Gather round my children and you shall hear, a tale of the late Mr. rabbit...

He was born, in Germany, or at least the idea of him was. He came to fruition in the often mentioned year of "I have no idea." He had a tame childhood, full of
nothing truly memorable. Until one day he was stolen away and driven from his native, as far as we can tell, soil of Mon-tanya... wait what? oh... Montana. He was
used up and left for dead in the parking lot of the late Mr. Banditos Grill. Until two young filmmakers realized his potential and gave him a small but powerful role
in the film Pathogen. After his scenes were completed the filmmakers abused him with bottle rockets and water. Times were good. Then the relationship between
the older of the two filmmakers and the rabbit turned sour. The filmmaker would leave for weeks at a time leaving the rabbit to fend for itself. The vengeful rabbit
soon began to entertain the idea of KILLING the filmmaker. Little did the rabbit know that the filmmaker had been entertaining certain thoughts of his own. One
day the filmmaker returned with one of his buddies... and a chain. They dragged rabbit forcefully into the desert where they shot him over and over again, with a
gun just strong enough to wound but not kill. They broke his windows and severed his doors. After which they flipped rabbit onto his back. Then left him for dead.
And rabbit suffered. Not yet desperate enough to yearn for death, but not weak minded enough to think of hope.
Until one night... the filmmakers
came back. Reeking of gas, and a
cheap whore they called "the runner."
And rabbit burned.
And so ends the tale of the late Mr. rabbit. A true caring soul, one that gave and gave until nothing more could be wrought from his
beaten brow. And in the end when he needed something in return, where were you I ask, on the night rabbit burned? Let these
following pictures help  mend your selfish heart.
If you haven't gotten it by now, we destroyed a Volkswagon rabbit.
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