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.


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.


“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




[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”

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.”


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


Chapter 4: The Last Known Whereabouts of Floppy the demon, Floppy the angel

Bullwinkle: Hey Rocky, watch me pull a rabbit out of my hat.

Rocky: Again?

Bullwinkle: Presto!

Lion: ROAR!!!

Bullwinkle: Oops, wrong hat.

EARLY SPRING 2009 Easter Island unmarked cavern complex…

The cavern complex of volcanic gas tubes had been discreetly ventilated to provide adequate oxygen to the deposed Middle Eastern ruler and several of his loyal Special Forces followers. The smells of the recent supper of baked chicken, sweet potatoes, and corn wrapped in banana leaves, still permeated the dimly lit cave facing the valley of King Hotu Matua. The tunnels led to various chambers of the first cannibal long ear tribes prior to the erection of the famous stone giants on the island.

The deposed ruler reminisces about his former life as he pulls one of the remaining bottles of aged fermented Yaks milk (kumyss) from the desert camo ALICE pack. The scent of strong alcohol adds to the odd mixture of odors in the cave. In particular, this former tribal storage chamber is dark even with the portable light systems along the curved ceiling of the cave. The deposed ruler continues to think of his return while stroking his long beard. His infamous actions making him the object of billions of dollars in a world-wide hunt for his head.

The odd feeling of something not quite right suddenly sharpens his awareness of the current surroundings. The first thoughts of the final conflict with opposition military special forces is rudely changed as he looks into the obscure side chamber not noticed while he sat and ruminated on the floor of the cave. The dirty matted face looks like an obscene caricature of that American cartoon creature (was that Bugs Bunny or was that Crusader Rabbit?) about a foot from his face. The scarred fur and ripped overlarge ears shows the elements of the wild brawling life not uncommon with some of the career soldiers he commanded not so long ago. The ruler has the confidence in his ability to convert this odd creature to be his ally and loyal foot soldier. His evil charisma has done this to many in the past…but not this time!

This was his last thought before the dirty paws gripped his head like an steel vice and snapped his neck, thus ending the chapter of the once revered and then reviled Middle East leader. Floppy enters the cave proper and stretches. At this point Floppy could have become a heroic icon of most of the world for this deed, but his motives was just for the kumyss. His nose twitching he takes a long pull from the aged fermented Yaks milk. Floppy completes the remaining short work on the remaining sleepers and the lone guard. Once again, Floppy contemplates the Australia debacle and considers his future as he stands at the entrance of the cave. Looking at the starry sky, Floppy packs the remaining alcohol bottles, various currency, and (obvious to Floppy the rebel) the fake identification documents. The decision to stowaway on the next cargo ship to Chile and enter the civilized world is made!