Wild Hare

Cash, ass, or grass, baby. No one rides for free.

That’s what the faded old bumper sticker on the back of my ’57 Chevy says, and it’s still true all these years later. Pay me, lay me, or fly away with me; ain’t nobody gets off easy.

I’m a busy guy this time of year. I got shit to do, and not a lot of time to do it. People think that Santa cat has it hard, but I got it just as bad, you know. Hiding Easter eggs and leaving candy isn’t an easy gig. I may look cute and fluffy, but brother, all these years on the job has made me hard as nails. I gotta keep away from asshole dogs trying to chase me and shit like that. It’s rough being the Easter Bunny, man. Real hard.

I speed down the highway in my trusty Chevy, windows down, Elvis blaring on the stereo, the wind whipping my ears back. I spark up a joint and inhale. Fuck you, Bill Clinton, you pussy. Be a man and admit you torched a few in your day. Hell, I bet that greasy fuck still lights up a fat J when that bitch Hillary isn’t around. Coolest president ever, man.

It’s dark and my headlights cut through the night. I look down at my phone to check the time; 12:43 a.m. Shit. I press my lucky foot down on the gas pedal and the old Chevy protests, lurks forward, and then catches up to speed. Don’t fail me now, baby. We aren’t even near done yet. I’ve made decent time so far, hitting up the East Coast in under an hour. Forty states to go in less than eight hours. I take another drag off my blunt, the cherry lighting up the interior a pale red. I exhale and the cab of the pick-up fills with acrid smoke and billows out the window into the cool March night. My next stop approaches and I step on the brakes, the old engine whining to a halt. I park the truck, get out, and walk around to the bed, grabbing the sack. It rattles as the plastic eggs clack against each other. I reach for a few wicker baskets and walk up the gravel road to the houses clustered there.

Once inside, I fill the baskets with loot. I see a plate of carrot sticks on a side table next to an ugly floral couch and sigh. I fuckin’ hate carrots, but know the kiddies will be disappointed if I don’t take some, so I take one in my paw and bite a hunk off, crunching loudly as I chew it. My stomach churns as I swallow and I fight to keep from gagging. Would it kill the little rugrats to leave a snifter of brandy or something?

Finished with this stop, I hop back in my truck–no pun intended–and haul down the road to the next houses, repeating my routine: basket, eggs, take a bite of whatever stale produce that’s left out for me. As I chew a mouthful of limp lettuce, I think of Santa and his cookies and milk and I hate that fat sonuvabitch even more. Pretentious shithead. He has eight reindeer and a magic sleigh, and I have an old beat-to-shit Chevy.

After a few hours and countless carrot sticks, celery, and bits of lettuce later, I find myself in the Midwest, which has always been my favorite part of the country. Down-home people, simple and honest, just like I like ’em. Much to my delight, one house left me a plate of cookies and glass of Coke. I chow the cookies down, the crumbs falling on my hairy chest, and I half-assly brush them away with a fat paw. I reach into my bag and fumble for my flask, finally locating the stainless steel container at the bottom. I unscrew the cap and pour a generous amount into the Coke and guzzle it down in a few long gulps. The carbonation tickles my nose and it twitches. Real fuckin’ cute, I know.

I let out a long belch and excuse myself. I wipe my paw across my mouth. Not bad manners, just good booze my granddad was fond of saying. I let out a contented sigh and start to make my way out the back door when my nose starts twitching again, but this time, it’s not good. A rancid, sulfurous odor fills my nostrils and I recoil in disgust.

Goddamn it. I was hoping I wouldn’t run in to this fucker tonight, but I guess I’m not so lucky. I know instantly who I’m dealing with: The Egg Man. He’s a lesser known figure of Easter, but he’s gaining some popularity. He’s the guy that goes around eating all the brightly decorated hardboiled eggs. He’s a fuckin’ slob of a beast, and I hate running into him.

I creep into the kitchen and sure enough, there he is, hunched over a plate of eggs, his fat fingers clumsily peeling the orange, pink, yellow, green, and blue shells off. There’s a pile near his feet and he shifts and I can hear them crunching under his feet. He’s shoving egg after egg into his gob, and I can see bits of yolk stuck to the outside of his mouth. My stomach flip-flops again at the sound of him mawing these things. It’s a sick, wet sound and he licks his lips, spreading the yolk around more.

He stops briefly, lifts up his right leg a bit and lets a demonic fart bomb explode from his ass and he laughs a simpleton chuckle.

I try to maintain my composure, but the smell is too noxious and I cough. The Egg Man whips around, dropping an egg on the ground. He looks down at it and back at me, and I can see the hatred in his eyes. He steps forward, crunching the egg under a giant booted foot, squishing the contents underneath.

“You…” he growls. I can see him making fists with his meaty hands. They open and shut as he clenches them.

“Hello, you fat bastard. Happy Easter.”

“Fuck you, Rabbit. This is my holiday now, bitch. Why don’t you take your gay little baskets and get the fuck outta here?”

“Fat chance, you pathetic piece of shit. This is my turf. Find your own holiday to exploit. I hear “Worthless Piece of Dog Shit Day” is up for grabs. Perfect for you.”

“You want some of this, Easter Bunny? Come and fuckin’ get it!” He lunges at me, his thick-as-tree-trunk arms flailing wildly as he grabs for me. I bob away from him and punch him in the kidney. He howls in pain and doubles over.

“You asshole!” he howls and doubles over in pain, clutching his sides. He looks up at me, and snarls. I can see bits of colored shell stuck in his teeth and I fight the urge to vomit.

He forgets I’m a rabbit and I weave away from him effortlessly as he reaches for me again and again.

“That the best you got? Come on! Hit me! Hit me as hard as you can!” I taunt him. He screeches in anger and tries to grab me again, but I move away too fast for him. He trips over a chair at the table and falls to the ground with a hard “thud.”

I go over and stand above him, my lucky foot on his chest, keeping him pinned to the ground.

“Koo koo ka-choo, motherfucker,” I spit at the Egg Man. He tries to reach up at me with his chubby arms. I can see his fingers are dyed from all the eggs he’s eaten. I press my foot into him harder and he squeals in pain.

“Like I said, asshole. This is my holiday. Get the fuck out of here, you worthless piece of garbage.”

The Egg Man groans at the weight of my foot on his barrel chest and finally relents.

“Okay, okay, okay…you win this time, Bunny. Just please, let me up. I promise to leave you alone!”

I glare down at him, staring hard into his black eyes and I let my foot of his chest and kick him hard in the kidney. He chokes as his breath leaves him.

“Bastard…” he coughs as he tries to get up. He makes it to his hands and knees and starts coughing. I kick him in the ass and he lurches forward, hitting his head on the kitchen table. He gets up on one knee and wheezes as he hauls the rest of him up off the ground.

“Suck my dick, Bunny,” he gasps as he stand up.

“Yeah, that’s what your mom said last night, Egg Man. Get the fuck out of here. I got work to do.”

The Egg Man flips me off, stumbling as he leaves the house. The wooden screen door bounces on its frame as it shuts.

I clean up the kitchen a bit, not wanting to draw attention to the activities that went down while the owners were sleeping. I finish up my duties, and make my way out of the front door, but not before I spot the plate of carrot sticks resting on the foyer table.

I grab one in my paw, shove it in my mouth, and take a huge chunk out of it.

“Happy fuckin’ Easter.”

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