Easter Bunny?

Starving -the irony of life and death – Easter past

I was walking down this street one night. Where? Who gives a shit, but I had a belly full of beer and a mind so intoxicated, that it had instructed me to have something to eat.

It is 3.00 am. Even the Pakis had shut up shop, the lazy fuckers – when suddenly out of the blue (What? There are no colours in the night), this weirdo in a rabbit costume jumps me.

Bloody hell – this might be Easter but why the hell have I a rampant rabbit with a carrot up my arse fucking me to death?

I was being crucified and not a green hill in sight as Jerusalem is far away and they do not have any. (Believe me – I been there) But…

I had a plan. All Rhodies have a plan when some clown rogers you with a carrot, dressed as the Easter bunny, up the bum.

What do you do? Lay there and take it and lie to your mates later as to why you walk as if you have 50 chocolate eggs impregnated in your upper intestine? And none come from Cadburys with buttons in them!

No – we get back to the basics.

It is called a SHOTGUN. A sawn-off version. (Although, I did once meet a rockspider, who turned up for a short-range rabbit shoot and he had sawn the stock off. When he pulled the trigger, the recoil sent the barrel to penetrate his shoulder – backwards.)

I digress. Tangent thinking.

So – as I was saying. A good Rhodie, trained in anti-rampant rogering rabbits, has a sawn-off shotgun in his right, especially deepened trouser pocket. (If the Rhodie was left handed he simply wore the trousers backwards.)

Then – BOOM. Game over.

The corpse would be dismembered, packed in ice, and via DHL, sent to the starving cannibals in Papua New Guiana.