Related: As winter approaches, new hope for a nervous Sweden.
(Next on the research horizon: wings for flies)
Triggered memories in the comments:
I’m having a PTSD moment.
When I was in high school, my sister had a pet bunny called Hershey. He would ambush me every morning as I stumbled, half-asleep, blurry-visioned and vulnerable, down the hall to the bathroom to have a pee, and, despite my increasingly frantic and determined evasive maneuvers, he far too often succeeded in locking his little paws around my ankle and lightning-humping one or the other of my bare and defenseless feet, leaving me to start the day feeling violated, defiled, and mildly disturbed, with warm bunny sploo between my toes.
Why didn’t you just wear slippers, you might ask. Well, I tried wearing slippers, but found that the shameful effluent was easier to fully rinse from a naked foot than to remove from a fabric or sheepskin slipper. Further, the bunny gunk had a distinctive and lingering odour which I found strident and unpleasant – might merely have been associative, but the aversive quality of the smell was, for me, very real – and I always felt that a phantom whiff of it hovered around even the most scrupulously cleaned slipper, and so many otherwise perfectly good slippers were discarded for a perceived rabbit-jack miasma during that trying time.
To this day, whenever I smell rabbit semen, I am transported back to that dimly-lit hallway and the confusing and stressful period during which I was treated as a masturbation aid by that predatory, conscienceless, nasty little lagomorph.
I think someone needs to explain rabbit cycles to these people, before they waste too much time and money.
When I was a very young boy, we had a few tame rabbits. They mostly stayed in the yard, but weren’t penned in. We had a big tomcat, and my brothers used to put rum in his milk. I didn’t know at the time, but he’d try to breed the rabbits, after having a few too many. One day, a big buck rabbit had enough of him, and landed a running dropkick with both hind feet, right in that tomcat’s ribs. The cat rolled about 10 feet, and didn’t even offer a counter attack. I guess that particular rabbit didn’t need any help with his manhood.
I’ve never trusted rabbits after seeing Watership Down.
Vicious little blighters.
Oz –
Tell them to “silflay hraka”. It works.
I am still wondering about the circumstances under which exetaz experiences the smell of rabbit semen. I can not recall ever having had the, um, pleasure.
vff thread. God bless all of you for your silly, outrageous, irresponsible and crazy comments.
exetaz – hope to see more of you around these parts
I am still wondering about the circumstances under which exetaz experiences the smell of rabbit semen.
I can not recall ever having had the, um, pleasure.
Perhaps when she (I assume) holds them to her chest,
and tenderly looks into their eyes.
I’d say this research lab needs a catchy slogan. Something like, “The buck starts here”…