For Easter, Grammie and GPS (grandpa Steve) got Sam a stuffed bunny. It's sweet and all, and Sam seems to dig it (not so much in this picture), But frankly I think this bunny is out to get me.
Perhaps its the freakish size, or maybe it's the preternatural calm that exudes from his beety little eyes. But it has me totally freaked out. This morning, I walked in to the kitchen and there he was sitting at the table, glaring at me. I swear his head followed me across the room. I think he was waiting for me to turn my back, so I just smiled and walked away, careful to keep my wits about me and an eye on his furry little homicidal paws.
Anyway, when I get to sleep tonight I have a feeling that my dreams may look something like this:
If, The Media Grab suddenly and inexplicably goes silent I ask the grab nation for the following:
1. Blame the bunny. He may have an alibi, but you know that hare-brained S.O.B was behind whatever happened.
2. Don't let him raise Sam. I don't want my son to grow up versed in rabbit tricks and ignorant of non-rabbit culture.
3. Be kind to my wife. She may have laughed at me when I told her that the bunny freaks me out, but her having to live with being dismissive about this will be tough enough as it is.