![](http://www.alphalink.com.au/~woodsy/bunny.jpg)
Returning to my job as a beer salesman might sound like a harsh dose of reality after battling buxom blond aliens, but it's less arduous than you might think.
Fact of the matter is--I love my life.
Sitting at the rail of my new favourite SWP account, I inadvertently bellied up beside a total class act. Barely able to stand, the first alarm bells should have sounded when he took one look at my tweed snap-brim hat (which I love to bits) and said:
A- "Are you an Irish Catholic green beer drinking bastard?"
B- "I'm at least two out of the four things you listed."
A- blink.
Then he proceeded to explain to me the following formula. I'm going to have trouble writing it down accurately, because it made absolutely no sense.
A- "Did you watch the Oscars?"
B- "Yes."
A- "What a crock of shit, eh?"
B- "Ye--"
A- "They give out 24 Oscars, right?"
B- "No idea."
A- "They give out 24 Oscars. . ."
B- "Sure, if you say so."
A- "They do. Twenty four. And they give out 24 Grammy Awards."
B- "Okay."
A- "Now add those two together. Do it."
B- "It's, geez, 48."
A- "And multiply it by 2, for two awards shows."
B- "Easy, slow down. Uh, 96."
A- "What happens to the other 4?"
B- blinks. "What 'other four' are we talking about?"
A- "That other four. . .what happens to them? Who gets them?"
B- ". . . uh. . . who?"
A- "I don't know--but I'd like to. I'd like to get my hands on them--those four--and I'd like to win 4 Nobel Prizes as well."
This calculation, although meaningless to me, obviously meant something to him. He certainly wanted those Nobel prizes; he went on about them for a few minutes. . .until he sidetracked himself, and dropped this bomb:
A- "The Easter Bunny, he's coming around soon--that bastard!"
B- "What beef could you possibly have with the Easter Bunny? He's pleasant, well-dressed--"
A- "He never has any pants on when I see him!"
B- "Maybe because he's always crapping out chocolate eggs for children?"
A- "Yeah, hey, he gives children candy, right? Chocolates and eggs and gum, right? But what does he give the elderly?"
B- " . . .nothing, really. My mom--"
A- "--He fucking. . ."(index finger up to signify an important point)". . .eats them. Eats them whole!! Dirty fucking--"
B- "He doesn't eat the elderly! He's friendly and jolly!"
A- "That's Santa, and he fucking well does! If I were you, I'd stay the fuck away from him this year. You're getting a little old for the Easter Bunny. He's gonna put some sauce on you, and eat you up whole. . .dirty fucking Easter Bunny that he is!"
It was around this time that my friend's agitation had attracted the notice of management. Moments later, pockets out-turned, A was gone. I leaned to the bartender and said, "Dude was blitzed! Did you hear what he had to say about the Easter Bunny? Eats the elderly?". The bartender nodded; A had already told her that tidbit of information.
I wonder if it was fear of the Easter Bunny's appetite for elderly that gave Peter Pan his unhealthy obsession with youth? I already know that Michael Jackson's security entourage caught the Easter Bunny with ol' MJ's head in his mouth, all chewed to shit.
![](http://www.hairweb.de/images-stars/michael-jackson-prozess.jpg)
"Little Rabbit Foo Foo running through the forest! Picking up the elderly and bopping them on the head!"
2 comments:
You can't make that stuff up, can you?
Truth is nearly always better than fiction.
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