Scared Bunny

When Sister Grim was told she was going to have to leave Grandpa Uncle Daddy’s house, and that Uncle daddy was not going to come with her, she knew exactly what to do. Sister Grim had been in this position before, so she knew to call family. Family will take her in, she thought. They had always taken her in before. Heck, she had almost never had to take care of her own room and board.

So Sister Grim called her sister. Now her sister had recently married, and she was not too keen to have her sister and her two children join their new family. When you bring together two families there are all sorts of adjustments to make, and these adjustments are not made easier by adding a woman and two crying children. Plus, frankly, Sister Grim’s sister was not all that certain that the relations between her ex and Sister Grim were not totally consensual. It did seem odd that a girl who was molested had remained so comfortable living in the home of the man that molested her.

So when Sister Grim asked her sister “What will I do?” her sister advised her to find a shelter for herself and her children until she could get a job and save enough money for an apartment. Sister Grim was shocked. She wasn’t going to pay to fly them back west, to where the sun sets? She wasn’t going to feed and house them? She wasn’t willing to act as Sister Grim’s personal driver and housekeeper?

“No”, Sister Grim’s sister replied, “I am not”. You have got to stop living your life expecting the world to take care of you. You moved out there expecting a man who has never even taken care of himself to suddenly be responsible not only for himself but for you and your children. And, frankly, I am not going to keep supporting you while you keep making the same dumb decisions over and over.”

Sister Grim didn’t know what to think of that, but she went to plan B. “Can I live with your ex at his home?”

“Well, Sister Grim’s sister replied, you can ask him, but he has already told me the answer. You have told everyone he molested you, and that, because of that, you are not welcome in his home.”

Now this was shocking. Sister grim had always assumed she was welcome there. Some felt she thought he owed her for molesting her. Others felt she thought he would invite her so they could again have relations. Still others felt that she just assumed that any place she had ever lived before she could return to, despite what may or may not have happened in the home.

This was a setback for Sister Grim, but she was not out of options. “What about my other sister?” asked Sister Grim. “Not only no, but hell no.”, replied Sister Grim’s other sister. “I already am trying to get rid of my niece and our mother. Plus, I do not want you around my husband, even though he hates you and warned me before you had relations with your brother-in-law that you seemed like the kind of woman who would do something and then claim to have been assaulted when you got caught.”

That left one more option, and Sister Grim asked if she could live with her mother. “Are you not paying attention?” Asked Sister Grim’s sister. “Mother is living with our sister. She does not have her own home.’

“But she has a job.” Replied Sister grim. “Can she not support us?”

Momma Grim offered to help in the only way she could. “I do not have a home, and cannot afford to pay for one for you, “she advised. “But my employer does have me traveling the kingdom, so he has generously housed me in several Inns. You can stay with me in the Inn for a few weeks.”

Sister Grim was shocked and offended. She and her children were not going to travel from inn to inn around the kingdom. They belonged in a house, where someone was making sure they were fed, housed and kept warm. These were not vagabonds to be shuttled around from place to place.

So Sister Grim’s sister told her she was sorry, but that the family could not return her to the west, where the sun sets. They could not house and feed her and her children. They could not continue to support a grown woman who seemed to have no desire to do for herself. And with that, she hung up.

Sister Grim was angry with her family. She knew she would find a solution without them. There had to be someone she could call who would allow her and the children to reside in their abode.

We interrupt this series for some insight.

Well, maybe insight isn’t the right word. That implies I have some sort of wisdom to impart. While I have had a lot of experiences in my life to guide me in what I do going forward, I wouldn’t say that makes me wise. A wise man probably would have learned his lesson long before ever getting slapped, having a computer thrown at him, ending up handcuffed and all the other things that I was dumb enough to let happen. A wise man also probably would only share his wisdom to those who asked, whereas I write this shit and put it out for everyone.

Instead, let me say I have a couple of observations.

There are certain people that just love being miserable. They love having people feel sorry for them and they love to make people think they are martyrs. But I have noticed something. In every instance I can think of, the people who are always seeking the sympathy are doing so for problems they created, or that they could easily fix. But they never seem to want a solution. They’d rather have a problem to bitch about than have a problem solved.

Let me tell you a story, as it was related to me. There was a woman who seemed to have some terrible luck. At one point, while pregnant, she somehow managed to come in to contact with an electric heater while taking a bath. Of course she ended up electrocuted, but she lived. Then she ended up in the hospital with mysterious stomach problems. The doctors ran every test under the sun and found only one clear problem. Her blood contained chemicals that one would use in a photo lab. It just so happened that she lived in a house with photo developing chemicals. Over the course of her life she accidentally took too many painkillers on several occasions, ending up hospitalized.

Now, maybe I am just a cynic, but to me it seems someone was trying to hurt themselves. I am not unsympathetic to someone with mental illness. In fact, I have been on medication for years and could be for the rest of my life. But I certainly do think it reaches a point where you have to say to someone “Stop hurting yourself and expecting me to feel sorry for you. You need to go get some help!”

But so many people aren’t willing to do that. In this woman’s case, the people around her have spent the last 30+ years saying the doctors were all mistaken and that they were all incompetent. In fact, they didn’t start liking any of the doctors until they found one who didn’t spend any time looking at the cause of the health problems and instead just treated the problems themselves.

My wife and I have had a lot of discussions about this kind of person, although I will say this case is extreme, and not one that we have discussed. But how often can someone seriously call you up or stop by with a “woe is me story” and expect you to feel sorry for them?

And, the thing is, in every case that she and I have talked about we both came to the same conclusion. The person doing the complaining is a lot more interested in complaining about the problem than fixing it. Every single case we talk about, the person complaining is either full of shit, or is fully capable of ending the problem instantly. But in every case they have excuses for not ending it that are supposed to make them seem either helpless or generous. But none of the people really are helpless. And generous is not the same thing as being used.

I understand that some situations are tough to change, but if the only reason you avoid doing something to protect yourself is because you feel sorry for the person abusing you, then you need a serious reality check. If you aren’t making sure you are taken care of, how much can you do for the people who truly need you? Are people around you suffering because you will feel guilty for telling some dumbass that you aren’t going to let them shit on you anymore?

And other situations are scary to change. If you have decided it’s better to be mistreated than to be alone, that is your choice. There is nothing anyone can do that will make your situation better until you change your priorities. Being alone can suck, but it can also be temporary. And being unhappy because you are alone is probably not any worse than being unhappy because someone is abusive to you. It’s not like anyone really

If someone is hell bent on fucking up their life, then that is their right. This is America and, for the most part, you can make yourself as miserable as you want. But if you want to try to make me or my family feel bad for you because of the repercussions of stupid decisions you keep making, I’m going to tell you to stop being such a shmuck. And if you keep coming to me with the same damn problem, and you haven’t done a single thing to help yourself, eventually I am going to tell you to go away and come back when you have your shit straight.

See, I just don’t like having other people’s problems dumped on me when they don’t care enough about themselves to do something about them. I am a very empathetic person, and someone with sincere difficulties would be hard pressed to find someone more willing to help than I am. But I am becoming much more pragmatic in my old age. And while God may not truly help those that help themselves (It’s not really in the Bible. Ben Franklin said it.), I am only going to help someone who is willing to do as much as they can for themselves. And I’m not going to sit and listen to you whine about how bad you have it if you are the reason things are so bad.

If you have someone whining to you and they aren’t going to do anything for themselves, why listen to them? Why let them ruin your day and bring you down? Just doesn’t make sense to me.

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Once again Sister Grim faced a dilemma. She had been forced to leave one home by a man who felt it was inappropriate for our heroine and Uncle Daddy to break his furniture as part of their fights. The man who had promised to care for her, their child and her other child didn't have a job and also didn't have his own home. While he had arranged for them all to stay at his parents' house, this was not what she had expected. But they were in love, and that was all they needed.

Shortly after moving in to the home, it became clear there were going to have to be some adjustments made. Grandpa Uncle Daddy was a very religious man. He did not approve at all of how Sister Grim lived her life. He knew she had had relations with the husband of her sister, and that was wrong. He also knew those relations had produced a child out of wedlock, and his church taught him that was wrong too. Now she was living with a man out of wedlock! Plus, she had two children by two, so he felt this was a clear sign that this woman was The Antichrist, or at very least a demon of some sort.

This was not the kind of woman he felt his son should be with.

In his opinion his son needed to return to his wife, who he had yet to divorce. It was wrong to cheat, but that was water under the bridge. To add a divorce would be too great a sin to bear. His son needed to be away from this evil woman and her children. His house need to be restored to its previous position as a palace of virtue. And it needed to happen soon.

Now, there are those who are confused by Grandpa Uncle Daddy. Some wonder, if it is wrong to sleep with your sister's husband, is it not equally as wrong to sleep with your wife's sister? And if it is wrong to get pregnant outside of marriage, is it not also wrong to get a woman pregnant if you are not married? It also seemed strange that only the woman was to blame if a couple lived together without having married. This was particularly confusing when it was the man who had begged the woman to come live with him, and had promised to care for her and the children.

But Grandpa Uncle Daddy would hear none of this nonsense. It was his job to maintain a household that was right with the lord. And if to do this he was forced to kick this Jezebel and her children, including his own grandchild, out in to the cold, then that was his duty as a God fearing No one so drenched in sin could live under his roof. And her continued presence was an abomination. So Grandpa Uncle Daddy explained to our young lady that she was a beacon of sin that was corrupting the mind of his innocent young boy. He demanded that she remove herself from his residence at once.

Uncle Daddy sat stone-faced on the couch as his father lambasted the woman he swore he loved. He said nothing as she was told to remove herself from the home. He did not speak up when it was explained that she and the children, aged 2 and 6 months, would need to fend for themselves in the cold. At no point did he budge from the couch or speak a word. Instead he sat with his parents and kept his silence.

So Sister Grim asked to use the phone to contact her family. She new she had a short time to find a place for her and her children. Surely her sisters would take her in once again. Surely she could once again go west to where the sun set. Surely the family would again be willing to pay for her and the children to fly home. Family will keep taking you in no matter how many mistakes you make, won't they?

Won't they?

OK, I know I said I didn't like blogging about work, but I have to.

When I said that I was mostly talking about how, if you talk about your job, most people will not give a shit. See, when you talk about your job there has to be a certain level of understanding of the job and/or the people on the job for it to be interesting. My wife and I know someone who works at Wal Mart. Whenever we are in the store and we see her she tells us stories about what is going on there and, well, we try real hard to be interested. But let's be honest. The fact Wal Mart is busy is not at all that interesting. And a department head having to run a register doesn't excite me. Maybe if I worked there I'd give a shit, but I don't and I don't.

But there are certain things that are work related that are funny as hell. One thing I have noticed lately is signs posted at a workplace. I think the spread of color printers, and people learning how to do basic graphic design has employees making more signs. Plus I think a lot of workers like spending a couple of hours making a sign instead of doing actual work. I noticed this recently at my new job because we have a lot of signs. I don't know who makes the signs. I don't know the stories behind most of them. But I know they are everywhere.

Now, I am not saying we have signs like this classic from the past:



Of course, as I don't work in a crappy strip club, I am doubting they would ever post a sign like that at my employer. And, since we have very little customer interaction actually in the office, we are unlikely to have signs like the ones my wife saw in the ladies' room of a local car dealer:





(Sorry, we lost the pics for those.)

Then again, in my field, I am not sure the customers would find that too funny. Heck, I bet any of the 3 signs above would get someone in trouble with HR. That is, if HR actually exists, which is something I am not sure about given my recent efforts to try to contact them.

But even at my workplace, I have noticed some weird signs. Most of them are not that funny, they just show that certain departments are way overstaffed with people who have too much time on their hands. But one in particular has been bothering me.



Maybe I am thinking too much, but this sign seems really odd. First, I have worked at a lot of companies, and I know that guys have a habit of taking something with them when they go to take a shit. But I've never seen it become a serious problem before. Heck, every now and then I've been in there and found that the sports page someone left behind helped me pass the time.

So what's the deal? Was the men's room turning in to some sort of newsstand? Were there just stacks of newspapers? Was some perv, likely Jerome, taking in porn and leaving it behind? I want these questions answered, but I am really too embarrassed to ask.

And what is the deal with the flushing? These are not the wimpy toilets like we have in our homes that just don't seem to handle the average load too well. These are commercial toilets that could probably handle flushing a small dog if it ended up in the toilet somehow. So what the hell has been going on that the guys here were not able to get it all to go down? What were they eating? Were they just holding it for days?

The thing that gets me is that, with all of the concern over newspapers and some sort of flushing issue, there is one thing they seem unwilling to put up a sign. So I figured I'd make my own.



I am not sure that HR, if they truly exist, would approve of this sign, but I have to say that this is a much bigger issue than I think the flushing or reading material ever could be. Maybe those signs are just more effective than I would expect, but I haven't ever seen any reading material or semi-flushed toilets. But someone is pissing all over the damn seats and that is just fucking nasty.

So I think it's time to post my sign. After HR approves it of course.

Having once again ventured towards the rising sun, our heroine was certain her life was ready for a change.

The father of her second child, who we will call Uncle Daddy, had called her back to him after finding her in the arms of another man. Well, he didn’t actually find her in the arms of another man because they were over 1,000 miles away, but he had discovered she was in the arms of another man and, for reasons known only to him, his passion was rekindled.

The happy couple was not just planning to live on love. They actually had a plan. For the first time in his life, Uncle Daddy was going to get and hold a job. This would provide him the funds necessary to feed, house and clothe his child, his soon to be step child, and the sister of his wife, who was also known as the mother of his child. Until he could afford their own home, he had found a home for them, which they would share with another man, who the young girl found very attractive. And, provided there weren’t any tornados in the area, it was fairly certain that their home would stay in one place.

There were certain problems when she arrived. They were living with the good looking friend, but the promised home of their own was nowhere to be seen. The same could be said of the job and the money to feed the two children and his sister-in-law/girlfriend. Now, that is not quite fair. He did have a job. In fact, he had three of them. Not at the same time of course. He kept going from job to job, which he would lose because he didn’t have his own car, and people got tired of giving him a ride to work. He also had an issue with past due child support on another child (not one born to his sister-in-law), which it seems they will attempt to collect if you have verified income.

With the situation not quite what she had hoped, and with Uncle Daddy home much of the time since he had no gainful employment, the young couple began to fight. Of course they were not satisfied with simple arguing and yelling. The couple often found themselves in physical altercations. During one such altercation, Uncle Daddy charged the young girl, and they crashed in to the coffee table.

Unfortunately, this was not their coffee table. The coffee table belonged to the attractive man they were staying with. It seems he was not happy with his furniture being broken. He was also tired of the arguing and the fact that he was the only one in the home with any income. So with that the young lady and Uncle Daddy were ushered out the door, with the two children.

Normally the young girl would have headed west, to where the sun sets, when faced with such a problem. But Uncle Daddy had a different idea. He had family in the area. Specifically, a mother and father, who had been more than willing to support him before he had found an older wife willing to do the same thing. So Uncle Daddy and the young girl moved in with Grandpa and Grandma Uncle Daddy.

There was one small problem though. Grandpa Uncle Daddy hated the young girl. He hated the way she lived her life. He hated that she had children by two men. He hated that she would have an affair with her brother-in-law. He hated the way her arms hung down and flapped like wings when she moved them. In general, if there was something about her to hate, he hated it.

So there was much tension in the house. Our young girl was living with lazy Uncle Daddy and mean Grandpa Uncle Daddy. Things were not good, and they were soon to get much worse.

OK, I am being asked to write more often. My wife loves reading this blog. In fact that’s probably why she fell for me. I think she went on the assumption that nothing she could do or ever has done would shock me. I am not saying I am beyond shock, but once you have not only had a woman hit you and throw a laptop at you, but had another woman invent a job, a house and a mother with cancer, it does take an awful lot to shock you.

The hard part is, of course, what to write about.

See, we have all seen the mommy/daddy blogs. In fact, I know some of you even write them. The problem is I just don’t like writing that kind of stuff. At the same time, to a certain degree, that is the life I lead now. When you have 3 kids and a wife, those take priority. Keeping the kids safe, and my marriage healthy, means I need to keep certain types of people out of my life. My wife and I also have agreed not to date other people, and, let’s be honest, that is where most of the stories came from. Besides, while our family loves hearing the stories about the kids, not too many of you people are related to me. (I’m not too sure even family likes hearing the stories about the kids, no matter how funny they are to me.)

So I could write one of those blogs where I bitch about my wife, except I don’t really have anything to bitch about. I still love my wife dearly and we have a great relationship. We rarely argue and both like it that way. She is hard on herself even though she shouldn’t be, and always wants to be doing more than she should for us. We still enjoy spending time together too. We have even discussed trying to find someone to buy the kids so we could spend more time alone, but Craigslist refuses to run that kind of ad. Besides, I kind of hate those blogs where people bitch about their spouse. Usually when you try to make someone else look bad you end up making yourself look even worse.

That brings me to my job. Frankly, and this will hurt many of you, nobody gives a shit about my job or your job. There are about 4 interesting jobs in the world, and the people that have them don’t have time to blog about them. Hell, any remotely interesting job is already the subject of about 10 TV shows and thousands of books and magazine articles, so I’m fairly certain that a blog wouldn’t add too much. And the job I used to have didn’t get interesting until I was leaving. I will be sure to write about it if anyone ends up in prison, but that probably won’t happen.

In short, all of the really funny shit in my life is in the past. If you have been reading for a while or checked out the archives you know I have had more than my fair share of humorous adventures to write about, but that’s just not where I am anymore. I don’t even think about those crazy chicks much anymore, except when my wife and I may bring up Heather, who we refer to as “She Who Shall Not Be Named”. I avoid bringing those stories up because then my wife wants to go hunt Heather down and kill her. I am fond of my wife and would prefer not to see her behind bars. If I wanted a convict for I wife I could have just married that psycho bitch. She’s sure to end up behind bars soon if she’s not there already.

I could share some of my theories on relationships, but I have come to a conclusion: I am just not good at relationships. I have been incredibly lucky when it comes to my marriage. If my wife weren’t such a wonderful woman I am sure she’d have left me by now. I mean, hell, I am insecure, suffer from anxiety and have a little bit of what could be called a past. Basically, all of my previous relationship advice consists of telling you one simple phrase: “Don’t do what I did.” If you happen to find one amazing person, you should marry them as quickly as possible before they figure out you’re nuts.

So what does that leave?

Politics? I’ll sum this one up real quick. I hate the government. I don’t care which party is in power. They basically take too much of my money and then waste it on stupid shit. When they aren’t wasting my money they are usually telling me what to do. The difference between the 2 parties is what they waste my money on and what they want to tell me to do. Frankly, they can both kiss my ass.

Poetry? Well, it’s too personal. Sorry. Besides, when I do write some, and it doesn’t happen much, it’s for my wife. You can ask her to see it but she’ll probably tell you to go away and wonder how you got our phone number. Then she will look at the caller ID, track you down and kill you. That takes us right back to the whole “wife in prison’ thing, which I am opposed to.

Fiction? Sorry. If I write good fiction it will be in some format that gets my ass paid.

So, you will just have to content yourself with stories about crazy people around me instead of crazy things in my life. I am trying not to tell too many identifying details to avoid embarrassing anyone, but there are a lot of you who know exactly who I am talking about. I am working real hard to keep my life as sane as possible. Given my personal insanity, that is not an easy thing, but I keep working hard at it.

I do have some stories coming. Sister Grim isn’t finished yet by any stretch. Heck, I am sure that if we talked to her more we’d know stuff for infinite stories. Plus, as wherever she goes insanity follows, I know other stories that, I swear, are a direct result of her psychic influence. I am working on a theory I’ll call “Insanity by Osmosis”. Plus, we could talk about Momma Grim a bit more. I am not sure the stories will be as fun though because how many different ways can you say “and she spent all her money on beer and scratch off lottery tickets”?

I count 43.

nce upon a time a young lady with no car was still living with her sister, her sister’s husband, his father, their two kids, her two kids, her brother, his wife and their daughter, two dogs a parrot and a guinea pig. In short, it was a very crowded house. And, if you have been reading, you know why she had no car and why her living in that house struck many people as odd.

But the girl didn’t let this odd and uncomfortable situation keep her down. She was keenly interested in the young men of the community. She was generally looking to have fun while she tried to convince the father of her second child, who also happened to be the husband of one of her sisters, to live with her and support her and the children. She wasn’t having much luck with that though. While he made it a point to call her, he never asked her to come to him.

To bide her time she found there was one way to keep herself amused. It seems there are many young men who enjoy sharing various pills, powders and herbs with young ladies in exchange for a glimpse of leg, a kiss on the check or a royal fuck. As she liked pills, powders and herbs, she found this situation most enjoyable. At the same time, she still pined away for her sister’s husband (the one who got her pregnant, not the one she blew and later accused of molesting her).

One day she realized there was a special boy she had known since her childhood. He had access to various drugs, and was friends with much of her family. He was also more than willing to share his pills, powders and herbs with her. He led a life of leisure. His doting mother kept him housed, fed and clothed. She also made sure he had money. His grandmother, who was a good gardener and somewhat senile, made sure his “herb garden” stayed healthy and productive. The young girl, having no prospects of her own, truly found this appealing.

Their romance blossomed. Well, not exactly. Mostly they hung out and smoked. They didn’t manage to actually have sex for quite some time. Finally the time came. She, the young boy and some friends got a cheap hotel. She took her two kids with her and they spent the night. No one can be sure what happened that night. All that is known is that they engaged in activities of an adult nature, and the next morning there was human waste on the sheets. While there are claims that the feces were from one of the children in the room, who can say for certain?

But the night had some rather odd results. The couple did remain somewhat close, but she continued to call the husband of her sister (again, not the “molester”, the baby daddy). And once he found out about the young man she had bedded, he began to call much more frequently. It was not at all uncommon for him to call while the young girl and the young man were together. And, strangely, she would take the call. Even more shocking, with the young man sitting in front of her, she would profess her love to her sister’s husband. (Do I really have to explain which one AGAIN?)

Eventually, the father of her child could take no more. He proclaimed his love and begged her to come to him. He swore he would find a job, find a home and care for his new family. In fact, he even promised that the home would not be with his parents. Of course, the promise of their own home had more to do with his parents’ refusal to accept their love than his willingness to act responsible, but the promise was made regardless of why.

The young girl was ecstatic. Her mother generously gave her one half of the money for plane tickets. Her family tried to remain supportive while also pointing out that the man of her dreams was a pathetic deadbeat. And while it hurt her to leave her boyfriend, she was somewhat consoled by the fact her baby’s father had apparently arranged a roommate she found extremely attractive. Even though she was going to live on love with the man of her (and her sister’s) dreams, she remained keenly interested in this third man.

So she bundled up her children, packed her belongings, stole many of her sister’s clothes and headed east, to where the sun rises (AGAIN!) leaving behind her boyfriend, most of her family and almost all of the toys and clothes belonging to her two children. (What the hell was in those suitcases?)

(Note: In case you haven’t figured it out, all of these stories are about the same person. And, no, I never dated her.)

nce upon a time a young girl who kept going back and forth from the east, where the sun rises, to the west, where the sun sets, found herself back in the west. When she arrived she had her two children in tow, although neither of their fathers was anywhere to be seen because they were both pathetic deadbeats. She had come west with her mother after deciding her older sister’s husband was less a “knight in shining armor” than a “bum in a ratty wifebeater”. The mother was fleeing oppression by those to whom she owed money she had spent on ale and lottery. It seems that those who have been promised payment on a payday truly expect said payment, and those who accept personal checks prefer to be able to exchange those checks for cash at their local banker.

Regardless, the two found themselves in Texas, but where would they go? Who would want to take in a young girl with two children, and an old woman who sat in her underwear watching movies featuring Valerie Bertinelli, Meredith Baxter Birney, Tori Spelling and Sally Fields? The two women had family members, but none were willing to take them both. Perhaps, they thought, we should split up and seek shelter separately. Eventually the old lady found refuge with a daughter, and the young girl with a sister.

Oddly, the young girl took refuge in the home she had fled those many years earlier. Despite protestations that she found the man of the house “frightening” and that he had molested her as a child, she didn’t have any problem living there. In fact she was very friendly with the man. His presence in the house did not seem to cause her any discomfort at all. There were those who wondered how she could be so friendly with a man who “molested her”. Still others wondered why she seemed to feel no guilt towards having performed various and sundry acts upon the naked husband of her older sister. And although the man continued to insist she was lying and that it had either never happened, or had been the girl's fault, he too allowed her back in his home despite the frequent threats to inform the local constable of what had happened lo those many years before. But regardless of how peculiar the situation was the young girl was back in the west and back in the home of her sister and a man with whom she had had relations.

While living in the house she was able to find a job as a serving wench at a local eatery. She received funding from the local officials to feed and clothe her two children, and she was loaned a car by her mother, so she could trek to work and deliver her children to a local keeper of brats. In short, she had a fairly comfortable life under the circumstances. But she found the life boring. She craved adventure. She craved romance. She craved drugs and alcohol.

One night she decided to attend a party. To get to the party took great effort. One had to traverse great distances including a long journey by foot. At some point in the evening the young girl and her escort had an altercation with a group of young men. While the cause of the altercation remains a subject of much debate, one thing was certain. A party or parties decided they were going to punish the young girl by attacking her car. Of course it was not really her car, but that of her mother, but the attackers did not know this and it is doubtful they would have cared.

The next day the young girl was forced to explain why her mother’s car had started the day with a small dent and ended the day with more dents and absolutely no windows at all. She burst in to tears as she told of having been attacked by a group of men who wanted to steal her virtue which she refused to relinquish. Her family was quite shaken by this story, not just because they all took charges of sexual assault very seriously, but because the young girl had not previously been known to say no to that type of advance.

Then the story changed. It was not a sexual assault, but a regular assault with some extraneous groping and grabbing. Or perhaps it was just a bunch of pushing and shoving. And there seemed to be no explanation of why a gang of young ruffians would want to attack the girl and her car. Additionally, how did the girl and her male escort escape unscathed while the car was so seriously damaged?

In general, the more that was said of the tale, the less that was known. What was known was that the car the girl and her mother both relied on to reach their places of employment was undrivable, and the two women did not have the money to make payment for repairs. It is somewhat uncertain why neither woman had money for repairs, as both had almost all of their living expenses covered by family members, but it is believed that perhaps the funds were spent on a combination of ale, lottery tickets and illegal substances.

Yet despite the new additional request for support from the women that family members provide them with transport on a daily basis, neither was forced to once again head east towards the rising sun. Instead they remained where they were, at least for the time being, with one watching bad television in her underwear, and the other smiling and sitting next to a man she continued to insist had threatened and molested her.

I have to take a break from our stories. It’s not that I want to, I just have to.

I was going through the referring links and I noticed a lot of them were from the German version of Google. While I would like to think people in Germany find this blog interesting, I just had trouble believing that it was really that popular. So I started looking at exactly what was the search that led them here. It turns out that the most common search terms leading Germans to Scared Bunny tend to be about sex.

But it’s not just sex, it’s weird perverted stuff. I was going to list some of them here but that would just make it worse. I mean, hell, I like getting hits, but I can’t imagine anyone looking for that stuff, especially in German, is actually going to read anything here or stop to click on an ad so I can earn a penny. Plus, if they don’t read English, I’d hate to have them think that this is a blog about… damn, can’t say.

Plus, why is it the Germans looking for this stuff and ending up here? Why is it they will go through pages after page of links in Google looking for it? It’s not like there are a bunch of Australians looking for it. There aren’t scores of hits from perverted Swedes. I haven’t seen any Italian perverts reading the blog. Well, there may be Italian perverts reading, but they didn’t get here through a perv web search. But basically what I am saying is that I don’t get why it’s the German pervs.

I also had to figure out why they are getting here. That was pretty easy though. It’s the comment spam. There were hundreds of links posted in comments to really old posts, and the great Gods of Google picked up on that like it was content. Again, it was somewhat of a tough decision. On one hand, there’s that traffic thing again, on the other, there’s the whole “goat…”, can’t say it.

I finally decided to delete the spam because it was freaking ugly and annoying. These guys don’t even try to pretend they read a post and make a fake reply. They just posted link after link after link. I’m not even sure where any of the links went. I can’t go around clicking links like that at work. I think there is a policy about doing that, although I’m kind of afraid to test it and find out. Maybe I can talk someone else in to doing it. That is, I could have, if I hadn’t deleted all the damn comments I could find.

So I have to apologize to those of you who came here looking for really twisted perverted crap involving animals and or children. There just isn’t any of that here. I may sometimes poke fun at the word “midget” but that’s as close as I get. Well, I guess I do regularly talk about liking anal sex, but that would probably be the nastiest it gets. Granted, it has gotten nasty in that area, but that was a long time ago and frankly it’s not something I care to revisit.

And, just in case you read this far but can’t actually read English, I thought I would include this:

Sie sollten über selbst beschämt sein Sie Pervert.

We now return you to your regularly scheduled fairy tales.

nce upon a time there was a young girl. She lived with her mother and family in a small town in the southeast part of the American Wilderness, where the sun rises. Although she was fairly young, she had a little boy of her own. His father was a mutant with a horrible deformity that scared the girl and all who saw it. He also was a vagabond and did not provide for his child. Despite that, they all lived in peace and harmony among friends and relatives.

One day she went to visit her older sister. When she got there she met her sister’s new husband. Now her sister was a much older woman… almost twice the age of the young girl. But her new husband was much younger than his wife. In fact, he was only a couple of years older than the young girl. They quickly became friends.

The young man had a very easy life. He didn’t have a job, so he was usually at home or out with his other unemployed friends. Well, actually, sometimes he did have a job, but he usually got fired after a day or two and went back to his life of leisure. He was very happy with his life because his doting wife made sure he always had a car and money. He could sleep all day, drink all he wanted and even sometimes indulge his tastes for more exotic substances.

But he felt he was missing something. Specifically, he felt that he was missing the opportunity to bang a young girl, because all he had was his much older wife. All of his friends had younger girlfriends and he felt jealous. Now, none of them had a wife who paid for everything they could possibly need, but the young man didn’t feel that was as important as having a young girl to bang.

Our young girl also felt she had a need. She was dependant on her mother for all of her needs because the father of her baby was a deadbeat. She did get some food money from the state, but that just wasn’t enough to keep her happy. She also felt like she needed to show her older sisters that she was better than they were. But how could she have these needs met?

When these two young people met, they both realized that they could help fulfill each others needs. So, before long, the young girl and the young boy were regularly boning while the older sister was at work. And, as is often the case, there was soon a bundle of joy on the way. The happy couple was going to be parents!

The older sister was not as overjoyed by this news. She realized that her younger sister and her husband had not been very nice and had been doing naughty things. She was angry with both of them for their betrayal. So the older sister banished the young man and her younger sister from her castle.

Unfortunately for the young girl, the young man had a small problem. He didn’t have any money. In fact, he was forced to return to his parents’ castle. The young girl remained with her mother in her much smaller castle, and there was great consternation among all parties. What could be done? Shouldn’t the young man care for his baby and its mother? Shouldn’t he get a job? Should the older sister me allowed to beat both her younger sister and her husband with a stick?

Alas, the young man could not keep a job, and didn’t really want to. He liked not having to get up and go to work. He liked having other people pay for his food and housing. He liked other people buying his beer. And he liked playing X-Box while other poor souls worked to provide for themselves and their families. In short, he enjoyed being a bum. His parents also supported his decision to be a bum and to ignore the needs of his soon to be born child.

So, while the young girl was sad, she decided to move on. And the mother’s fondness for lottery and ale had caused her much trouble and a huge amount of unpaid debt. So she and her mother packed up their belongings and headed back towards the setting sun, continuing their search for a prince. Or at least someone who would pay for groceries, utilities and a house.

nce upon a time there was a young girl who lived with her older sister and her family. The older sister had a husband and children. They also lived with the girls’ mother, who was known as a queen of Lottery and Alcohol. The young girl was happy, but she was somewhat confused. She didn’t understand why the husband would do certain things.

The husband seemed to like to wander around in his underwear and touch his crotch. This didn’t seem right to the young girl. She knew from her 16-years that most men don’t go around showing off their private parts. But she also knew that he had been doing this for years, so it didn’t seem too terribly abnormal. Perhaps he had some sort of rare condition that made pants uncomfortable and caused him to need to touch himself regularly.

The sister also wondered about this behavior. She asked her husband why he insisted on walking around the house in nothing but his undershorts with a young, impressionable, girl in the home, but he denied he was doing anything wrong. She also asked why his hand seemed to always be in contact with his genitals, but he assured her she was mistaken. While she wanted to believe her husband, she was having trouble reconciling what he was saying with what she was seeing.

But then things got confusing. What is known is that somehow the husband found his shorts around his ankles while his private parts were somehow put in contact with the young girl’s mouth. Some have said that he scared and intimidated the girl to do things she didn’t want to do. Others have said the girl asked if she could do these things to please the man. Still others insist the young girl wanted to hurt her sister. And yet others insist the young girl did these things in exchange for magic herbs and powders. The husband claimed that these things were all an accident, and if they happened, which they didn’t, they surely must not be his fault.

Whatever the cause, there was much strife in the household. The older sister could not bear to be around her husband or her younger sister. The husband insisted that everyone was imagining these things. The younger sister asserted that she was innocent and had been forced to do these vile things by the evil husband.

No-one could agree what needed to be done. Many felt the older sister needed to slay the husband or at least his tiny trouser serpent. Some felt he should be handed over to the local constable because of the age of the younger sister, where they could house him with men who are skilled in the handling of those who prey on minors. Others felt the sister was old enough to know better and she should similarly be punished. Some insisted the younger sister should be burned at the stake as a witch. (Those people were in the minority, but perhaps they were on to something).

Ultimately it was decided that the younger sister must leave the kingdom and go to the far off land of South Carolina. The mother was similarly banished because of her desire to spend her treasure on small pieces of cardboard and cans of ale, while the other residents struggled to pay for food and shelter.

So they set off in the direction of the rising sun in search of a better life. There they had many adventures and trials. And the older sister and her husband lived neither happily, nor ever after. But they did live. And they all maintained all of their existing body parts.

I know I said I was going to write exciting stories about people around me, but I was sitting here at work today and I noticed something.

As you know, there has always been some serious office politics when it comes to offices and cubicles and all that crap. But I was not really paying attention to just how extreme things had gotten until today. Now they are taking it to frightening degrees.

See, my office is in a building that was designed for use by just about any company under the sun. That means they designed it with big open spaces and absolutely no offices. In fact, the closes things to offices are the conference rooms, and they are all either too small to be an office, or long and skinny, so if you had one as an office you would look like either an idiot or an arrogant bastard who felt he was too damn important for a cube so he took over a conference room.

In the past what that basically meant was that people jockeyed for the cubes in good places. The ideal location is, of course, by the window. Just like the old preferences for an office, you want a window so you have something to look at. And if you can get a corner cube you have even more windows. Plus, that usually means you are away from the main traffic areas, so you have more peace and quiet.

If you can’t have a window, you always wanted something as close to the edge with as few surrounding cubes as possible. That makes for less noise and less feeling of claustrophobia. You didn’t want to be one of the nameless masses in the center of a cube farm where you had to deal with the sounds, and smells, of a ton of neighbors, with constant traffic and annoyances.

Things started to change with the advent of larger walls. I guess some people felt they were just too important for a regular cube. They wanted something closer to an office. That meant taller walls. Of course it’s not REALLY an office. You don’t have a door. The gap between the wall and the ceiling means you still have most of the noise and smell. You can avoid seeing a lot of the movement except when someone goes right by your “door”. In short, the taller walls were really a lot more about ego than anything.

Now it’s getting nuts. See, I do not have a cube. I have a “villa”. What, you may ask, is a villa? Well, it implements new cube technologies. Some of these I had never seen before. I do have the taller walls. The tops, however, are glass, I am told to add more light. 2 of the “walls” are glass, with a sliding door. So I do have a door, for “privacy” but since the walls don’t go to the ceilings you can still hear anything I happen to say. Plus, since they are glass, you can also see whatever I happen to be doing and who is in here. In short, I have doors as some sort of sign that I am important.

I don’t feel any more important, but I am assured that I am. In fact, these “villas” are so important that 2 of my co-workers, who hold the same position I hold are not in the area that has been designated for our department. It seems there are only 3 villas in this area and, although the other 2 are “occupied” by people that have between them actually been in the building 2 days in the last 2 months, they refuse to relinquish their “villas” because they would then be assigned a regular cube. Of course that would mean they are less important, and they will not accept this slight.

This doesn’t even touch on the fact there are at least 4 different heights of walls, with height directly proportionate to how important the occupant is in the eyes of the organization. There are also the addition of glass tops to further distinguish importance, so a 5 foot wall with a glass top is used by a more importance than someone with 5 foot walls and no glass. My personal favorite is the use of the highest walls, but with no glass, in the areas beside the windows. Since the aisles generally run perpendicular to the windows, that means this “important” staffer is afforded the courtesy of being by a window, but is not actually allowed to enjoy the view from the windows. And, those cube walls effectively block what little view the rest of the employees might get from their lesser cubes.

Oh, and if your cube is some shape other than a rectangle, then you are even more important because this configuration guarantees that space is wasted in it’s implementation. Personally I’d rather have a rectangle that just gives me that extra space, but it appears that to do that would be to diminish my perceived value to the company. It would also reduce the nooks where they can stick plants.

In general, I have come to the conclusion that whoever designs these cubicle farms is absolutely insane, and that the majority of the employees in these farms develop this same insanity as a result of being housed in these dens of insanity for most of their waking hours. For the life of me I cannot imagine why someone would care if their cube had 6 foot walls instead of 7 foot walls, but they do. And when an employee sees someone they view as an inferior with a “better” cube, they begin to campaign for changes to correct the slight.

As for me, I guess I will just try to stop wasting time trying to figure out why I need doors on both sides of my cube, and why it is a hexagon. That and enjoying my view of the parking lot.