Psycho Bunny

Quick note: In the last post, I went overboard with the use of the footnote. Regrettably, this distracted from the rather fine blogging that took place. Therefore, I vow to use the footnote sparingly and only when absolutely necessary. Instead, I’ll focus my attention on references to Blatz beer and obscure diseases whenever possible (the two often go hand in hand).

The following conversation took place on Sunday, March 24th around 2 P.M. between myself, a grown man wearing plastic bunny ears, and his wife.

Psycho Bunny: Shit, all the wiffle balls are dented.

Mrs. Psycho Bunny: I don’t think those bats and balls are made for people your age. Usually you see kids playing with a wiffle bat.

Me: You don’t see Easter bunnies playing wiffle ball much either.

Psycho Bunny: Or crazy f%#&ers drinking beer and swinging with a cigarette in one hand. Batter up.

Note: Despite the obvious implications here, there were no trailer parks within a one mile square radius of this scene. There were several severed deer heads and a 25 year old rusted bus fixed up like a “camper”. But no trailer park. Promise.

This was Easter Sunday for me in a nutshell. Please leave your sympathies in the comment section.

There is something poetic in watching a group of men, cigarettes in mouth, swinging a plastic bat one handed like a machete loping off someone’s head in the next Kill Bill installment. Now add beer, icy driveway, and plastic bunny ears and, well, there you go. A good time. We should be party planners.

I should also mention there was plenty of Blatz beer on hand. They still make this. Or, at least, someone has a warehouse somewhere with cases of it from the last production run in 1973 dutifully shipping it out every time one family from Michigan orders it. I’m working on my landmark Blatz beer retrospective for a latter post. Do I go essay form? Poem? Or dirty limerick? I just can’t decide.

All in all, the fam had a nice Easter. The kids were happy. The regular, non-psycho Easter Bunny was good to them. My wife and I were thrilled. Any Easter that doesn't involve rabies, tetanus, or deer ticks meets our success requirements. My daughter was in the doctor’s office for an entirely different reason this morning – diagnosis pending.

I haven’t seen my kids without a chocolate ring around their mouths in 2 days. A sure sign of a wonderfully gluttonous Easter. God, I hope that’s chocolate and not ringworm (fingers crossed, wish us luck).

For some reason, the Easter Bunny brought the children Whoopee Cushions. Perhaps it was spontaneity combined with a recent post that decided on this as a suitable basket stuffer. Whatever it was, I took pride with each cushion belch and startled look on an in-laws face. Yes, those are my kids. Happy Easter.

As for me, I did not get in my scheduled 16 mile LR. I feel like an addict without his fix when I miss my LR. I’m ornery, anxious, and stressed. In 8 days, I’ll officially be in Boston taper time. Not the time to be missing a long run. I’m shaking…I need my long run…need it…maybe I’ll break into my neighbors house, steal his TV, and sell it for a long run fix.

Rest assured, I’ll get it in tonight. We have parent-teacher conferences to find out how much I need to beat the kids and then, after this hopefully brief warm-up, it’s off. Me…the road…the moonlight…a frightening raccoon….and a few terrified dog walkers hearing me run up behind them. I may need to dodge some sprits of mace.

Maybe I should borrow those rabbit ears from Psycho Bunny. That would make a nice silhouette coming at you in the moonlight, wouldn't it?

Happy trails.**

** I’m thrilled to point out that no footnotes were used in the creation of this entry!!**

** Crap.

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UPDATE: This was originally slated for publication on Monday. It is now Tuesday and the late night LR was accomplished.

16.11 miles
2:00:13 time
7:28 pace
0 macings