is someone dressed up in an antique Bugs Bunny suit is making obscene gestures, although the sophisticated body image recognition system program appears to confirm that was a real bunny ass. This strange incident appears unrelated to the camouflaged giant hole in the ice first reported publicly by a retired Navy navigator in 2015, although not taken seriously by the general public and the reason this outpost exists. The CIA team measures the relatively short distance from the odd spacecraft crash to the hole that would have likely swallowed the craft if just a small bit further and if not stopped by the deceased seal. Under more consideration that the Russians are already making fun of the intelligence agencies, and jettisoning their plane toilets over the facility, it seems best to delete all the data and count the days till they rotate back to the states. A slight bit more processing would have identified the image as the outlaw Fluffy, but thoughts of weather above subzero and the lack of attacks from rogue leopard seals seemed more reasonable to pursue.

LATER THAT NIGHT: The bored CIA team finishes the final steps in shredding the hard drive, cameras, and removable devices that have evidence of the Floppy incident. The final step is complete incineration and letting the ashes of Floppy’s recent adventure disperse in the wind. Politics for the agency are screwed up enough without this going to the White House. The soft glow of the giant and still uncharted alien hole in the ice provides the backdrop for shots of Jägermeister

PHYRST SALOON (23:30 local): Floppy is more sociable than normal possibly due to the drinks offered by undergraduate and graduate students entertained by the appearance of the motley giant bunny and his drink befuddled human companion. A murderous bloodshot eye glare at few revelers inviting to participate in Table Wars puts their attention elsewhere. Table 11 collapses as they do not accomplish Cardinal Puff. Floppy closes with “Here’s to Cardinal Puff, Puff, Puff,  for the third and final time tonight! Empties glass to the astonished undergraduates, slams it down, “Once a Cardinal, always a Cardinal!”

I offer a toast as shots of Jägermeister are put down on the old table by the barely clad lasses that are currently taking the attention of Floppy’s gaze and probably his deranged mind. “To those friggin wonderful Monks that put this herbal juice of the gods together let us offer thanks!” Shots downed, then another, and few more. Floppy looks over and asks if the second Muse is a reality or the delusion created by too many rattan strokes to the head. “Maybe! Time will tell! But it never seems to work out as planned does it my floppy eared Sensei” Floppy smiles and states that you have become one with the Wayward Bunny and have learned the lessons of the Parable of the Pots well. Time will tell on that one too and will I evolve into something else like the stale coffee grounds in the hot water, or just harden more like those damn foul tasting goanna eggs. Floppy continues: “Some things you can change, some you cannot, even the hundred year old peanut shells are gone from this establishment! Lose no tears on astray muses, changes beyond your control, and well worn flannel shirts!” Focus on what is real and not what is an alternative fact states the giant mutant bunny.

 

Aside from the normal hallucinatory effects of five shots of Jägermeister, a tear forms possibly from thoughts of past and present events. Nope, just a bit of irritation from the metallic flecks embedded on the eyebrows from those pesky micrometeorites hitting all over in outer space during those nights on the porch. Staggering up the old wooden steps and possibly departing the building forever, after one final karaoke rendition of Elton John’s “Something About the Way You Look Tonight” into the beer bottle microphones. A duet soon joined in by the Table Wars crowd making a historical night talked about for centuries to come in the dark pleasant establishment.

 

“There was a time I was everything and nothing all in one
When you found me I was feeling like a cloud across the sun”

 Elton would have been proud of the rendition of this meaningful song. A last check on Facebook. As I state to Floppy the possibility of a third muse, the sound of the rattan staff (that seems to come from nowhere) cuts through the air and provides even more stars than in this clear night as it connects with the back of my already bruised skull. “Don’t you ever fucking learn!”  Floppy always has a point, and even if he doesn’t, it is not wise to question his logic. Floppy tosses over a Schlage wafer pick and gives me thirty seconds to take out the padlock in the West Halls area. The shuttle is set on autopilot and smoothly lifts from the tunnel to the next adventure somewhere over what rainbow in the near future.

The shaking stops and the earth view is about the size of one of the nasty goanna eggs. Putting on the extra thick flannel shirt, put a “Fistful of Alice” on the disc player. Dry mopping the mess on the porch, sing along with “I never Cry” with a lack of oxygen high, and on to another adventure that only Floppy can plot.

Sometimes I drink more than I need
Until the TV’s dead and gone
I may be lonely
But I’m never alone
And the night may pass me by
But I’ll never cry

-Alice Cooper

It is quiet on the porch and watching the trash bag float into some sort of orbit, and relax on a tethered folding chair. There is silence except for the sound of Alice Cooper coming from the control room. Scratching an itch on my right long furry ear, contemplate the past, present, and near future.

THE END OF SAGA UNTIL THE NEXT CYCLIC MOOD SWING

“Where art thou, Muse, that thou forget’st so long / To speak of that which gives thee all thy might?”
-William Shakespeare

 

““Rhiannon’s Law #16: If it looks like a rabbit, and it hops like a rabbit, run the other way and fast. That shit is liable to tear you arm off.”

― J.A. Saare, Dead, Undead, or Somewhere in Between

Subepilogue Ending: Lost in Space but who cares when you got Rolling Rock!

“Even if the world were a chocolate cake, Mary, there’d still be a few crumbs around”

-Gene Autry, TV Cowboy (1950)

 

(this follows the continued adventures related to minions for transcription in historical notes, please refer to these earlier notes to insure your comprehension and sanity)

 

In the lower layer of the mesosphere, the temperature approachs an almost  normal spring ambient,  but still suggest wearing flannel to protect against the gamma radiation. The spaceship once again goes into deeper space or upper earth atmosphere depending on the unpredictable direction of Floppy the evil genius bunny.  It has been several years since travelled with the muse and asked the meaning of the strange goanna egg[i] induced dreams! The muse is now gone! No particular reason why, maybe it was something I said, maybe it was Floppy’s constant scratching and bloodshot eye stares that could even unnerve a goddess! The trees on the third level of the deck are currently flowering and the old bench dragged up from a state college quad provides a good place to ponder the meaning of life. That is, when Floppy is not trying to drill in another painful and criptic  parable or some type or another.

 

Floppy has since revealed he is also a Phooka or a shape shifter. That hardly explains why his preferred appearance still seems to be the torn eared, dirty furred, giant rabbit that would give Trix eaters nightmares for months. Still considering Floppy’s strange radioactive origin that he related at the Texas Tavern happy hour in Sydney and his unspoken for accomplishments on eliminating some evil in the world allows one to forgive his ratty appearance. It is a bit harder to forgive the harder than necessary rattan staff strikes to the head if one answers the wrong way to Floppys questions!

 

It is one of those rare nights in space where Floppy seems in a decent mood and brings back several bottles of Old Overholt  and several Blue Moon’s from the mini fridge on the second level. Taking advantage of his rare good mood, I reach for the Old Overholt and two  slightly smudged shot glasses. Pouring two shots and saying to hell with the gamma radiation we decide to have a toast on the small spacecraft porch. Toasting lost moments and good times the shots are downed in seconds and reach for a Blue Moon to drown the aftertaste of the almost ridiculously strong whiskey. Floppy smiles and hands me a special treat. The small green tinted bottles have scratch marks from the untrimmed claws but the Rolling Rock pony bottles of  beer makes it like a Christmas in July memory.

 

I politely bow in the traditional form of the Floppy way of the bunny martial training accepting the scratched bottles that Floppy knows will bring back the original memories of the Phyrst Saloon at the Pennsylvania State University. That fateful trip to the Penn State Diner where once before memory cells were jogged and the original meeting with Floppy[ii] even further back in time flooded my alcohol fuzzied head. Those were the years of good times and bad times but memories that are fond to recall although harder with age and constant strikes to the head from the dreaded rattan staff.

 

The sun continues to light up more of the earth sphere as we watch from the porch of the spaceship. We toast the bars of Penn State and personal memories of the old brick west hall buildings. We toast old tales of shape shifters and other phenomena that Floppy and his disciples have created.   We toast even more long departed friends gone on separate paths. We toast and ponder the whereabouts of our missing muses. A tear forms in my eye or is it just dust from the micro-meteorites constantly hitting my forehead on the porch at this altitude?

 

Well Floppy, my mentor and possibly strange lepus friend, the adventure is not over yet. A toast to the next adventure! If for no other reason to go back to earth we need to go to Home Depot and get something to fix this porch and maybe another coat of heat resistant paint for the less than perfect maneuvers  of the old craft as Floppy  enters the lower layers of the atmosphere. A final poured round as we watch the now empty Old Overholt bottle glide slowly out in space. Will it be to State College or Easter Island or even to that cursed and forbidden area in northern Australia? The aged whiskey burns more than a poor re-entry without wearing a cap. “Fuck it” and a final toast and onward to more and possibly final adventures. In the tradition of Captain Kirk, Floppy points his finger in the general direction of the decayed orbit of the first whiskey bottle as we fold up the chairs and buckle up for another adventure on the third rock from the sun. Fighting more world evil or maybe just another Rolling Rock, only the whims of Floppy and his aging disciple will tell or maybe it will stay untold for all time. Three billion years the sun will expand into a red giant taking with it much of the life that remains on earth and possibly Facebook notes that record these adventures. It will be up to the future generations of dedicated individuals that have entered the way of the rabbit to continue the adventures as they travel to other galaxies.

 

“Well, what did you expect in an opera? A happy ending?”

-Bugs Bunny

 

References:

 

[i] Wayward Bunny Tales Epilogue AKA: The Parable of the Pots

 

[ii] The initial flashback of mutant rabbits and more (Chapter One)

Mutant Rabbit Tales: Subepilogue 2; A Clinical Evaluation into the Nature of Floppy and other possible POOKAS

“According to legend, the phooka is a shape shifter, capable of changing into a variety of terrifying forms. It may appear as a horse, rabbit, goat, goblin, or dog”
-unknown

Its about minus 270 degrees celcius or just slightly above absolute zero in outer space so suggest when you are in deep space talking to your Muse consider wearing flannel. The muse related the dream of the wise rabbit.the rabbit was wise and talking. Oh Muse, speak to me, using the words of this humble but wise, young rabbit…Most of the dream was lost the Muse said but what was the meaning? “The Pagan holiday Ostara was coming up? Could this be it? Possibly could be fertility? But a more ominious vison crossed through my almost frozen brain as I contemplated the question of the Muse.

It has been the better part of a year since parted from the training exercise in Austrailia with the demented bunny. Rough, but in retrospect had an appreciation on maintaining flexibility in tactics and a newfound appetite for Goanna (see the complete tales below) eggs. Odd, but the Muse that normally knows just about everything was puzzled on this dream! This odd coincidence gave some reflection on the personal issues and interaction with the rancid rabbit. The so called circle of life tied in details from Penn State, Vietnam, Austrailia, and now into the sub artic temperatures of outer space just outside the recently purchased UFO. Once again on the inflatable chairs on Deck 2 of the spaceship decided to consider some of the other Pooka Bunny sitings over time that may (or may not) have also been the leporous lepus. Overall, you can get used to the cold (especially if wearing flannel) but contemplation of these events in the darkness of space is somewhat distracting.

The medieval instance of the killer rabbit that guarded a cave of great treasures seems to have very little factual information available. Of course, those that have seen and met the vicous bunny guard were typically not around long enough for a scribe to pen the adventures for posterity. Although considered silly comedy rather than based on fact there is some hidden knowledge. Take for example this dialogue:

“Follow. But. Follow only if ye be men of valour, for the entrance to this cave is guarded by a creature so foul, so cruel that no man yet has fought with it and lived. Bones of full fifty men lie strewn about its lair. So, brave knights, if you do doubt your courage or your strength, come no further, for death awaits you all with nasty, big, pointy teeth.”

-Monty Python (Quest for the Holy Grail,1975)

Many have laughed at this classic bit of humor but usually there is also a vestigial memory of byegone days when this was more the reality for those adventurers that crossed the line. The devil’s advocate critic might say: “Vapor, are we to believe every movie that inlcluded werewolfs and other nasty mutanted animals has some basis in reality???!!!” No, please note that many of the legends that inspired many of these movies was inspired by large dangerous bunnies BUT how many possible horror fans would really go to a movie, regardless of fact, to see a giant bunny!!!!!

Now there have been several movies that have had to courage to show the potential of the bunny pooka. The “Night of the Lepus” (1972) that showed an southwest community terrorized by not one giant bunny, but an entire herd of lepus, that might be considered lepii in some circles. But still there is one courageous movie that goes further in not portraying the pooka as a mindless eating machine, but as a companion and guardian. Yes, this may be lost in time for many of my Facebook friends, but the classic and touching move “Harvey” (1950) starred Jimmy Stewart in a classical portrayal of someone believed to be on the verge of alcoholism and with an imaginary six foot plus rabbit named Harvey. The following excerpt is necessary from the IMDB database to illustrate this example.

“I’d just put Ed Hickey into a taxi. Ed had been mixing his rye with his gin, and I just felt that he needed conveying. Well, anyway, I was walking down along the street and I heard this voice saying, “Good evening, Mr. Dowd.” Well, I turned around and here was this big six-foot rabbit leaning up against a lamp-post. Well, I thought nothing of that because when you’ve lived in a town as long as I’ve lived in this one, you get used to the fact that everybody knows your name. And naturally I went over to chat with him. And he said to me… he said, “Ed Hickey was a little spiffed this evening, or could I be mistaken?” Well, of course, he was not mistaken. I think the world and all of Ed, but he was spiffed. Well, we talked like that for awhile and then I said to him, I said, “You have the advantage on me. You know my name and I don’t know yours.” And, and right back at me he said, “What name do you like?” Well, I didn’t even have to think twice about that. Harvey’s always been my favorite name. So I said to him, I said, “Harvey.” And, uh, this is the interesting thing about the whole thing: He said, “What a coincidence. My name happens to be Harvey.”
-Character Ellwood P. Dowd

TO CONCLUDE, I told the Muse that there may not be an answer to the appearance of the rabbit. As once stated in earlier adventures, it seemed that to truely understand just go with the flow and be “one with the rabbit”. Time may provide clarity or possibly never will there be an answer. I often ponder myself on the whereabouts of Floppy and when our continued adventuires will once again commence possibly with successors or additional disciples of the bunny.

“When life gives you lemons, squirt lemon juice in your enemy’s eyes”
– A Happy Bunny Button

Editorial Note 1: For those uninitated into the Tales of Floppy please refer to the earlier notes section to review Chapters One through Five. And the term Pooka can also be spelled Phooka (Also Pwwka, Puca, Puka, Phouka, Púka, Pwca in Welsh, Bucca in Cornish, Pouque in Dgèrnésiais, Puca or Puck in English, Glashtyn, and Gruagach) so no typo comments please!

Editorial Note 2:
On the reader question: Did not the holy hand grenade impart death to the rabbit by the cave?

Answer: Dear Reader, to answer your question, let us read from the Book of Armaments, Chapter 4, Verses 16 thru 20. A pause for effect… then reading thusly:

“Then did he raise on high the Holy Hand Grenade of Antioch, saying, “Bless this, O Lord, that with it thou mayst blow thine enemies to tiny bits, in thy mercy.” And the people did rejoice and did feast upon the lambs and toads and tree-sloths and fruit-bats and orangutans and breakfast cereals … Now did the Lord say, “First thou pullest the Holy Pin. Then thou must count to three. Three shall be the number of the counting and the number of the counting shall be three. Four shalt thou not count, neither shalt thou count two, excepting that thou then proceedeth to three. Five is right out. Once the number three, being the number of the counting, be reached, then lobbest thou the Holy Hand Grenade in the direction of thine foe, who, being naughty in my sight, shall snuff it.”

Wayward Bunny Tales Subepilogue 1: Visions through the Bullshit

“It is your prerogative to deny your mistakes, or to revel in them – to even pull off your pants and roll in them. The inability to lie well can often stand in the way of Truth.”

-J.R. “Bob” Dobbs, The SubGenius Foundation

Let it thus be known, that the training in the Wayward Bunny in Austrailia could fill several DVDs with text. At the former Texas Tavern in Sydney prior to the freighter departure back to the states Floppy put it best in his toast. “What happens in Austrailia, stays in Austrailia”. Floppy still doesn’t seem the icon of a former Bunny leader as he once again slides off the polished barstool (see Chapters 1 and 2) after 15 shots of Old Overholt.

Floppy’s foul breathe relates the whole point: “Brother Jhon, you have seen the light. You have yourself seen that once enlightened one can see through the bullshit to see the hidden diamond hidden in the foul bullshit, only to find it really isn’t a diamond but just a piece of extra shiny bullshit.”” Not an easy lesson. but important for some reason that was forgotten in the lava tube caves of Easter Island” relates the foul Bunny. Adjust yourself, and be one with the Wayward Bunny.

(as related to the Vapor by telepathetic communication)

“Santorum? Is that latin for asshole?”

-Senator Bob Kerry

“Ya know, some day scientists are gonna invent something that will outsmart a rabbit.”

-Bugs Bunny

“Only the wisest and stupidest of men never change.”

-Confucius

Wayward Bunny Tales Epilogue AKA: The Parable of the Pots

“Don’t fool with mother nature. You will end up paying for a new leach line”

-Joe of Joes’s Sanitation Service

Undisclosed Location in the Austrailian Outback near the Woomera Prohibited Area (State College plus five months): Floppy raves and rants, “you no longer have a cell phone, stop looking for it in your pocket! It’s part of your past, it’s gone!”

Floppy angrily tosses a few more half dry branches in the fire and places three pots of water on to boil.

Floppy’s murderous gleam relates the seriousness of paying attention to his deranged logic as he starts into the parable. “Pay attention!!!! In these pots I’m putting three items. In the first pot we put a wild carrot, and no it’s not because I’m a freakin bunny! I don’t like carrots! In this second pot I’m putting a goanna egg. Lastly in the fnal pot I’m putting in some coffee grounds.”

“Now take another hit of Kumyss, and look at the finished products in each pot.”

Looking down at the contents of each pot a bit disgusted, especially at the overboiled lizard egg. Training in the way of the Bunny has been a weary experience with possible misgivings at times. It has been five long months since I have become the disciple in the path of the wayward Bunny. The effectiveness of the Bunny touch of death cannot be doubted as thousands search for the former mideast tyrant that is now a mouldering corpse ( See Chapter 4: The Last Known Whereabouts of Floppy the Angel, Floppy the Demon ) in a lava tube cave on Easter Island. Floppy’s weakness for the fine flavor of fermented Yak’s milk liquor was the main driver of this evil tyrant’s demise.

Another gulp of the fiery liquid assists in the attempt to understand the mutated giant bunny’s brain.

“Now, what does this training mean to you! Look at the pots. Will this experience soften and weaken you like that pathetic carrot, giving up and going back to that ridiculous cold state in failure! Or will become hardened like that disgusting, which by the way is your supper, goanna egg? OR like the coffee grounds in this final pot will you evolve into something different and possibly better than what the original ingredients was?”

Answering I will become the hard egg, Floppy loses his temper and cracks his rattan walking stick on the back of my skull. Taking the hint on what Floppy expects I revise my answer on evolving like the coffee flavored water. Floppy still looks a bit pissed, but then again he is Floppy and that’s his nature. Attempting to shut out the flashing stars from the acute effects of the rattan stick and the mild alcohol poisoning of too many sips of Kumyss, adjust the mosquito netting over the surplus tent and prepare for another day of enlightenment in the path of the Wayward Bunny. Dreams of dolphins with Post slide rules, sticky buns that become faces, and the infamous Texas Tavern Happy Hour engage my sleeping hours before the next leg of the trek begins.

“What a waste it is to lose one’s mind. Or not to have a mind is being very wasteful. How true that is.”

-former Vice President Dan Quale

Chapter 5 Rabbit Revelations And Team Floppy Genesis

Officer Lopez: Attention! Attention! Ladies and gentlemen, attention! There is a herd of killer rabbits headed this way and we desperately need your help!…….. Class B Movie “Night of the Lepus (1972)”

STATE COLLEGE, PENNSYLVANIA, LATE SPRING 2009: Almost 30 years have passed since the visions in the sticky bun of Floppy the Bunny. The Phyrst has not changed much although the peanut shells have disappeared from every crevice in the timeless bar. At 02:05 not many are left in the bar and only a few have survived from the ravages of Saint Patricks Day that attempt the walk up the stairs without at least one trip.

One last look at the adjoining pool room knowing this is the last State College trip for quite some time! Maybe the last time forever of pounding down Yuenglings at this infamous facility. The mass of old plastic hats and foam leprachaun ears litters the sticky floor.

Floppy hasn’t changed very much since the Texas Tavern in Sydney. Even the ripped out sections of his dirty matted ears seems about the same. With an almost toothless grin he lifts an unopened Yuengling off the pool table and tosses it over. Seems like starting one more round while the mass of happy landers is being herded up the steps is a bit chancy, but Floppy never was much for schedules! Old Flop has put on a few pounds in the midriff and what fur remains is turning a putrid shade of grey, but that old charasma still seems to work to keep the bouncers at bay till the last Yuengling round is tossed down.

Floppy nods to the steps tossing a grubby gold coin on the bar. The next adventure is just beginning!

“Time to kick ass, Mr Floppy?”

Tall, deranged, and ragged nods in the affirmative.

“The future will be better tomorrow.”

-Dan Quayle

(THE CONCLUSION OF STORY AS RELATED TO THE VAPOR BY ONE OF HIS HUMAN MINIONS)