The Saga of the Easter

The Saga of the Easter Bunny

On the Thursday after Easter in 1999, Lord Shon, a well-known writer, posted this provocative note on alt.sex.stories.d, the writers' and readers' discussion group. I have snipped bits that aren't relevant to the matter at hand.

* * *
Copyright 1999 by Lord Shon

From: ShonAsWell@aol.com
Topic: {ASSD} Contest Ideas Better Left Avoided
Sent: 8 Apr 1999 12:17:50 GMT

I work the midnight shift. At 4 in the morning, I get these great ideas
that don't stand up to the light of day. Since things have been a wee bit
quiet, I thought I would share some writing contest ideas that we are all
lucky to have not participated in :)

1. Name Your Own Bond Girl- Write a story that is normal expect it has
a female with a Bondesque wacky name. <snip>

2. Make Love to a Reviewer. <snip>

3. The Easter Challenge- Hey, if we can turn Christmas into an orgy,
why not another Christian holiday? Imagine the x-rated Easter egg
hunt! Or evil uses for a chocolate bunny! And
umm....hmmm,ummm....Did I mention the x-rated Easter egg hunt?

Sadly, Christ's return doesn't lend itself well to sex stories for some
reason :(

4. The Nostalgic Video Game Sex Story. <snip>

5. The Lesbian Teenage Pirates Who Are Into Kinky Bondage Contest. <snip>

6. The Great Masturbation Story Contest- Only one character allowed.
Physical objects would be acceptable. <snip>

7. The Shania Twain's Car Broke Down and She Had to Use My Phone
<Nudge, Nudge> Contest- I don't remember many details about this
contest idea. I suspect the cold shower wiped out any lingering
specifics. <snip>

Feel free to steal any of these ideas to start your own contest. I just
expect a small royalty. Like a Barony or something.

Shon

* * *

So far, nobody has taken up Baron Shon's challenge on nos. 1, 2, or 4 through 7. But no. 3 produced a response.

* * *

From: MichaelD38 <michaeld38@aol.com>
Topic: (ASSD} "Raped by the Easter Bunny" (was: Contest Ideas
Better Left Avoided)
Sent: 8 Apr 1999 20:05:58 GMT

Shon proposed:

>3. The Easter Challenge- Hey, if we can turn Christmas into an
>orgy, why not another Christian holiday? Imagine the x-rated Easter
>egg hunt! Or evil uses for a chocolate bunny! And
>umm....hmmm,ummm....Did I mention the x-rated
>Easter egg hunt?

I have been bouncing around a rather twisted idea in that vein the last
couple of days, so I thought I would just sit down and get it out.

No flames please, okay? I know this is sick and sacrilegious. =)

RAPED BY THE EASTER BUNNY

Eddie's Interstitial Bar & Grill was just down the block from Nowhere
and around the corner from Impossible, a place where people and
things who didn't quite exist could stop in for a burger and a glass of
beer. Down a narrow alley and hidden behind a dumpster, it was little
more than a hole in the cinder block wall of an old warehouse. The
ceiling was low and the lighting lower, the air thick with cigar smoke and
the sour odor of spilt beer.

Back in the corner, Santa Claus was playing five-card stud with Jack
O'Lantern and Father Time. The Tooth Fairy was mincing around in
his tutu, flirting with one patron or another with little success. Eddie was
wiping down the bar when he saw a six-foot tall rabbit stagger through
the front door. The rabbit's normally fluffy tail was missing several
clumps of fur, and Eddie could see scratch marks on the rabbit's
behind.

"Hey, E.B."

The rabbit groaned, settling gingerly into one of the barstools.

"What can I get you?"

"The usual."

Eddie poured two fingers of Jack Daniels while the rabbit lit up a cheap
Garcia y Vega. Once he had the cigar lit, he tossed back the whiskey
in one gulp. Eddie filled him up again when he set the glass down.

"Rough night?"

The rabbit groaned again.

"Don't get me started."

"What happened to your tail?"

E.B. shook his head and dug something disgusting out of his right ear.
He wiped it on the underside of the bar before answering.

"A couple of fucking Dobermans happened to it."

"Pick the wrong house or something?"

"No shit I did. The wrong house, the wrong dame, the wrong damn
day."

"Wanna talk about it?"

The rabbit looked over his shoulder at Santa Claus.

"Look at that fat asshole over there. 'Brings joy to millions of children
around the world,' right? You wouldn't believe the ass that guy gets on
Christmas Eve. Every other house he goes into, there's some chick
dressed up in red and white lingerie, some slinky red teddy, or maybe
nothing at all. 'C'mere, Santa, I got a present for you to unwrap.'"
E.B. snorted in disgust.

"Every damn year it's the same thing. I'm surprised he has time to
deliver his presents. Then he comes walking in here with this big
shit-eating grin on his face. I swear to God, I'm gonna to punch his
lights out next time he does that."

"Come on, you must get your share."

The rabbit laughed.

"On Easter? Who gets turned on about Easter? It ain't like Christmas,
snow, warm fires, everybody wanting to snuggle up together. Then you
got Santa, the jolly old father figure. Turns on lots of chicks. But me?
Give me a break. How many women you know want to fuck a rabbit?
Once in a while, I'll get some fat chick who gets all turned on by those
damned Cadbury Cream Eggs, but once they start eating, forget it.
They'll take chocolate over sex any damned day of the year."

E.B. finished off his whiskey, and Eddie poured him another. He took a
long drag off his cigar before continuing.

"Anyway. About these goddamned teeth marks on my butt. Tonight I
thought my luck might have turned. I'm out in L.A., right? I'm dropping
off marshmallow Peeps and chocolate rabbits for these rich brats in
Brentwood. I go into this big tear-down off Santa Monica. I think it was
just down the block from O.J.'s old place.

"Everything's normal at first. You got the glass of milk and plate of
carrots--goddamn, I'm fucking sick of carrots. I could go the rest of my
life without seeing another fucking carrot. You'd think once they'd
leave out some bourbon or at least some leftover pizza or something
other than more fucking carrots."

"Anyway. There I am in this living room. I take a couple bites
of carrot and spit them into my bag. I fill up the Easter baskets and get
ready to take off. Then I turn around, and there's this blonde chick
standing right behind me."

"Cute?"

"Drop-dead. Trophy wife material, you know? Long blonde hair,
big tits, legs up to here. Late twenties probably, but she didn't look it.
And--get this--she's got nothing on but a short satin robe."

"Damn."

"No shit. I'm trying to decide what to do, because she's got
this sad, confused look on her face. Then she just goes, 'You're real.'
I go, 'Well, not really, okay? Trade secret, you know?' She looks
me up and down and says, 'I didn't think you'd be this
big.' I feel like saying something perverted, you know, like 'I'll show you
how big I am,' except she's still looking like she wants to cry. So I go,
'What's wrong, honey?'

"She says, 'Tonight was our anniversary. My husband never showed
up. He hasn't even called. He was out of town, but he was supposed to
come back tonight.'"

"Damn."

E.B. nodded and stubbed out his cigar in the ashtray, ignoring the foul
stink the action produced. He pulled out another, and Eddie lit it for
him.

"Thanks. So I figure she's just looking for comfort, right? A shoulder to
cry on. I go up and hug her, and she leans against me, pressing those
big tits into my fur. I hold her for a few seconds before she starts
running her fingers through the fur on my chest. Then she leans back
and starts kissing me.

"I'm still a little shocked at all this, you know, 'cause I don't get one
tenth of Santa's action, like I said. But I figure, what the hell, why not? I
open up her robe and get my paws on those tits of hers, and she starts
moaning and grabbing at me, pulling me back toward the stairs. She
leans back, and I've got her naked right there on the carpet. She's still
moaning and groaning, and once I get on top of her, she reaches
down between my legs, trying to find my dick. Eventually she gets a
grip on it and starts jerking me off. I put up with about ten seconds of
this before I have to slip it to her, which she lets me do.

"So there we are, fucking like mad on the staircase. She's going crazy
on me, legs wrapped around my butt, nails digging into my chest fur,
thrashing around like she's having a fit. Both of us get off inside a
minute, but we keep going. I'm not even paying attention to anything
else by this point.

"Then, all of a sudden, I hear all this crazy barking behind me. I turn
around and there's this guy in some Italian suit standing the kitchen
doorway, holding two Dobermans by the collar. His eyes are like
baseballs, and he just goes, 'What the fuck?'

"So I'm thinking, 'Shit, looks like hubby got home after all.' Then the
chick starts screaming 'rape.'"

"Oh, fuck."

"Right. I'm the goddamned Easter Bunny, and she's screaming
'rape.' But her husband seems to believe her, because his face turns
purple and he turns loose the dogs. 'Kill that fucking rabbit!' he goes,
'Kill it!' The chick is still screaming 'rape' and now she's beating on me
with her fists.

"I jump up from the stairs and take off for the door, but I'm not fast
enough to outrun the dogs. One of them gets its jaws on my fucking
tail, and the other one is biting at my butt. I had to club them with my
bag to get loose. They chased me all the way out to the street before I
got away."

"Goddamn."

"Yeah. The shit in my bag was fucked, too. The chocolate
rabbits were broken and the Cream Eggs got all over everything. Only
the Peeps were all right. I had to run home to reload before I could get
going to the other houses. Cost me a fucking hour. I scarcely got done
in time."

Eddie refilled his glass.

"I'm sorry, man. That one's on me."

"Thanks. And what gets me is what this chick is probably telling
people now. About me. The Easter Bunny. I can just see it. She's
probably calling the Enquirer or the Jerry Springer Show right now. 'I
was Raped by the Easter Bunny.' What do you think that's going to do
to my fucking image?"

Eddie shook his head. The rabbit downed another shot of whiskey.

"I don't know, man. I'm just going to leave you the bottle, okay? I gotta
go see what those guys in the corner need."

E.B. nodded as Eddie went over to the poker game. The Tooth Fairy
had been watching them, and he thought briefly about going over to
talk to E.B. But the rabbit's normally cute ass was all chewed up now,
and that wasn't very encouraging. A little bondage was one thing, but
the Tooth Fairy wasn't into heavy B/D. Besides which, he'd probably
end up with a mouth full of fur afterward, no matter what they ended up
doing.

Sighing heavily, he went back to the phone by the john. Maybe Cupid
was home tonight.

---The End---

Copyright by MichaelD38 -- MichaelD38@aol.com

~Stories Archived at Stories Online: http://www.storiesonline.net

* * *

Well, I've had a score to settle with the E.B. since he scared the bejesus out me when I was three or four years old, so here was my opportuinity.

* * *

From: <janey98@fastmail.fm>
Topic: {ASSD} Raped by the Easter Bunny: The Other Side of the Story
Sent: Fri, 09 Apr 1999 00:48:44 GMT

MichaelD wrote a tendentious tale. I write the real truth.

Raped by the Easter Bunny: The Other Side of the Story

by Janey

What would you do if your next-door neighbor sat right there at your
kitchen table on Monday morning and told you she had been raped by
the Easter Bunny? What I did, as I usually do under unexpected stress,
was revert to the less than genteel speech of my childhood associates.

"You're shittin' me!" I said.

"No!" said Naomi. "I am not! Well, he didn't exactly rape me, he never
managed to penetrate, but the son of a bitch tried."

Recovering my equanimity in the face of this bald assertion, I asked
the logical question: "Did you tell the cops?"

"Now you're the one that's kidding," she said. "Can't you just see me,
sitting there in the cop shop telling some asshole who looks like
Colombo that I was raped by the Easter Bunny? There'd have been so
many blue uniforms rolling on the floor laughing that it would have
looked like Revere Beach."

"Well, tell me all about it," I prodded. "I know some people who'll be
interested, and I won't use your real name."

"What do you think I'm here for?" she asked. "You're the only person
who'd believe me!"

"OK, so give," I said.

"I went downstairs around five-thirty," she began. "Guido had taken the
puppies out for a walk, and I woke up when he did. Of course the
grandkids were still asleep, so I wanted to make sure the E.B. had
been there before they woke up. I was just standing there, looking at
an untouched bowl of carrots, worrying about how the kids would feel,
when I turned around and here's this great big monster leering at me.

"I nearly dropped my teeth, but I realized he had to hit somebody's
house that late, and I figured he was probably pretty tired from working
all night. I was wearing my flannel nightgown, of course, and a wool
bathrobe on top of it, because we keep the thermostat down low. It's
supposed to be good for you or something.

"So I said to him, 'Hello, Mr. B., you must be about ready to collapse.
Could I get you a glass of milk?'

"Says he: 'I have something better in mind, little lady!' I could tell right
away this was not my kind of guy. Little lady! I'm forty-five years old, for
God's sake!

"Then he grabs my lapel and starts to pull at my bathrobe. Damn near
twisted my arm off. So I slapped him a good one right across the chops
and he got mad. Next thing I knew I was on the floor--this asshole was
BIG--and he was trying to push my nightgown up. I struggled, of
course, and in the process I saw this tiny little pecker, it must have
been maybe three and a half inches long fully erect, and I started to
laugh. That *really* made him mad.

"So I open up my legs a little just for the hell of it and he frantically tries
to get this little weenie down in the right neighborhood. While he was
so occupied, I grabbed a fistful of fur and pulled. He let out a loud
squeak and kept right on trying to find the entrance." She stopped and
smiled lewdly at me. "I used to have these rape fantasies now and
then, you know, but this wasn't what I had in mind!

"Anyhow, about that time Guido came in with the puppies. Poor little
Jody--he's a Yorkie, you know--took one look at the situation, jerked
the leash right out of Guido's hand and jumped on the rabbit's back.
Marie, the toy poodle, joined right in and between their barking, my
screaming, and Guido's yelling, the asshole got fully spooked, jumped
up and ran out the door.

"Guido was more upset than I was, of course, and it took me a while to
settle him down, but when he'd heard the whole story he thought it was
as funny as I did.

"When everything calmed down we found that he'd left a gross of
chicken Peeps along with maybe two dozen hard-boiled eggs. Of
course I wouldn't let the kids eat eggs from a guy like that, but they
were still burping Peeps this morning."

"Oh, my," I said. "I bet you he's telling all his friends what a narrow
escape he had!"

"And I suspect he's also telling them he got a piece of a nubile young
super-model type." She laughed so hard she nearly fell off the chair.

"You'd be well worth having," I said loyally, smiling only a little. "But
we've got to do something. This asshole could be dangerous. Besides,
he's going to ruin the whole gig for Santa Claus if this gets around."

She sobered. "You're right," she said. "He's got to be stopped. I have a
kind of thing for Santa Claus. Last Christmas he came around and
drank a glass of grappa with me. I like that old guy."

"Well, I'm not about to tell you what he did when he got *here,*" I said,
"but I don't want *anybody* causing him any trouble."

"But what can we do?" she said.

"Well, early next week I'll get the word out about this, so people will be
on the lookout, and I'll make sure Santa looks good. Then you and I
can start planning for next Easter."

"What do you have in mind?" she asked.

With my usual lightning-like mental response time, I already had come
up with the germ of an idea.

"I know some people up in northern Maine who'll loan me a bear trap," I
said. "You know, the illegal kind that grabs the bear by the leg. We'll
set it up in *my* house after Easter Vigil next year. I'll get the
two-by-four I keep by my nightstand, and you bring some pepper spray
or something, and we'll catch the bastard. I know a person who'll get us
some really good rope--the Dragon's a great writer who knows all
about rope, even if we do argue about proper English usage. We'll
catch the Bunny, tie him up, and sit there and drink red wine and eat
all his candy."

"I've had a little experience with rope," Naomi said with a grin. "Maybe
we can think of some interesting things to do with him while we're at it."

"Now you're talking," I said. "Before we get through with him he'll wish
he'd gone home and chased the tooth fairy."

"Listen," she said hotly, "I don't want you trashing the tooth fairy." Then
she looked dreamily into the distance. "Now *there* is a guy! They've
got him all wrong. I'll tell you all about him someday. You'll be green
with envy!"

----THE END---

* * *

But that wasn't the end, by any means. Here comes Jimmy Hat.

* * *

From: Jimmy Hat <jimmy@jimmy-hat.com>
Topic: {ASSD} On the Easter Bunny Trail
Sent: Fri, 9 Apr 1999 09:02:19 -0400

With thanks to Michael D for creating this, and apologies to him for
using it liberally.

-Jimmy Hat

On The Easter Bunny's Trail

by Jimmy Hat

The bar was next to impossible to find. In fact, it was right next to
Impossible on the map. Heather Stanton had found it after taking the
map from her partner, Gerald Maytag. Now that they were inside, the
two split; Maytag headed for the bar, Stanton to a pair of occupied
tables in the corner.

Eddie leaned against the bar. Cops were such easy makes, especially
in a place frequented by elves and pixies. This one with the tie and the
neat haircut looked a little smarter than most, but not by much.

Eddie addressed the cop. "If you two came looking for Nicole Brown's
real killer, you just missed him."

Maytag flashed his identification. "Agent Maytag, FBI. Actually, we're
looking for someone else."

"Feds?"

"Well," said Maytag, "We aren't sure about the location of the crime, or
even this bar, so Federal jurisdiction supersedes other claims."

Eddie was about to point out that his bar was not under U.S.
jurisdiction, but he preferred two FBI agents to cruise missiles, so he
kept his mouth shut.

"We're looking for a big guy, maybe six feet tall, two-twenty, white fur,
bushy tail, floppy ears. Know anyone meeting that description?"

"A six foot rabbit? What do you think this is, a salad bar?" Eddie
retorted.

Maytag could see this was going nowhere. Stanton was not doing
much better. She had approached the corner, where at one table St.
Nick dealt cards, and at another two square jawed lumberjack types
nursed tumblers of whisky.

"Has anyone here seen a six foot tall rabbit?" Stanton asked, wishing
she were anywhere else.

"Sounds like a fairy tale to me," joked a leprechaun arranging the
cards in his hand.

"Yeah, Alice," cracked a pumpkin-headed figure next to him, "He ran
off earlier saying, 'I'm late, I'm late!'"

Everyone at the poker table had a good laugh. The lumberjacks were
not as amused. "You're going to have to ignore the perennials,
ma'am," said the one with the open-collared white shirt and the
slicked-back hair. "Those dumb asses have to work all the time, smile
at the clients and all, and they tend to get a little rowdy in here."

"I see," said Stanton. "What about you?"

"Well, we put in our work a long time ago," said the bigger one in the
plaid shirt. "Now we just let the restaurants and the tourist traps work
for us."

"I'm Johnny Appleseed," said the first one, extending his hand to
Stanton.

"Agent Heather Stanton, FBI," she said, taking the thick hand in hers.

"Paul Bunyan," said his companion, shaking Heather's hand in turn.

"So that's your Blue Ox parked illegally outside?" Stanton asked.

Damn cops, thought Paul. Even when you're being nice to them, they
have to be hard asses.

"What's this all about, Heather?" Johnny asked.

"We've had a complaint from a woman accusing the Easter Bunny of
sexual assault."

"See?" said Paul. "Damn calendar-kids need to take some time off. It's
the stress of performing year in and year out that can make a guy
snap and do something bad."

"So you believe it?" asked Stanton.

"Well, let's just say that E.B. doesn't get as much action as some other
people around here," answered Paul.

"That so?"

"Damn right! Well, Johnny here and I have laid down more wood
across the US than the South and North Pacific railways combined!
Shit, they should just call him Johnny Seed, if you know what I mean."

"Really?" said a bemused Stanton. Johnny Appleseed kept a hand on
his glass and let his friend brag.

"Hell Yes! Why do you think the Midwest has so many damn Paulsons
and Johnsons running around?"

"I never really thought about it," said Stanton. "I'm from the east coast."

Meanwhile, Maytag the Midwesterner talked to a woman at the end of
the bar. She wore fishnet stockings and a black spaghetti-strap dress.
Long blond hair twisted in curls from the top of her head, brushed back
over the ears and falling to her shoulder blades in a golden cascade.

"Agent Maytag, FBI," he said. "I'd like to ask you a few questions."

"That'll be a hundred bucks," came the response.

"I beg your pardon?"

"I'm the Hooker with the Heart of Gold," she explained, "That's how my
story works."

Maytag looked confused still, so she continued. "You pay me to have
sex, then afterwards, I refuse the money and lead you to your
salvation. Or, I guess in your case, I tell you what you need to know.
Whatever."

"Oh," said Maytag.

"Look, honey, I'd love to be more cheerful about it, but even Hookers
with Hearts of Gold get cynical about the business after awhile."

"I guess I can understand that," Maytag said. "Maybe I can just give
you the money, and then you can give it back and tell me what I need."

The woman shook her head. The blond tresses brushed from one
shoulder over to the next. "Doesn't work that way, doll. Without the sex,
no magic happens. Don't worry, though," she said with a smile, "I'm not
detached about that, and I've never had a complaint."

So it was in the interest of justice that Maytag went with her to the hall
next to the bar that led to the delivery door. To follow any available
lead meant running his hand along the bumpy texture of those fishnet
stockings and pausing at the hot junction where her ass met her legs,
and the legs meet each other. In order to investigate fully, he even let
her pull his pants down to his ankles. He was dedicated, all right.

Stanton was learning interesting things, but wasn't getting the results
Maytag was. "I'm sorry," she said, smirking. "I just don't believe that
your cum tastes like apple pie."

"Why not?" asked Johnny.

"Because apple pie doesn't taste like apples. It tastes like sugar and
cinnamon. That's why mock apple pie works."

"Mock apple pie?" Paul repeated.

Heather looked frustrated. She didn't have time to explain the recipe
on the back of the Ritz cracker box. Besides, this was only supposed to
be a short story, and this paragraph already put it over 1,000 words.

"Listen," she said, putting a hand on each of their shoulders-- their
very broad, muscular shoulders. "I would love to get to know you guys
better, test the apple pie theory and all that, but I really need to find my
partner and get to work on this case."

Stanton found him back at the bar, guzzling a tall glass of water. He
looked exhausted.

"Are you ok?" she asked.

"Yeah," he said, gasping for breath. "I was just, uh, sweating out a
witness."

"Learn anything?" asked Stanton.

"A thing or two." said Maytag as he led the way out of the bar. You
could say I got my money's worth. How about you?"

"I learned all about apples. Harlsons, Granny Smith, Macintosh..."

There was more, but how much can you possibly read and write about
apples in a forum dedicated to sex stories?

* * *

Obviously the subject wasn't fully covered yet. Along came Neos Fyllo.

* * *

From: Neos Fyllo <neos@nym.alias.net>
Topic: Re: {ASSD} "Raped by the Easter Bunny"
Sent: 9 Apr 1999 14:50:54 -0000

michaeld38@aol.com (MichaelD38) wrote:

>RAPED BY THE EASTER BUNNY

Thus you can blame MichaelD38 for inspiring this nonsense.

And apologies for posting this story (sic) to a discussion group.

Neos

Raping the Easter Bunny (Errh, What's Up Doc?)

"Damn, it's hot in here," said Santa, as he threw an Ace of Spades
onto the table.

"Well, if you will wear that stupid red fur coat all the time," St Patrick
replied. They were disturbed from their card game by the noisy
appearance of the Bunny. He crashed open the door and stamped his
way loudly to the bar, his face set in a grimace of evident anger.

They couldn't help noticing the matted fur on his hind quarters, and the
pronounced waddle in his gate as the rabbit passed them by.

"Looks like he's been on the wrong end of good seeing to," said St
Patrick, in a whisper.

"Yeah, I guess rabbits just can't leave it alone. Bit off more that he
could chew, probably," said Santa.

"Bad day, Easter?" said St Patrick.

"Don't ask... and don't call me 'Easter', the name's Rabbit, Mr Rabbit to
you," the rabbit said, through gritted teeth.

"Go on, tell us what happened. You know you want to," said Santa.
The rabbit was silent for a moment. He picked up his drink and threw
back half of it in one gulp.

"It's that friggin' Fawkes' fault," he said, staring into his glass.

"Fawkes, don't think I know him," said Santa.

"Oh, he's just some Brit guy I know. Likes a big bang, if you know what I
mean."

"Not really, but do continue."

"Anyways, we was having a quiet drink, a coupla days ago, and he tells
me of this place he knows. It's full of genuine Bunny Girls. They're
holed up in some rich magazine owner's mansion, just sittin' around all
day wiggling their cute little tails and washing their ears, waiting for
some buck to come along and ease their boredom."

"Sounds too good to be true," said Santa.

"Oh, now it does, but I was too horny to think straight. Should've known
that the limey cocksucker was leading me up the garden path." He
stopped and took another gulp of his drink.

"So what went wrong?"

"Well, I snuk in under the fence, just like Guy told me. And when I got
to the mansion I peeked in through a window. Sure enough, there's like
fifty Bunny Girls, all sitting around looking gorgeous and inviting. Some
of them are brushing each other's hair, some are watching porno
movies on this big projection TV, the set up looks great."

"It wasn't what it seemed?"

"Tell me about it! I casually stroll in. 'Hello ladies, the Rabbit's here to
take you to paradise', I says. They just turned to look at me and start
giggling. This great big bitch comes up behind me and says `Come in
EB, we've been expecting you.' That's when things really went wrong."

"How so?"

"She picks me up and takes me over to a table. It was covered in
straps and chains and stuff. Before I know it, I'm tied down like a
Christmas dinner. Then the bunnies come and stand around, draping
themselves over me. From outa nowhere a photographer shows up
taking pictures of me and the bunnies."

"What for?"

"Turns out they wanted a kinky centre-fold spread for the April edition,
and I was the star."

"Could have been worse," said Santa.

"But you haven't heard the worst yet. Seems they wanted a really kinky
shot for the European edition. That's when they brought in the
Dobermans... " He fell silent.

There was whistles of condolence as they all contemplated the horrible
image the rabbit had just conjured in their minds.

"So, let me tell ya, the next time some strange Guy in a bar tells you he
knows where there are some cute bunnies just waiting for it, tell him to
go shove it!" said the rabbit emphatically. The rest nodded sagely in
agreement, but the Tooth Fairy just smiled and had a strange look in
his eye.

-------The End-----

* * *

No sooner did I get all this stuff together than Vickie sends me this, without even a title!
But it deals with a very serious matter, if you happen to be the E.B., so I had to put it up
right away.

* * *

Copyright 1999 by Vickie Morgan
Easter Chocolate (tentative title)

by Vickie Morgan

The Easter Bunny saw the FBI agents entering the bar and made a hasty exit out the back. Call it a gut feeling, but E.B. had an instinct for trouble. Not that it had been working very well that night.

E.B. dispiritedly made its way home and took a long shower. Standing in front of the
mirror drying its fur, E.B. studied its reflection. What sex was the E.B., anyway? For
years E.B. had thought of itself as female, part of a pagan fertility rite to celebrate the
return of spring. But nowadays people seemed to think of him as male. Since he only
existed because people believed in an Easter Bunny, did that now mean he was male? He was trying to get back to his roots, but it wasn't easy.

Take that woman tonight, for instance. Of course, things hadn't happened the way he had
talked it up at the bar. Instead he had seen the loneliness and yearning in the woman's eyes the moment he saw her. Reverting back to his instincts, he had been able to tell that the magic was dying out of her marriage. With his excellent hearing he could detect her husband approaching the door. What better way to revitalize romance then have her
husband rescue her?

So he had attacked her, taking her by surprise. He hadn't anticipated such strong
resistance, though. He was bruised and battered all over and he knew a thing or two he
would like to do to that dog if he ever caught him alone in a dark alley. Still, his ploy had
worked and the couple had spent the rest of the night in bed, working off the adrenaline.
And if his instincts were still functioning correctly that house would soon be filled with the
cries of a newborn baby.

No one would thank him, though. He had even done his best for the FBI agent. She was
there to arrest him for just doing his job and he had found the time to make sure she would get what she really wanted. He hadn't had much time, but he had managed to arrange thing for her. Not that he would be getting any gratitude from that direction. Not like the good old days when he was worshipped and honoured. All the old fertility symbols were dying out of use. He couldn't remember the last time he had seen couples dance round a Maypole the way they should. Maybe he should be grateful that he had been reinvented as the deliverer of chocolate eggs.

But why was he now male? Everyone had thought of him as male all evening; it was very
unsettling. The Easter Bunny settled down in front of a fire and tried to decide the
questions of its sex once and for all. There was nothing physical to decide the issue one
way or another, so it was down to who he felt. Did he feel male or female? E.B.
thoughtfully broke off a piece of chocolate egg and thoughtfully nibbled it. Yes, there
was no doubt about it, E.B. was female. No male really appreciated chocolate, knew how
to savour each melting fragment coating one's tongue and sliding down one's throat.

After all, at the end of the day, as long as an Easter Bunny has chocolate, what more could she want?

---THE END---

* * *
And it's not over yet! See-El got it together and posted this very See-El-like little
meditation:

I'm off sulking for awhile--oops, I mean 'a while.' Need to keep vigilance against
'common usage,' you know. Never know when Webster's will say that they are
interchangeable.

Oops, they say they already are. Kidding. Just, kidding.

Well, anyway, I'm off for a bit, and several stories were posted about the Easter Bunny.

I'm a bit speechless. And after I posted this last month too:

http://search.dejanews.com/getdoc.xp?AN=453709542&fmt=raw

As I thought, no one really listens. Just as well. May as well skip ahead to the next
message.

Move along . . . Nothing to see here . . .

Bunny, The One and Only
by See-El

On Usenet, you really don't know who you are dealing with most of the time, and some
women who post are accused of being male. When I saw that Bunny was being defamed, I knew that she wouldn't speak up in her own defense. She tends to stay off computers, and away from controversy.

A shy one she is. Yeah, shy.

I should probably tell you just a little something about myself. I work with myths. I
weave dreams with reality. I do it as a sideline really, but you never know how much time
these folks will take up. It seems like a full-time job sometimes.

Sounds like some sort of overblown Hollywood hype, huh? Well, I don't go in for those
Hollyweird types; I don't take ten percent off the top, and I don't sleep with the talent.
Unless they really want to.

I have a million and one myths on the books, some of which may seem contradictory.
Nobody's perfect. Someday, I'm going to meet up with Nobody and punch him right in the
nose. Causes all sorts of trouble, he does.

I created all myths.

Well, the older ones at least. I don't much go for that Urban Legend thing, and contract
that out to a much younger crowd. I sold off the Hollywood myths to themselves years
ago--narcissistic bastards. And Usenet is an entirely different animal altogether.

Some probably don't believe me. They think that this couldn't possibly be true, and that
myths must've existed before me.

Well, they didn't. You just think that they did. It's a myth!

Think of Descartes--he's French, you know. You never know who just might have thought
you up.

I oughta know. I know things.

Instead of waxing philosophic, I'll just say something of Bunny:

She is a fertility symbol.

That seems obvious, huh?

Rabbits have huge litters and tend to fill up an area quickly; unless they have some
natural predators to keep them in check, things get deep real fast. They've caused all
sorts of havoc in the Outback.

She didn't really like her name, so we changed it a little. No, it wasn't no bloody 'Sheila'
neither. It was 'Esther.'

Hmm, now I'm wondering if there is such a thing as a triple negative . . .

Bunny thought her name a little too old fashioned, and not very attractive. Apparently it
was an old name in the family from way back when, but it just doesn't do much for folks
today. She thought 'Easter' would be something more fun, and I agreed.

So now we have 'Easter Bunny.' The One and Only even.

I just call her 'Bunny' because 'Easter' represents a change that I don't think was all for
the better.

You see, she's changed quite a bit over the years; let the hype go to her head. She had
her fur dyed and done up all fluffy like, and tried to stay on top of fashion--that sort of
thing. Then she went and got implants.

You can tell that's trouble right there. Even Pamela Lee got hers taken out.

Bunny got so much into the commercialism that I felt I didn't know her anymore. She
went into chocolate in a big way, even going so far as to encourage everyone to buy it in
order to drive her stock price up. Then it was the paper streamers and cardboard
cut-outs--what is the thing about decorating for Easter with the cardboard rabbits, chicks,
eggs, and such anyway?

So, we have pictures of rabbits, dyed eggs, baskets with plastic grass, large packaging,
toys, promotions . . . The list goes on. It's all enough to make me want to just paint some
blood over my door. Or something like that.

She was just an average hare, who was lured by the bright lights that a new, popular myth
faces. She turned her back on her friends and her old way of life . . .

She was a high-kicking chorus girl in a two-bit dance hall this side of Darling when I
spotted her. What was I doing there? No, uh, not for the entertainment . . . It must've
been destiny. Yeah, that's it: Destiny. I knew that there was someone special
somewhere. And she was the one that I was seeking.

She came from humble beginnings, but she was quick as a whip and extremely talented.

At painting. Painting eggs. Sheesh. The things people on sex newsgroups tend to think
up. Talented . . . huh huh.

She was also a natural at chemistry--not many people know that. She helped to develop
phosphorated hesperidin as a contraceptive pill in 1952. And don't think that Beadle
fellow would have won the Nobel Prize without her help, because he wouldn't neither.

You may think it strange that a fertility symbol would go into contraceptive development,
but you see, rabbits were used back then to determine pregnancy. Growths on their
ovaries meant a positive result for the woman, and a negative result for the rabbit, with
vivisection ultimately being performed. That can't be good.

As you can imagine, when the time came, she invested heavily in those home pregnancy
tests that didn't involve liquidating lagomorphs.

Then she expanded her poultry business, and went into chocolate in a big way when that
came out--chocolate was invented in 1963--see if you don't believe me.

Hershey's 1889? That's a myth!

When she ran into a spot of trouble, she fell back on her friends for support. Some had
abandoned her, but I was still there for her. I helped her out, and believed her when she
said she wanted things to be the way they used to be: Simpler. She would concentrate
just on the eggs. Just one egg at a time.

I was able to teach her something about being sneaky--I'm a little bit sneaky, you know.
Not many people know that either.

So she became something of an egg operative. She was going to try to avoid any more
controversy, and stay out of the public eye. I think that this was more worry about her
advancing years and her fading glory more than anything else.

Wasn't Garbo the same way?

She needed the image and noteriety, but wasn't willing to be a great public figure
anymore. Pretty soon though she was hanging around with the same old crowd and living
the high life again.

Damn rum chocolates.

She would occasionally drop by to visit with all the "little people" and give them all a
treat. Yippee. Excuse me if I don't celebrate too loudly.

She says that she hasn't forgotten her past, but I would say that her present life speaks
volumes.

Down to Earth? Not likely. I know her real hair color.

Note: I intentionally avoided a pun there.

She tries to keep a low profile around me; avoids me like the plague. Yeah, she's shy.

When asked if the Easter Bunny is real, I answer that she insists that she is, but I'm still
not entirely convinced.

See-El
Now that Peter Cottontail is an entirely different sonofabitch . . .

* * *

Well, it was practically Advent when I found this in my mail box. What's
more, I can't undersatnd a word of it, but milord Lucan tells me all the folks
from the UK will be rolling in the aisles. So they should be my guests!

by Lord Lucan

"Interstishul' yer say?"

There I is, sat in a corner of the local's bar in the 'Jovial Tar'. What a bloody
daft name that be. 'Twere the Jolly Sailor afore all they buggers from up
London moved inter t'village an' landlord thort 'twere too commin fer the likes
o' they, so 'ee got the brewry ter change it. Anyways, I'm wi my mate George
an' ee's just used this big werd.

"S'right," says George, blowin the froth off 'is beer. I ain't never too shore
about the froth on the beer 'round 'ere, cos 'tis very likely that the glasses din't
get rinsed proper like.

"Wassit mean then?" I sez. Well now, George 'as bin ter collidge like, an'ee
usually knows big werds, ee come up wi demograffix once, but tha'sanother
story.

"Well." 'ee sez, pickin' up his glass an' takin' a long shlurp, while I watches 'is
mouse-tach float out across the surface o' the beer.

"If'n yer don't put that fuckin' glass down an' tell I," I sez ,"you'll be pissin'
granulated glass fer the next bloody week.

"Alright, alright, keep yer 'air on," sez George, lookin' straight at where mine
use ter be, "Oi'm commin' to it. It's like this. You know as to 'ow grains o' sand
an' gravel don't fit together, leastways not afore the cement gets mixed wi' it.
Well the spaces in between's called interstices, an' as an adjective it's
interstitial.

Clever sod.

"An' you reckons there's a bar wi a six foot bloody rabbit there? You'm pullin'
my pisser, you are."

"You two arguing again?" It's Jenny, the barmaid. She got a face as would
make a corpse stiff an' as usual she's got on one o' they low cut tee shirts an'
no bra. If she stays there leanin' over wipin' the table much longer I ain't
gonner be responsible fer me 'ands. She straightens up just in time.

"Landlord'll throw you two out again if you don't stop," she sez.

"Last time," sez I, " we wuz playin' nothin' more 'armful than guessin' the
weight of 'is wife's tits, an' that weren't why 'ee threw us out. 'Twer me sayin'
I'd go down ter the butchers an' see 'ow much a bowler 'at full o'steak weighed
wot upset 'im."

Fuckin' big bowler 'at you'd need too.

"Still threw you out 'though didn't he?" She walks off pissin' 'erself laughin'.

Bloody wimmin.

George is grinnin'. "D'you go down the butchers then?"

No I bloody din't. I just glowers.

"Now, tell I about this damned bar," I sez.

"Next ter Impossible," 'ee sez. "You gets there past midnight, an' it's called
Eddie's Interstitial Bar an' Grill."

"Yes, but where is it?" I sez.

"Well. 'taint in England, anyways. Now shut up an' listen. I goes there
sometimes 'cos tis full o' interestin' not-quite-people an' if yer waits awhile
yer might meet Bertie Bassett, y'know 'im from the Liquorice Allsorts box, an'
the soldier an' lady from the Quality Street tin, or if your lucky The Lady
'erself."

"Lady 'oo?"

"'Nuff sed, 'tis bad luck to mention 'er b'name, just you remember. You 'ad
seven years bad luck fer breakin' that mirror."

Ah. An' most of it last year when I got She Wot Must Be Obeyed Or Else in
the puddin' club an' 'er dad got 'is scythe out. I wouldn't a minded but he were
too mean to use a shotgun, the old bastid sed I wern't worth the price of a
cartridge. Miserable old git wern't too mean to gi' away 'is daughter 'tho', was
'ee?

"Anyways," 'ee continues, "there I is, drinkin' rum an' Coca Cola when it
suddenly occurs to me I oughter shag O'Reilly's daughter, but Eddie said she
wasn't in tonite. An' then this six foot rabbit burst in the door. `'The Easter
Bunny,' sez Eddie outer the side of 'is gob, an' goes off to serve'im.

"Well, wi'out too much trouble I overhears the whole conversation, an' a right
sorry tale it is too. Talk about more rabbit than Sainsburys, well, this one
reckons some girl got 'im in ter trouble, tried to get 'im to give'er a good
rogerin' an' yells rape when 'er ole man turns up. Sez he set a couple of
Rottweillers on to 'im. Well, 'is bum was a bit tatty, but they wus pathetic
bloody Rottys if tha's all they did to 'im.

"So a few minutes later the rabbit twitches 'is ears, gulps 'is drink down an'
disappears out the back way. Then the door opens an' in comes a couple wi'
rozzer written all over 'em--screenprinted, I think. The bird goes over to talk
to a couple o' lumberjacks and the bloke goes out wi' the 'ore wi'the 'eart o'gold,
an I reckons it's about time fer me to foller that rabbit."

"Not a bad night out fer a scarecrow then," I sez.

"Not bad at all really," sez George.

"Time ter go then, I gotter get up ter Emmerdale Farm afore dawn."

"Yeah, I got to go to Ambridge termorrer," sed George "I just'ates it when they
bloody crows sits on me 'ead an' craps down me neck.

--The End--

All posts archived with permission from the author concerned.

You might think that's enough. But you never can tell, somebody else may be writing
the grand masterpiece of all time on this subject right now. Why, you could do it!
After all, Eastertide lasts well into the middle of May. And some bunnies jkust keep on going and going, no matter what the date!

Janey

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