humor science fiction

Bare Rump's Diary

I wonder what those beasties taste like?

Wednesday, July 20, 2005

The Rabbit and Me

This morning, I vowed I would go on a hunger strike rather than suck down another McDonald's vanilla shake. My pleas to the Rabbit and his surly blonde moll seemed to fall on deaf ears.

Martha leaned across the stick shift to nibble "Keanu's" ear lobe. He kept brushing her off, complaining that he had to drive, but she kept coming back for more. Poor me, I could do nothing but watch from the back seat, gagging on my own digestive juices. My legs were still bound -- all of them. Ever since my brush with Martha in the kitchen, the Rabbit has kept my forelegs securely tied.

They'd left my pedipalps free; not even the Rabbit is bold enough to get that close to my fangs. As a consequence, I've been able to communicate by stridulation*.

"Please," I said. "Anything. Find me a chicken farm. Or that emu ranch we passed west of Winslow."

Martha raised her head from the Rabbit's lap and grumped, "One hundred-fifteen in the shade and she wants to back-track two hundred miles. Stop for the next road kill."

"I'll pass," I said.

Later, the Rabbit asked me if I wanted him to stop at McDonald's. I growled.

"Suit yourself," he said, and drove on.

That night, we bedded down in the Motel 6 just outside Barstow. So close to Hollywood, yet it had gotten very late, and my two lovebirds decided they had better things to do than spend another hour on the road. Such a pity. For the last two nights, I'd had to listen to their frolics, which sounded like feline strangulation accompanied by the worst voice acting you can imagine:

"There," the Rabbit would say, his voice oozing an unconvincing simulation of masculine conquest, "how does it feel to take it from a real man?" And similar sentiments. I won't torment you as those two have tormented me.

I hesitated to point out that "Keanu" was neither real nor a man, that Martha was essentially making love to a rather expensive high-tech blow-up doll, but it didn't seem constructive. Instead, I feigned sleep, something I do quite well.

This night, too, I pretended to slip off into my own dreams. They had just begun to tussle with one another when the Rabbit stopped.

"What's the matter, Neo?"

She calls him Neo -- I have no idea why, but it seems to stimulate him to ever more exotic forms of perversion.

"I can't concentrate," he said. "You keep brushing me off about the papers. We really ought to straighten these things out before we hit Melrose Ave."

This was news to me. What was the Rabbit up to now?

"Now, Neo? Oh, baby, I'm so ready for you --"

"And I'll give myself to you like I never have before, my love, if only I can get my mind off the finances. Remember, they only gave me a thousand dollars in your currency --"

"But once you take you-know-who's place, you'll have all his money!"

"Maybe so, maybe so. But I don't know where he is, I don't even know where to begin. I feel so insecure here on Earth."

"Darling," said Martha, staring deeply into his alien eyes, "as long as you're with me, you'll never need to worry about money. I'll take care of you."

"Forever, sugar lumpkins?"

"Forever and ever."

"But you humans are so fickle," the Rabbit said. "You'll get tired of me --"


"Toss me aside like a, like a used-up thingie. No, Martha. It's now or never. I'm talking about a tangible sign of your love. A commitment."

Her upper lip curled back from her teeth. I wondered why "Keanu" wasn't striking a defensive pose. I would have. Instead, he leaned in closer to her on the bed, put his hand below the covers and did something unspeakable. (Well . . . I don't know what he did, but if I knew, I wouldn't be able to talk about it!)

"Just a signature, my beautiful, beautiful girl," he cooed. "Just a signature, and then I'll do that thing with my tongue --"

Martha moaned. It was all I could do not to retch.

"Damn it, Neo," she said. "Give me the goddamned papers already."

After she signed, he did everything he promised, and more. Oh, how I regretted my lack of eyelids. Thank heavens my vision is as poor as it is, else I'd have gone truly blind.

Some time later, the Rabbit began snoring. Martha, it seemed, had drifted off as well. I decided I might as well turn in for the night, too, and let myself drift off into slumber.

I don't know how much time passed before I heard a sharp, "Shh!", and felt the snick of a knife at my bonds.

The Rabbit spoke in a too-loud stage whisper. Amazingly, Martha didn't stir.

"You can't kill me, and you know it. But like I tried to explain before, we don't have to be enemies, Rump. I'll help you," he said, pointing at Martha's prone form with the knife, "if you help me."

I stridulated as softly as I could; fortunately, the rasper understood, and turned down the volume proportionately. "What are you suggesting?"

He shrugged. "You're pretty hungry, aren't you?"


*Why, I just rub one 'palp against the other and make beautiful music. The rasper translates it all into English. So much nuance is lost in the translation, but that can't be helped.


  • At 9:49 AM, Blogger Adeo said…

    Well, well, your comments in my blog make sense. Who would have guessed we have one of your kind among us capable not only of speech, but also typing.

    Congratulations on your many and varied accomlishments. I look forward to following you through the course of your adventures.

    ~ m


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