I have received more credible threats of physical harm, insinuations that sex will thereafter exist only in theory for cooking it, and had the word “monster” hurled in my direction for even mentioning cooking a rabbit, beyond anything else I have talked about in my entire life.
The problem is very simple: other people routinely misrepresent the words coming out of my mouth when I say “cook a rabbit.”
Much like “gluten sensitivity” subtly turning into “Celiac’s disease” when you mention the afflicted individual might benefit more from a therapist than a diet, when you are cooking a rabbit you are not cooking a bunny. I will make the difference crystal clear.
This is a bunny:
And this is a rabbit:
There's an obvious difference, and the reason the bunny is sticking its tongue out is because it's mocking you for being too much of a wuss to give it a little taste. However, if you are still arguing because that ironclad example hasn't swayed you, I'll show you something that will nip that shit in the bud right now. If you really cared, why don't you have a problem consuming this?
I'm being serious here. That is clearly a chocolate Easter bunny—bunny—your words, not mine, and if you really, really cared, why go to all the effort to make it look as cute as possible so you can systematically chew off one ear at a time, then its little feet, stumpy arms and chubby little body, thereby allowing it to stay alive as long as possible while you munch on it, before nipping off its nose and chucking its mutilated skull indifferently down your gullet?
Who's the monster now? Also, which one of us is perfectly happy to have them made hollow to ensure there is space for a soul inside, possibly a soul made of Snickers filling so you can experience ruminating through the unique textures of each of the darling little dreams you are ending?
Not me, that's for damn sure. I don't go for all that "Jesus had a pet bunny" nonsense, and I've seen too many magicians pull them out of hats to be surprised the Son of God could make it appear as though his little friend laying decorated chicken eggs was a miracle.
However, even if I grant away everything I just said, I still have the high ground for the following reason. Go to the top of this piece and take a very, very close look at the two rabbits behind the title. The damn things are literally seasoning themselves. They want to be eaten! Do you have any idea how sad it is for one of those poor things to eat all that parsley so you don't have to waste precious seconds between picking it up at the store and putting it in your mouth, and then dying of natural causes? I mean for godsake, if you poured salt and pepper on the ground they'd start furiously rolling around in it like a chinchilla taking a dust bath.
I can't think of any more humane and kindly act than fulfilling the dreams of those two tender little beasts who are so desperately working to make themselves as succulent as possible for our sake. Now that's a reason to include them in the Jesus Easter myth. "This is my body, for they so loved the world that they gave their only son Isaac as a sacrifice sitting atop the mustard seeds for a single coin that some lady contributed because it all she had and can we please get the fuck out of this damn church and back to the baskets full of tasty things, thanks."
Or whatever.
Up Next: Part 2—Fulfilling Their Hopes and Dreams. And My Stomach