Posts tagged as:

Bunnies

Bunday, comfortabuhls Bunday

by Meg on November 22, 2009

Bunday, comfortabuhls Bunday!
BOOB BUNNY

Sender Inner Heather H. sez: “I’m a bus driver and while at the University of Victoria exchange, I like to make friends with the hundreds of resident bunnies. In the spring there are tons of softball sized bunnies who like to get nuzzled. My passengers wonder why I’m always carrying produce behind my seat.”

FloofInTop

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Calling Shenanigans on Weird Science

by Prongs on November 20, 2009

It was always The Bunny’s plan. They’re not sure how he did it, but there are rumors involving test tubes, birthday wishes, cryonics, dark magic, and a complicated system of levers and pulleys.

Behold, the bunny born from equal parts of John Lennon, Groucho Marx, and Albert Einstein!

It’s all relative, Amy S.

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If They Build It, You Should Not Come

by Prongs on November 16, 2009

It was the house that buns built. They called it Hoppy Times Plantation, and what a misnomer that was. Don’t be fooled. You are not welcome here.

The mint julep strikes again.

It was built on disapproval, Tuesday H.

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Spring Cleaning

by Prongs on November 10, 2009

Stefanie had been looking for it for months, so she was thrilled when she finally found her ring under the bed. Of course, her discovery made her realize that she should really clean more often.

I's can't see but me thinks you be holding a turnip?

Nice dust bunny, Stefanie H.

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That’ll Do Pig, That’ll Do

by Prongs on October 26, 2009

Winnie the Pig had a date. A hot date. It was his first in weeks, and since he wasn’t about to go and blow it, he had to make sure everything was just right. So obviously, he brought in reinforcements:

Listen, if it was your intention to bathe in Drakkar Noir and possibly kill your date with cheesiness, then you exceeded expectations. I mean, I think my nose may have stopped twitching.

I'm not one to talk about unmanicured feets, but it looks like you stepped in a dozen marshmallows.

Here’s the thing: It looks like Arthur Fonzarelli took a greased comb to your hair, and yet it doesn’t occur to you to pluck a nose hair? It’s surprising considering they’re practically hindering your eyesight.

Just because you go over your fur with a fine tooth comb doesn't mean you have to turn your nose up at me.

Here’s to the partnership, Maria L.

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Hop this way

by Meg on October 25, 2009

If I hop *just right* I can walk right out of here…

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Photos by natural-light-loving, stellar event photographers Monkey Bean Photos in Jackson, Georgia via Sparkly Like a Holiday, submitted by Krista K.

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Twofers Bun

by Prongs on October 22, 2009

It was peculiar, yes. Mr. Fred Jingles had never come across such an uneven ottoman that thumped every second.

If you could stick a carrot in your under arm, I'd really appreciate it.

Would it kill you to offer him a pillow, Jen W.?

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Huh?

by Prongs on October 20, 2009

When you start saying “Must…snorgle…nosicles!” or when you reach for my nose and inexplicably exclaim “Beep!” and then look around and say, “Shifty eyes” to no one else in the room, I get concerned that maybe I’m not hearing things so well.

And I can only assume that’s because you haven’t trimmed my ear hair.

What'chu talkin' 'bout, Owner.

Beep! Beep! Harumph, Kate Elizabeth Q.

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The New York Lottery Must Be Stopped

by Not That Mike The Other Mike on October 18, 2009

Not content to disrupt a peaceful slumber party, now those noisy goons from the New York Lottery are crashing a bucolic Bunday picnic at (what’s left of) Coney Island.  Have these people no sense of decency?

Wanna split a funnel cake Nathan’s hot dog, sbovio?  Theresa’s buying.

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Flopsy, Mopsy, and Cottontail Don’t Have This Problem

by Prongs on October 2, 2009

Like I told James Lipton: On one foot, was it the role of a lifetime? Absolutely – I owe Beatrix a great deal. But on the other, I can really deal without the paparazzi.

Are you telling me that not only was I on TMZ, but they also identified me as a capybara named Mr. McGregor? Get my agent on the horn.

Be vehwy, vehwy quiet, Alex M.

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