Either the rabbits go, or I do

It began harmlessly enough. One over-sized rabbit downtown commemorating I don’t know what for tourists to come and take their pictures next to.

In the ’90s, Jack Ben was even popular enough to make it in a promotional commercial for the state of Texas. A middle-aged couple talked about the Alamo, the San Jacinto monument and that “big ol’ jackrabbit in West Texas.”

And I dealt with it. He brought people here, which was good for the economy, and Jack Ben and I kept our distance.

Then in 2004, some slobbering imbeciles or consorts of Satan got the bright idea to make more of them, more of these 6-foot-tall bunny abominations, and place them all over town.

I hate that horrible hare and all his Jamboree progeny. I hate them, and I can’t stand to see them around anymore.

We hate what we fear and fear what we don’t understand. I see in the huge, unblinking eyes of those too-large figurines something dark and awful I can’t explain.

To see one, I don’t have to go any farther than a few steps outside the office to the corner of Fourth and Jackson where that sick, unholy thing stands watch.

“Quilted Bunny,” it’s called. It wears a patchwork coat. Which is very cute, until you start to think about where the patches came from. It would probably be more honest to rename it “Buffalo Bill Bunny.”

Don’t think for a second that it, or any of the others, are harmless figurines, sitting there inert without any awareness or malice. I know better. I’ve seen them at night when they lean toward you just to give you a fright.

I’ve seen the homeless men who all of a sudden aren’t there anymore. And the city worker who has to come spray down the alley with a hose to get the stains out.

Oh, I’ve seen it!

I have to walk passed Quilted Bunny most days, and in broad daylight that terrible sneer and empty stare is enough to make your stomach flip, but at night when the only light strong enough to keep it at bay is the one across the street, I’ve had to run to my car and had the shakes for near an hour after I drove away.

At one time the city had a total of 37 (not in a row, thankfully). There must be hundreds now. I see them everywhere, even my dreams. Or I would if I slept anymore.

Why does Odessa Regional Medical Hospital draw blood from infants? “To run blood tests.” You fool! Their dark lords feed on the life of newborns. It gives them power. And in return, well, have you noticed how ORMC’s facilities have expanded so much of late?

There is a breeding pair at Progressive Park, not two hops from the hospital, not two blocks from the West Texas Reproductive Center.  We’re one orgy away from the apocalypse, I tell you. We’ll wake up one day, and there’ll be millions of them.

And then this will be hell.

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