Monday, November 29

We are riding on Enormous Rabbit's back like a pony around the backyard. It is lots of fun.

"Yee haw!" yells Mr. Happy Puppet Head. I concentrate on holding on real tight. All the bouncing around is making me kind of sick.

"Yee haw!" he yells again. We are having a really good time.

Suddenly, a little cute runs out in front of Enormous Rabbit and she steps right on it. At the speed she's romping around at, there's no way to avoid it.

I poke at it with my boot. It doesn't move at all. "Is it dead?" asks Mr. Happy Puppet Head. I'm not sure yet, so I poke it again. And again.

Enormous Rabbit whimpers quietly behind me.

"We should have a funeral for it," I say. "Did you bring back my shovel?"

"No," Mr. Happy Puppet Head says. "I told you I broke it at the party last week."

"Oh. Did you buy me a new one?"


I locate a somewhat flat rock and start digging a hole with it next to the little cute corpse. It's slow going.

"How deep do you think we should bury it?" asks Mr. Happy Puppet Head.

"I don't know," I answer. But it doesn't look like this is going to work. I gently roll the cute into the shallow grave I've dug, but it isn't even deep enough to cover it.

We decide the best thing to do is to throw it over the fence into the neighbor's yard.

"It isn't your fault, Enormous Rabbit," I say. "Things happen, and you shouldn't let it interefere with your having fun."

"Hey," says Mr. Happy Puppet Head as he takes a swig from his hip flask. "Let's drink until we pass out."

We all agree that this is a fine idea, and end up all curled up crying in the corner of the yard. It begins to rain, but we are far too drunk to notice.

Life is about knowing when to drink far too much, and when not to. And knowing when to leave the corpse for someone more qualified to deal with.

Friday, November 26

After she recites her list of vows, and everyone looks at you to recite yours, instead of talking about all sorts of promises to stay with her forever, show them you mean it.

From your tux jacket pocket, pull out a needle and thread. Calmly sew your left thigh to her right.

The priest will have more to say, and you still have some French kissing in front of an audience to do, so don't just hobble away as soon as you're done.

Marriage is the most important thing that will ever happen in your life, so prepare for it. Start practicing your needlework, and try to build up your pain tolerance as high as you can. You don't want to look like you don't know what you're doing up there.

Thursday, November 25

An Educati-FUN Video

Self-Defense is Good

Me and Mr. Happy Puppet Head are in the park. This is where most children need self-defense. They need to defend themselves from bullies, pedophiles, rabid dogs, and a variety of child-eating monsters. But what many don't know is that self-defense is more than important, it's really good, too.

So here's Jimmy. Hi Jimmy. We're going to be teaching you how to defend yourself today. Have you ever had to defend yourself before? No? well, you've been lucky.

First up we have Chad and Martha who are going to try to take your money. Yes, the money you had been saving for comic books. They also look like they'd really like to hurt you. Mabye break a few teeth. Notice how they are at least twice as old as you, and maybe three times as big. Completely capable of doing whatever they want to you. And don't think just because they're fat that they aren't much stronger than you.

So what you do first is locate some sort of weapon. Like a rock, or that big stick over there. Yes, it is heavy. So as they approach, try to hit one of them in the head. The best method is to look like you aren't going to do anything, then do something real quick. Now, go!

Oh, that's good. Look, Martha's bleeding. Right there on her neck. No, don't feel bad. Now they know you mean business, and they're going to have to get her stiched up before messing with you again.

But what about monsters? You might be surprised to learn this, but fake Karate is one of the most powerful forms of the martial arts. Especially against monsters. All you have to do is karate chop and karate kick like they do on TV. No problem.

Okay, so you lost some fingers. But you're alive and the monster's running away. You'll probably live to lose a lot more fingers with badass moves like that. Good job.

So kids, politicians and teachers will tell you that violence is bad, but they're wrong. If Killer Whales didn't use violence to eat the cute Penguins, how would we have Killer Whales to entertain us at Aquatically-Themed Adventure Parks? If George Washington didn't use violence to slaughter all of the Indians, how would your favorite late-night Naked Movies exhist?

They wouldn't. So defend yourself, and defend what you love. Kick and punch blindly, and eventually you'll hit something worth hitting. We believe in you.

Monday, November 22

He had no eyes and the most ordinary things would set him into extended fits of panic. If he knew there was a stop sign or a lamp, he would yell and wave his arms for hours.

She fell in love with him instantly.

They met in an ice cream store. He was curled up in the corner because they were fully stocked in mint chocolate chip ice cream.

"What's wrong?' she asked.

"Mint chocolate chip ice cream..." he wispered, choking on his sobs, tears filling his gaping eye sockets.

"What's wrong with mint chocolate chip?" she asked. "You don't have to eat it if you don't want to." But he just cried harder, curled up tighter, and she just couldn't stand it.

"How much for all your mint chocolate chip ice cream?" she asked the teenage girl behind the cash register. She whipped out her credit card. The ice cream went into the sewer and their romance skyrocketted into oblivion. They held hands everywhere, and she destroyed indiscriminately everything that bothered her crazy blind boyfriend.

It was summer and he began screaming like he'd been bit. He pointed feverishly at the clicking of a passing bicycle. Without a second thought she located and threw a large rock at the bike, sending the elderly woman flying over the handlebars and headfirst into the trunk of a large tree.

Permanently crippling an elderly woman and smashing her antique bicycle into pieces is all sorts of a criminal offense.

"Here's a notebook and a pen," she said to him as they led her to her prison cell. "Write down everything that you need borken into pieces, and I will do it as soon as I get out of here."

The list was epic. He had to buy a new notebook every week. Then he had to move to a different apartment to store them all.

They were old by the time they were able to start checking items off the list. "Let's do this," she said, taking his wrinkled hand in hers. It took a frenzied nine years and three months to go through all the notebooks. They tore up newspapers and crushed mailboxes and set fire to swingsets. They chainsawed dumptrucks and melted linoleum and obliterated coat racks. They decimated villages and obliterated the middle class and slashed all the prices.

"I'm tired," he said when they were done.

"But it was worth it," she replied. He agreed, and they curled up together on the pile of broken pieces that was left of the world. It was a lot more comfortable than you would think.

Saturday, November 20

"When I look in your face, I see death," he tells you. "And when I hold you at night, I can't help but imagine holding a lifeless corpse."

"What?" you ask, even though you have heard this exact thing from every boyfriend you've ever had. "Are you breaking up with me?"

"No." But you both know it's over. They confess, then the passion is gone. He will imagine slipping his tongue between your decomposing lips, and you'll know. You'll see it in his eyes.

Quit crying. Break it off quickly and go out with Jake the Embalmer. He has a thing for you, and his hands are real soft.

Thursday, November 18

The meat was sad that the other meat had died. This dead was forever, not just the regular kind of dying that meats go through when the cow or pig it had been a part of was slaughtered for food. That kind of dying is what starts the life of a meat. No, this was the other type of dying that means you can't go to anymore meat parties or laze around looking at the clouds.

This was the meat that found its meat friend dead in the living room watching some coutroom drama on TV. It was green and moldy and lifeless. The meat had come over with a surprise, a new book of trivia. But the meat dropped the book when it found its friend dead, dropped it and never picked it up again.

In the graveyard the sad inevitablity of life hung overhead like a cloud, and all seemed dark and gloomy and sharp with razors. The meat cried a little.

But then some happy meat clowns and meat ballerinas came by and brightened everything!

But they eventually died from meat-rot, too.

But then more happy meat clowns and meat ballerinas were born from slaughter! Party!

But then they died...

But then there was a day they invented Anti-Death, and no meat ever died again! Biggest party ever!

But then the party got really boring and everyone went home and was bored,even with trivia and court TV...forever.

Tuesday, November 16

I wake up to an unusual shuffling sound in the backyard. I've been asleep for only an hour and I'm all groggy and confused. I look out the window and see something moving around.

I walk outside, hugging myself against the cold, and see something strange.

The giant worm thing chases the three chicken birds in circles around the yard. The birds don't seem too worried about the worm, since it's so slow, but they make sure to keep their distance. The giant worm seems intent on eating the birds, and seems sure it'll be really great once it gets one in its mouth.

It's a cold fall night and the crickets are all gone, so the only sound is the ruffling of feathers and the small grunting of the worm.

I don't know how they got in since the gate is locked, but I go ahead and open it so they can get back out. I don't want any violence perpetrated in my backyard, even if it is part of the beauty of nature and giant worms.

They chase each other around in impotent circles, accomplishing nothing at all. I get bored watching them and go back to bed, hoping they'll be gone in the morning.

But they aren't. They don't even seem tired after chasing and being chased for so long. Mr. Happy Puppet Head and Enormous Bunny are watching through the windows. "You going to make some breakfast or what?" asks Mr. Happy Puppet Head. "I'm hungry."

I take out the eggs and begin the process of scrambling them. "Do you think it'll ever catch the birds?" I ask. Mr. Happy Puppet Head ignores the question. "Make sure to make the omlet dry," he says. "You never cook it enough."

So we eat our super dry omlet while watching the worm chase the birds around and around and around. I wonder how long they've been doing this. It seems like it could be one of those eternal, infinite things that's been going on forever and could go on forever after. You don't get to see those sorts of things often. Kind of magical. Inspiring.

One of the birds trips and falls. The worm slowly crawls on top of it and bites off it's head. The other two birds stop and watch from a safe distance as their compatriate is slowly torn to pieces.

I grab a broom and chase them out of the yard. The worm doesn't move an inch until he's eaten the last of the bird, completly ignoring me as I whack it in the face with said broom.

Maybe I should go check for giant worm traps as the hardware store. Sometimes it seems there's never an end to the problems that come up in day to day exhistance.

Monday, November 15

We're on set shooting one of the Fuzzy Cute Cartoons.

Everything is going fine. The story is that a bunch of furry cutes are having a picnic and having a wonderful time.

"I'd like to vote on something," says one cute.

"What would you like to vote on?" asks another.

"I don't know..." says the one. "Maybe on what kind of pie we should eat."

"But we only have apple," says another cute, one who had yet to speak up.

"That's great!" exclaims the first cute. "That's what I would have voted for."

These cartoons pretty much make themselves. We set up the camera, push record, and let the cutes just go. Then after a little while of super adorable dialogue, something happens. In this episode, a big funny boy comes over and eats a few of the cutes.

Mr. Happy Puppet Head is watching the action with a thoughtfull expression. "I'm thinking I'm just going to start wearing diapers," he says to me.


"I'm just saying," he takes a swig from his hip flask. "That I'm sick of getting up in the middle of the night to piss. It sucks."

"That's true," I say. The big funny boy, played by a guy named Hector, approaches and begins eating the cutes happily. They don't know what to do, so they sit around quietly as he eats all of them.

"Why doesn't everyone wear them?" he asks. "They aren't expensive or anything. And convinient. I love convinience."

"Who doesn't?"

"So you'll do it, too?" He looks at me now.

"I don't think so," I say. Hector is now lying on the checkered sheet, curling up to take a nap.

"Why not?" He's staring at me now.

"I don't know," I reply. "It just sounds gross. I'd rather just get up and use the toilet."

"Really?" He takes another swig. "That's weird."

"Cut!" I call out as I turn off the camera. All the little cutes crawl out of Hector's mouth and look to me for criticism. "That was really good," I tell them. "Really good. But let's do it again, just for safety."

Thursday, November 11

"Some people have large muscles," said the boy who had none as he talked to the other boy dressed like a sailor whose mother hadn't had anything to drink in three months because her husband said, "I can't take you being drunk all the time, so knock it off," and she did even though now she's really mean to her son and dresses him up in these costumes like sailors and midieval serfs and Navajo Indians so that all the other kids in the class make fun of him and she makes him relate all the mean things said and done to him and this is what she gets drunk on now. "Some people have large muscles," said the boy, "Let's go get some, too."

So they went to the workout place and worked out until they had really big muscles. Then they lifted heavy things and won the acclaim of everyone.

"Sometimes I just eat all the peanut butter out of the jar with a spoon," said the boy to the girl whose father had just been fired from his job for gross negligence in the face of adversity, which goes completely against the company motto, but the man hadn't ever learned to read because of his rather large mental disability rendering it impossible for him to think past his own immediate needs like food, water, sex, and violence, yet he always provided for his daughter. But he was fired. "Sometimes I just eat all the peanut butter out of the jar with a spoon," said the boy, "and by sometimes I mean always for every meal."

So they both gorged themselves on peanut butter until the nutty processed nutness oozed from every orifice and their tiny hearts--which had never learned to love completely--were filled solid with the stuff. Their martyrdom was quickly forgotten by the masses.

Wednesday, November 10

Today's Lesson: Get Famous

Here's the thing, kids. Famous people can do anything they want. If the star of your favorite soap opera or situational comedy walks into your house uninvited, you'd say "Hot damn! You're _________! I love you!" Then you'd try to touch them. Normal people can not get away with this. Famous people can.

The star of your favorite soap opera or situational comedy could walk into your house uninvited, rummage through the fridge, and hang out on your couch watching TV all day and you wouldn't even complain. You'd say, "Can I get you more ice cream? I can run to the store if there's a flavor you'd rather have than the ones I have. Do you want a foot rub?"

Imagine how great that would be. Even if you have to politely ask the celebrity to leave later in the day so your husband won't get jealous or violent, he'll just go on to the next house, or the next. Once you're famous, all you'll have to do is a toothpaste commercial every year to keep your face recognizable to the general public, then you can just barge into any household in the world and take whatever you want. What are they gonna do? Tell you not to? Yeah right.

The world needs celebrities. We owe it to them, for keeping our world a happier place. For giving us pleasant and attractive faces to base our standards of desirability on. For making us feel like we have a rich and powerful friend out there who probably drives several nice cars, and if we ever bumped into them on the streets would probably give us a ride or maybe some money to get some tacos.

For all the cynisism and derision focused on the famous people in this world, fame is still the best thing there is. So kids, get famous. You'll like it.

Tuesday, November 9

The neighborhood is filled with smoke from the lawnmower that won't turn off, no one can see anything, and I keep hearing cars crashing and children crying. I cough and I choke and my eyes water.

"We need to get rid of the mower!" I yell to Mr. Happy Puppet Head over the loud churn of the engine.

"What?" he yells back.

"We need to get rid of it. Maybe push it into the river."

"I'm not paying for a new one." He changes the channel to something with old women talking about their problems, but we can't hear their problems because the tv doesn't get loud enough.

"Fine," I yell. "But let's go push it into the river."

The immediate concern comes up that we have no idea if there actually is a river anywhere near where we live. But we push the mower down the street in the direction we feel it is most likely to find a large body of water. Enormous rabbit prances happily behind us.

I've been trying and trying to figure out what it means that the mower won't turn off and my world is filling with thick black smoke that makes living almost impossible. I have a hard time believing it's just one of those things that hapens. Maybe it's symbolic of my hardworking nature? My work ethic? My strength of character? That makes no sense.

After walking for a little while, I start to get lightheaded and dizzy from all the smoke and noise. We sit down on the sidewalk to take a rest. We soon realize that we are sitting next to a little girl. It's Howie the little girl and her pet old man head.

"Hi Howie, hi Head," I yell. "How are you two doing?"

"Mr. Happy Severed Head!" yells Mr. Happy Puppet Head. "What's up?"

Howie coughs a little cough and yells back, "Just playing."

"That's great," I yell. "Do you know where the river is? We're trying to find a place to put this lawnmower to stop all the smoke."

"I have a pool in my backyard!" she responds. That's close enough for us.

In Howie's backyard, we find a small plastic child's pool. It is filled with green water and thick with fall leaves. Perfect. Me and Mr. Hapy Puppet Head and enormous rabbit carefully hoist the mower up and drop it into the kiddie-pool. The air explodes with mucky water, covering all of us completely with drippy slime. The mower churns on, bubbling and frothing the water with a fury. It takes a long time for it to slow down, gasping for air, belching large puffs of smoke until finally succumbing to the sludge.

We thank Howie and her pet old man head, and tell her that the air should clear up and she'll be able to play without coughing and getting dizzy soon enough.

"I'll miss the smoke," she says. "And the loudness."

And I realize that I just drowned a little part of myself in that kiddie-pool, a part I'm not really understanding yet. Maybe it has something to do with my eating habits? Could eating too much starch cause a landscaping appliance to ignore the laws of physics? And does the fact that I unflinchingly slaughtered the symbol of my malnutrition say something about me? Was that bad luck?

On the way home, we get horribly lost. The smoke probably won't clear for a little while, maybe a few days, and in the meantime we can't see any of our regular landmarks. That night, we sleep in some bushes in someone's front yard. We find out in the morning that they are our bushes in our frontyard.

Monday, November 8

Arpit and Bloodbath the Unemployed Pirate Cartoon!

"Happy Birthday, Bloodbath!" yells Arpit. They are standing in front of their apartment complex. The sun in shining. The two best friends are hanging out being bored.

"Arg. 'Tis not me birthday today," says Bloodbath.

"Yeah, but's it's my birthday," says Arpit. He jumps up in the air and claps his hands. "That means we get to clap and yell and jump and sing. My dad says birthdays are the day everyone forgets why they hate us, just like we were dead when everyone cries because you were such a great friend even if on normal days when you are alive everyone doesn't like you so much and says you smell funny and push you down and put gross things on your face."

"Did yer grandmother have some sorta accident?" asks Bloodbath. "Or do ye think she was a straight up retard?"

"I think she drank bleach. That's what my dad says, my dad says Grandma drinks bleach and that's what makes her scream at me and lock me into dark places."

Bloodbath stares at the boy as he jumps up and down clapping his hands over his head.

"And one time, my dad says I shouldn't hate her because we can't hate handicapped people, like fat people in wheelchairs who can't say sentences and cry all the time. Like Grandma when she hits me with sticks." says Arpit.

"I don't like my Grandma," says Arpit.

They stand around looking idly at things that either pass by or stay where they are at all times. Like cars or rocks.

Thursday, November 4

"You going to mow the lawn today?" I ask Mr. Happy Puppet Head.

"Okay," he says. He's watching TV and not really paying attention to me.

"Now's a good time. It's not raining yet, and it might later." He doesn't respond. "And it's your turn." Seriously, it's been his turn to mow it for almost two months now, and it only needs it one more time before next summer. Just to clear up some of the leaves and make it look nice for the winter.

"Yeah, I know," he takes a swig from his hip flask. "I know I know I know. Shit..."

"I'm going to turn off the TV, Mr. Happy Puppet Head." I stand up. "That's the only way this is going to happen." I walk over and turn it off.

"Hey." he turns it back on with the remote. Enormous rabbit, who'd been sleeping in the corner, picks her head up and looks at the two of us.

I turn it back off and stand in the way of the screen. "Mr. Happy Puppet Head," I say. "Just mow the lawn. It's no big deal."

He turns it on with the remote, but I'm standing in the way so he can't see. "Fine," he mumbles as he drops the remote on the ground. "Asshole..."

He does a really bad job of mowing the lawn. Looking out my bedroom window, I see he missed several large patches and his rows are all crooked and wobbly. At least he did it.

I hear the TV turn on in the living room, but I also still hear the lawnmower in the backyard. I find Mr. Happy Puppet Head sitting on the couch staring at the TV. Enormous bunny is curled up next to him, far too big for our meager furnishing. "Who's mowing the lawn?" I ask him.

"Get off my back, dick. I just mowed it." He flips the channel to some loud cartoon with lots of explosions. I walk to the back window and look outside. The lawnmower is sitting the middle of the yard. A little bit of black smoke trickles from the engine as it roars, chugging away at nothing.

"Why didn't you turn it off?" I ask.

"It usually turns itself off. When you let go of the handle."

"But it's still on."

"So?" He changes the channel again, this time to a bowling tournament. "Go turn it off."

In the backyard I study the mower. The small combustion engine fills the air with its angry sound. I grab the safety handles and jiggle it, but nothing happens. I kick it. Nothing. I kick it again. I push the choke button a few times. I check the oil. Plenty of oil. I unscrew the sparkplug and nothing happens. I open the gas tank and there's no gas in there.

My first thought is that it's haunted, but we just had some of that this past week for Halloween. The mower not turning off must be symbolic of something. Magical Realism I think.

As I stand there thinking, more and more smoke pours out of the mower. The wind changes and blows the blackness into my face. I cough and retreat to the house.

I sit down at the kitchen table and try to write up a list of problems, metaphysical, psychological, sexual that I can think of in my life that this lawn mower may be representative of.

1) My roomate and bestfriend can be a lazy jerk
2) black smoke makes me cough and suffocate
3) I wish we had tortillas
4) I really have to take a piss

I guess I'll take a piss and go to the store for more tortillas. That'll solve at least two of the problems, if not more.

As I open the front door, a huge cloud of black smoke pours into the house. I cough and suffocate a little before I can close the door and it disappates a little. I look out the window and see the entire neighborhood suffused with thick black smoke. I can barely see the kids who live accross the street crying and hacking up wads of phlem in the front yard.

So I'm trapped in the house for the second time this week. Without tortillas. And I've got to figure out what in my life is making the lawnmower not turn off.


Wednesday, November 3

The two sniff each other, circling round and round as they burrow into the scent of the stranger.

When they are done sniffing, they sit down and stare off at the clouds together, new friends on a grassy hill.

One's name is Stephanie, the other is Razor Wire. They watch the sun set and soon it is dark.

Razor Wire says she is tired of how her life has been going and she's leaving.

"Where are you going?" asks Stephanie.

"Doesn't matter," she replies. "I'll just go."

"Wow," Stephanie looks up at the moon and thinks about that. "I wish I could do that, just go."

"You can. Nothing stopping you, really." They sit in silence for a long time.

"But..." Stephanie thinks about all the things stopping her--her family, her friends, her easy supply of food and recreational drugs. Would she be able to find all of these things somewhere else? And she would miss the rolling green hills that she has grown up in. Could she live without them?

After a little while longer of sitting and talking about this and that, they part ways.

Walking home in the dark, Stephanie is stopped by Roderick, a boy she knows from playing in the big green feild. He is a large worm thing that moves so slowly he can only catch the stupidest of birds to eat, and his teeth are so large he can barely open his mouth to chew what does happen to make its way in. He is crying.

"What's wrong, Roderick?" Stephanie asks. Roderick doesn't answer, instead he snaps at her and almost gets one of her legs. "Hey!" She hops out of biting range. "What're you doing?"

He sobs and wails loudly, but doesn't answer her questions. He wiggles slowly towards her, still trying to snap her up with his enormous teeth. She easily hops out of his reach, but he keeps trying.

Roderick follows Stephanie for a long time, accross the dark hills, under the bright fall stars, wailing and sobbing. He is completely unresponsive to her questioning.

They arrive in front of her small house. Stephanie's mother unlocks the door and lets her inside. Roderick doesn't leave once the door is locked. "What's that boy doing?" she asks, but Stephanie has no answer other than "He's trying to eat me."

"But that's Martha's boy," her mother peers out the window at the fat worm child crying in her front yard. "He gone crazy?"

He attacks their mailbox. It doesn't run away. He has trouble, but manages to get most of it down his throat.

"Sometimes people go crazy sometimes," Stephanie's mother says. "You just don't know."

Stephanie nods her head. She goes up to her room upstairs and takes her suitcase out of her closet and puts it on her bed. She stares at it for a long time before she puts it back and goes downstairs for dinner.

Tuesday, November 2

So since before Halloween we've been stuck in our house with no windows or doors and our friend the enormous bunny rabbit continously foaming at the mouth and repeating "i'm a ghost and i'm haunting you." It's gotten really, really, really old. Not even a little scary anymore. Just boring and annoying.

"i'm a ghost and i'm haunting you," enormous rabbit says in her strange, ephemeral voice. Like she's talking from down a long metal pipe.

I still have my shovel. Maybe I can tunnel through the carpet to freedom.

"Hey, Midnight." Mr. Happy Puppet Head whispers to me.

"What's up?" I answer.

"i'm a ghost and i'm haunting you," says enormous bunny.

"Kill the enormous bunny with your shovel." He says. "Hit it over the head with your shovel and kill it."

"Um..." I think about it. "No, I don't think it's her fault. I think she's posessed."

"So what. Kill her. Or I'll do it, whatever. Then we can eat her, too. I think we're all out of granola bars and beer."

"No, she's our best friend and we need to figure out how to make her not possessed anymore." I hold my shovel tight. "We owe her that. How do you make a pet not possessed anymore?"

"We could give her a bath."

So we drag her by her big enormous rabbit ears and manage to get her frothing chanting, moaning body into the tub. We turn on the faucet and out comes the hot water, but instead of hot water it's boiling blood. It'll have to do.

I pour the shampoo over her fur, but it's been turned into puss. This whole haunting/possession thing is getting way out of hand. Let me tell you.

Mr. Happy Puppet Head and I both take up wash cloths, but they've been turned into pieces of human flesh, screaming and crying in agony. We scrub that chanting enormous bunny with the blood and the puss and the flesh, we scrub and scrub. "i'm a ghost and i'm haunting you," she says. "i'm a ghost and i'm haunting you." I take one of our extra pieces of screaming flesh and stuff it in her mouth for a gag. That helps.

So after about a half-an-hour of scrubbing and scrubbing, her eyes kind of get more normal, her frothing subsides, and she stops chanting so frequently.

"Now all she needs is fresh air, the ghost is almost gone." I say. I don't know what I'm talking about at all.

Some of the windows have come back, but only halfway. We have to drag the bunny out of one of the half-windows. It's harder than you would think. To drag an enormous catatonic possess bunny out of a window only halfway reappeared. Damn.

Out in the backyard the air is crisp and wonderfully fall. I was sure getting depressed sitting in our blood soaked house with no windows. It's mid-afternoon. One of my favorite times of the day. Plenty of time to do all the things that need doing. Yes. Like exorcisms.

"What now?" asks Mr. Happy Puppet Head. "Jumping jacks?" The pile of animal parts is rotting on the other side of the yard. Flies buzz around.

"Maybe. Sure." So we do jumping jacks, or rather I do jumping jacks, Mr. Happy Puppet Head bobbles up and down, and enormous rabbit stares at us, just a glint of unholy evil in it's eye. And slowly that glint fades away, and finally is gone.

Enormous bunny, tired from all that possession, rolls over and curls up to sleep.

"Hey, let's go get some tacos or something," says Mr. Happy Puppet Head.

I nod my head. Tacos or something would hit the spot perfectly.