I'm a stone-cold killer, y'all.
The bunny never saw Tinkerbelll coming, that much is obvious. Poor bunny. I'm sorry.
But, hey, Mister Bunny, if you're so stupid as to cross the road in front of the elementary and middle schools at exactly the peak morning drop-off time (a period I like to call "thisisthereasonpeoplehomeschool"), then maybe it's for the best.
What I mean by that, and my apologies for sounding harsh, is that it's probably better that I smooshed you today than have the chance of you breeding more imbecilic lagomorphs like yourself.
Oh sure, you were handsome, there's no denying. You were healthy too, if the robust thump of my tires over your skittering form was any indication. You were likely very popular with the ladies due to the vigor with which you made your way through this small world.
But now you are dead, and the ladies will have to go make nice with the smarter but perhaps slower bunnies.
Yeah, I said it, the SMARTER bunnies who KNOW to lay low when the cars go zooming by. That's right, maybe now the does will be hangin' with the bunnies that might not be as meaty or as hirsuite as you were, the bunnies who might mostly prefer to stay around the burrows with the ladies and children rather than playing chicken with the big noisy fast things on the big rock road, the bunnies that you probably shoved out of the way when mating season rolled around.
How does THAT feel, Mister "I can outrun your car"?
You couldn't. Let that be a lesson to you.
I'm still sorry though. Even dumb bunnies don't deserve to die by vehicular homocide.
But wait, it's not homocide if I'm not flattening a person. What's the term for when you (INADVERTENTLY) smash a long-eared member of Mother Nature's grand family flat with the family sedan? Bunnycide?
I have red hair now. It scares me.
Last time I tried to go red, I wound up with hair that garnered sympathetic looks and one comment about "brassy dye jobs." THIS time, I'm not sure it's so much brassy as, um, shocking.
I suspect that fumes of the uber-red hair dye, in combination with no coffee, in combination with the mental gear-whirring necessary to strategize how to tone down the scary hair all coalesced into an inability to identify and avoid possible bunnycide this morning.
Couldn't possibly be that I simply wasn't paying attention. No, never that.
Yes, well, I MIGHT have been staring at the scary hair in the rear-view mirror again while trying to start up my computer (you read that right, I was in the car) while planning out my day while thinking of the calls I had to make while reaching for the bag of grapes that was to be my breakfast. I'm still blaming bunnydeath on hair dye and a distinct lack of caffeine.
Any port in a storm, y'all.
Can I just close this out by saying that Terry Pratchett rocks my crazy little brain?
I'm reading "Thief of Time" right now, and I'm getting so addicted that I stayed up way too late last night reading "just one more TICK" until it was way after midnight and I wasn't remembering what I just read. Y'all know it's hard to part me and sweet sleep even with VERY GOOD REASON, so a BOOK that can do that is capturing my full attention indeed.
I would very much like to crawl into Mr. Pratchett's brain and have a bit of a look aound to see what could possibly be left in there. With all the stuff he's written, and all the ways he's populated his books, I can't imagine ther's much left in the stores of his imagination. Sure hope I'm wrong.
There are something like a thousand books (possibly a slight exaggeration) by him left to read.
Once I'm done with those, where do y'all suggest I go next to get my "wow" schwerve on? I need to know. Now.