Creepy Bunny Revolutions

See also:
The Shrine
Larger Than Life
Creepy Bunnies
The Rite of Spring
The Captain and the Amazing Brando


You won’t believe the week I’ve had. It all started when I looked at the calendar and saw that it was Palm Sunday. That was when I realized how time had slipped away from me.

If I did nothing, Kansas City would fall to the Creepy Bunnies. The question began to tug more and more at my mind: Why do the Creepy Bunnies demand the Shrine of Vogler be complete by Easter? Why is that the only way to appease them? What is the connection?

There was no way the Shrine of Vogler would be in place before Easter, so I had to act fast. But I knew I would need to enlist a little help…

The Bizarro Tim.

Anyone who has read Calvin and Hobbes knows that time travel technology is very similar to transmogrification, duplication, and a handful of other technologies.

My time machine, for example, has a unique design that allowed me to modify it to allow inter-dimensional (if only temporary) vergences. Specifically, I am talking about the lever on the recliner component. Just a little tweaking, and scientific progresss goes “boink.”

I spent a couple days converting my old time machine into an Inter-dimensional Transport Coupling Helix, or I.T.C.H.

I didn’t tell anyone about my I.T.C.H. because I didn’t think anyone would understand. If you had an I.T.C.H. like that, would you want the whole world knowing? No, I didn’t think so. This secret I.T.C.H. was something I would tend to when no one else was around. It became quite the source of frustration for me, but I didn’t want any outside help taking care of my I.T.C.H. It was my burden, no one else’s. I didn’t want any notoriety for my I.T.C.H. and I didn’t need anyone’s help with it. I was certain I could deal with this I.T.C.H. on my own, and I was right.

Anyway, when it was finished I packed my I.T.C.H. into the trunk, along with the recently completed Robot Hilda Mark III.

Robot Hilda Mark I was a four-armed Hilda look-alike with the voice of Jason Statham. Robot Hilda Mark II had whiskey-dispensing index fingers, an abdominal storage chamber to stash my Game Boy SP, and the velvety voice of Jeremy Irons. Mark III combined the four-armed design of the first model with the whiskey-dispensing index fingers of the second, improved upon the abdominal storage capacity, featured prototype launching breast grenades, and was programmed with the voice of Keith David.

So I headed to Kansas City, arriving Wednesday night. I extracted the Bizarro Tim from his dimension and explained the situation to him. He was very confused because in the Bizarro World, there were no Creepy Bunnies—they were all cute and fuzzy bunnies on the Plaza. Bizarre.

Something clicked in my mind. A long time ago, the pikey had suggested: ”Well...obviously the human race doesn't stand a chance in an all-out war with the Creepy Bunnies. Our only recourse will be to hire the Cute and Fuzzy Bunnies as a sort of ad hoc mercenary army and let them fight each other...

I mean really that's the only sensible action to take!

Right?!

What manner of currency do you suppose one would need to buy the loyalty of the Cute and Fuzzy Bunnies of the World?!”

A war of Easter Decorations against Easter Decorations. Could it work? Could Kansas City be saved at the last minute by an army of Cute and Fuzzy Bunnies?

We immediately went to the Bizarro Plaza, where Cheeseburger owned the biggest McDonald’s in the world and the Cute and Fuzzy Bunnies were placed in strategic locations around the Plaza for decoration.

We were granted an audience with the High Bunny Council, who agreed to aid us in return for their prized currency: Peeps. That’s right, the Cute and Fuzzy Bunnies wanted a lifetime’s supply of Peeps each. It’s not as perverse as if they had demanded chocolate bunnies, but it’s still weird if you ask me.

So the Bizarro Tim and I spent all night shuttling Cute and Fuzzy Bunnies over into this dimension with our secret I.T.C.H.

Maundy Thursday. Wheels were in motion. Battle lines were drawn. There was a preparation montage with music by Alan Silvestri.

While the Bunnies were doing their thing, the Bizarro Tim and I split up to find and recruit Herr Vogler and the pikey. Herr Vogler wasn’t answering his phone so I tried to catch him at work, but he wasn’t there. I went to his house and couldn’t find him there, either. Without Herr Vogler, I had no means of contacting the pikey (I didn’t have his phone number or his address). It was odd that Herr Vogler had vanished, so the Bizarro Tim and I spent the next two hours searching key locations in blind hopes of running into him.

By the way, the Bizarro Tim was getting on my nerves the whole time. He’s just another pretentious Johnson County douche and he WOULD NOT SHUT UP about his latest electroacoustic composition projects. Worse, he was completely, unflappably affable in his arguments with me on the subject. I wanted to punch him in the nuts, but I needed his help.

We ended up never finding Herr Vogler or the pikey—or the Reverend for that matter. I still don’t know their role in these events, but I will tell you what I experienced…

Good Friday. Today. The time of reckoning was at hand. The Fate of Kansas City would be decided by the outcome of this battle. The fur would fly, and Loose Park would be stained by the blood of many. It was Bunny versus Bunny, hundreds more—on both sides—than I had previously thought existed. Man, those bunnies procreate quickly this time of year, don’t they? They’re like tribbles.

We marched in from the south end of Loose Park, the Army of the Creepy Bunnies coming in from the north, from their refuge on the Country Club Plaza. We waited until we could see the yellows of their soulless, stoic eyes… and then the battle began.

For almost an hour, the battle raged in the park. Every charge, flank, and feint, every volley of iron-pointed Easter Eggs, every clash of wood and steel, flesh and fur, every motion served to counter another in an equal and opposite reaction. It was becoming more and more clear that this would be a war of attrition.

Robot Hilda Mk. III was destroyed, we took heavy casualties, and the Bizarro Tim received a nasty gash that would become that cool facial scar I had always talked about having.

The battle would not be contained in Loose Park, however. By this point, the savagery and wanton destruction had flooded into the streets. Rampant carnage spanned the entire city, utter chaos engulfing the entire Metro area. The furry tide of darkness spread like the blackest oil across canvas.

With the conflict now consuming the city at large, Loose Park was left all but deserted, a ravaged husk of the attraction it once was. Exhausted, I limped across a smoking knoll to offer terms to what seemed like the ranking Creepy Bunny.

He regarded me with silent curiosity as I approached, his unblinking yellow eyes staring me down. I told them that the Shrine of Vogler would never be built, that I had sent every existing copy of the blueprints to the Captain with orders to burn them if I did not make it out alive, so they could not torture me for information. They had won the battle, but would lose the war. Kansas City might be destroyed, I told them, but it would never be shaped into what they wanted. Whatever it was they did want.

It was then that this Creepy Bunny revealed why they demanded I complete construction on the Shrine of Vogler in the first place. In a wispy, fell voice, he explained everything.

If you recall, the basement of the Shrine of Vogler was to be a fertility clinic… and you know how bunnies are. The Creepy Bunnies had plans of vastly increasing their already growing numbers, to make KC the nucleus of an immense sphere of influence. Furthermore, it was decreed in the early plans, “And every day at high noon, a bell will toll and a Republican will be sacrificed to appease him.”

It turns out Creepy Bunnies hate Neocons above all others. Who knew?

And so a compromise was reached. A dark pact was made out of necessity. I wouldn’t have to finish the entire Shrine of Vogler, and Kansas City would be spared, but only so long as I kept up my end of the bargain: daily human sacrifice of a neoconservative, whose agony and blood would maintain the insatiable appetite of the Creepy Bunnies.

There was no way I could personally oversee this duty, I knew. Thus, this secret, somber task fell upon the shoulders of the Bizarro Tim and the pikey. As long as one of them maintained this routine Feeding, everything would continue as normal, and Kansas City would know no more war.

That was the price of peace. A necessary evil.

The Bizarro Tim could never return to his home, anointed along with the pikey as the Guardians of the Fountain City, charged with the duty of the Feeding while eluding the authorities, like some sort of Clive Barker twist ending.

And that, dear friends, is the account of the Creepy Bunnies. So this Sunday, as you put on your pastel-colored dress clothes and gorge yourself on jelly beans, Peeps, and chocolate novelties, remember the hundreds of Cute and Fuzzy Bunnies who died so that you might live. That is the meaning of the holiday.

Happy Easter.