There is some thought that two weeks of bunnies is…maybe…a little bit much. So we’ll wrap this up and move on to other, greater things. Kittens, maybe. Or amorphous blobs. Maybe we’ll start with an amorphous blob, right now.

With apologies to my friends from the Thrifthorror livejournal community, I do think I’ve included this guy before, but…I couldn’t just throw this guy into the dustbin. He needs to live. In fact, I think he needs to be a holiday tradition. Every Easter, tell your children the story of the Little Bunny Who Wanted to Be Bert Lahr. They may look at you strangely. They may struggle.Tell them anyway. These things are important.

I know that’s not a lady bunny. Froofy pink dress and lacy pocket aside, fetching bonnet and eyelashes notwithstanding, that is a boy bunny and is not convincing in a dress.The jowels are not working for him. The whiskers that look more like “five o’clock shadow and a cigar” than “Peter Cottontail’s Twitchy Nose.” These things take away from one’s drag queen presence. As does the beer gut, and the deep pits around his eyes. This is a bunny on a bender, and no dress is going to conceal that.

The artist’s sense of perspective adds to the challenge of a piece that is already challenging, particularly in terms of gender expectations. Everything takes place on a two-dimensional plane—well, except the bonnet—leading to a bunny that is simultaneously watering plants and becoming a part of them; a pocket bunny (in Japanese, Pokébun) staring upwards while receding back into the strange hole which, in a healthy life form, would be a shoulder.

Leaving frumpy drag queen Easter bunnies for now, we’ll go for physical humor. Or at least screaming pain, which can be kind of funny after a long day.

Another senseless Easter accident! Parents, please don’t let your children ram long copper tubes into their Easter basket and then into their mouths. And kids, just say no.

We’re clearly missing a part, some key element, but I’ll be hornswoggled if I can guess what it is. Maybe a giant fresnel lens that concentrates the light of the sun on her enemies, leaving a scorched patch of molten resin? Maybe another darn egg? The jury is out.

Are you looking at me? Seriously? That’s typecasting. Blatant stereotyping, in fact, and I am offended, sir, offended. Look at these innocent eyes. This is not the face of a lettuce-eater, this is the face of a lettuce-protector.I shall fiercely guard this lettuce, protecting it from boring beetles, snails, and vegetarians. This lettuce will stand for a thousand years. Beginning now. So move on, friend, this lettuce is safe. Come on. Just…head on out. Bye, bye. Go away now.

…and on that note, let us leave Easter for greener, less bunny-infested shores.

Bunny in drag from Savers on South Lamar; bunny with copper piping and a very bad day from Goodwill on 183 and Metric; “Who Me?” Peter Rabbit from the sadly defunct St Vincent De Paul’s in Round Rock; Drunk bunny from Goodwill on 2222, Austin.

…Of course, the LAST person to ask, “what’s in the cart?” That person we haven’t seen, not for a long time. People don’t ask that question much these days. They don’t ask where the jelly beans come from, they don’t ask about the colors on the eggs, and they don’t ask, “what’s in the cart?”

But you know, the out-of-towners, sometimes they don’t know enough not to ask. They think the Easter Bunny’s all about “hippity hoppity,” and “Here Comes Peter Cottentail.” And if there’s another song about the Easter bunny, they probably think that, too.

But before you throw too many questions around, mister…

or miss…

You need to ask yourself, what’s it worth to me?

Do I want to be in the cart?

I didn’t think so.

I really must speak to our friends across the ocean in the great Easter Bunny manufacturing plants about their rabbits. I must talk to them about their rabbits with bloody, frothy muzzles, and how they are distributed to Easter shoppers across the world in cardboard boxes that obscure their horrible faces, and how people throw them in the “Goodwill” basket with the thought that, whether the damned thing gets purchased by some weird ironic hipster or tossed in the crap ceramics bin, at least it’s out of the house. I must talk to these Easter barons from across the ocean, and I must thank them. They do good work.

Tell me about flowers. Do they really come in all the colors in the world? Sometimes when I smell one, I can just about imagine what red smells like…

Cart bunny from Goodwill on 183 and Metric (and if I haven’t said it lately,”Thank you,” Goodwill on 183 and Metric. If you have some time for a drink or something, call me.) Red-muzzled bag-bunny from Goodwill on Stassney and Manchacha, blind, blind bunny from Texas Thrift, I35 near 51st Street.



In the balance, probably not, this is more likely folk art from some tribe in Africa with only three members, who aren’t speaking to each other anymore. But there’s a certain rabbitish quality to it. Joseph Campbell said that the great myth of all tribal cultures—indeed, all culture—is the story of the Easter Bunny. So we include her hear, and think hoppy thoughts.

Yes, another fun round of everybody’s favorite game, “Bunny or Mutant”? Are those A) long floppy ears or B) a shawl? Does she have A) buck teeth, or B) only three teeth? Are we posessed of A) a cute button nose (the limitations of art do not permit adequet representation) or B) a nasally-inserted LED bulb?

“Bunny or Mutant!” The game where everybody’s a winner. Except the mutant, obviously, and usually the bunny, who gets eaten by the mutant.

Do people usually have pale blue sclera? Is that normal, or have we been having too many heavy metals in our diet?

“I’m going to tell you a secret.”

“Oh, yes, daddy, please tell me!”

“Someday…”

“Yes, daddy?”

“Someday…”

“Yes?”

“Someday you will be made out of grapes.”

“Oh.”

…And it’s another game of “Bunny or Mutant?” The game show where we ask “Why did anyone think a bunny should be made of purple polyps?”

Of course, there’s more to Easter than just bunnies. There’s family. There’s the passion of Christ and the salvation of mankind. And there’s chicks made of oatmeal cartons.

Or possibly ducks. I see that whatever this is is from the “Mad Dr. Frankenstein” school of anatomical design—thus the perfectly level cranium. The lace skirt over its shoulders cleverly conceals the steel bolts through its neck. I’m not sure what the flower does. Maybe it gives the overall creature a sense of gentility it otherwise lacks—”No, I’m not drumming my wingtips together as I consider throwing you into a river or otherwise hastening your demise. I’m thinking about…more sunflowers. Yeeessss.”

I know a lot of ducks. Heck, there’s a lake a few blocks away that’s filled with the darn things. Most of them aren’t able to maintain a fixed expression of manic obsession for more than like five minutes. This guy managed it for weeks.

Strange African sculpture and grape-bunny from Savers on South Lamar near 290. Quaker Oats Duck from Goodwill on 2222 and Lamar, Austin.