Bunday, comfortabuhls Bunday!

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.”

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.

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.

It was built on disapproval, Tuesday H.

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.

Nice dust bunny, Stefanie H.

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.

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.

Here’s to the partnership, Maria L.

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

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

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

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

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.

Beep! Beep! Harumph, Kate Elizabeth Q.

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.

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.

Be vehwy, vehwy quiet, Alex M.