‘I could clean up poop all day long, and by sundown I’d just have to start over again’ Papa Rabbit thought to himself. Even from himself, he hid the fact that he resented his last nine kids. This wasn’t entirely his fault, as he had a vasectomy, but the kids just kept coming out. One day, after a long day of work, he even came home to a fresh litter of children, so “fresh” that they hadn’t even been named yet (not to mention still glistening from birthing fluid). He went to the kitchen to make himself a sandwich, and by the time he came back they were already up, running around, and…yep…pooping everywhere.
“Hey hun! Is that you??” Mama Rabbit yelled from the den. “Yes dear, just walked in.”
Kipper, Scott, and Randall had all been killed at work today; wandered too close to the tall grass, and got nabbed by CHUNKS (Coyote/Cat, Hawk, Ungulate, Narwhal, Kangaroo, Snake (it was an open secret that ungulates, narwhals, and kangaroos were no threat to rabbits (often promoting unnecessary histaria) but they helped to form a memorable catchphrase to yell out when danger was around))), so Papa Rabbit was in a somber mood. His mind wandered to Kipper, Kipper’s mourning wife, and their 32 kids (it was known that they had problems conceiving, and were ashamed of their small family). Or Scott: Papa Rabbit and Scott were close once, but drifted apart due to petty arguments over politics and religion. Or Randall: Mama Rabbit’s 9th cousin 14 times removed.
“Neptune got in trouble today at school. The principal wants to set up a meeting with us; please call him when you can.” (Neptune? Mama and Papa were pretty much just making up names at this point.) Neptune had an angular jawline, broad shoulders, and irresistible blue/green eyes; he was one of the “cool” kids, and if he wasn’t out finding trouble, then trouble was out finding him. Papa Rabbit once found him passed out in the bathroom, covered in his own rabbit pellets. Papa Rabbit suspected he was out with that no good Peterson kid; that darned Peterson kid already had 11 children he refused to take care of. And Papa was sure that darned Peterson kid had bills a plenty to pay, and he’s busy spending his free time getting tattoos and smoking weed.
“Of course dear, I’ll call in a minute. I’m heating up some leftover stew. Can I make you some?” “Of course!” Mama Rabbit said enthusiastically. “Be there in a minute.” By the time the microwave dinged, Mama Rabbit came waddling down the hallway, crammed into them little shorts, bosom popping out of her top. Papa Rabbit pretty much blacked out after that, and when he came to, he was jackhammering her from behind. ‘Great’, Papa thought to himself. ‘Numbers 72, 73, 74, 75 and 76. I’ve always liked the names Tree, Typewriter, and Cigarette for a boy, and Paper, Couch, and Gubernatorial for a girl.’