“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?”
[i] Wayward Bunny Tales Epilogue AKA: The Parable of the Pots
[ii] The initial flashback of mutant rabbits and more (Chapter One)