Will The Real Dark Knight Please Rise?

Bane: Greetings and welcome, my fiends!

I'd like to call to order the monthly Board of Directors meeting of the League of Arch Villains Who Think Batman Sucks.  I'm your chairperson, Bane.  

With us today are five longstanding Board members:  the Joker, Two-Face,  Ra's al Ghul, the Riddler, and the Penguin.  A no-show again for the fourth month is Selena Kyle.  I sure hope she hasn't turned on us because I have a DVD of Les Miz at home and that chick always make me cry.

Joker: Me too.  Don't get me started!

Bane:  Now, gentlemen,  we decided  that today would be a brain-storming session on the subject of Batman's secret identity.  The topic was suggested by Two-Face, who has some very interesting thoughts to share with us.  Two?

Two-Face:  Thanks, Bane.  It occurred to me the other day that Batman in his everyday life probably makes a pretty good buck.  Well above the minimum wage.

Ra's al Ghul:  How do you figure?

Two-Face: Where d0 all those gadgets come from?  The car,  the hover craft, the motorcycles, that totally unnecessary flare with the Bat logo in the last movie?  You can't get 'em at Goodwill! 

Penguin: True. Bet he has a decent benefits package too. Wonder where he works.

Two-Face:  No, Penguin, I don't think Batman works anywhere!  Let's say the Dark Knight has a job selling lingerie at Target,  and one day one of us decides to destroy Gotham City. Can't you just hear him:

 "I know the Bat Signal's been shining for half an hour, Commissioner Gordon, but I don't get off work until 10:00!  And my supervisor's been riding my ass hard all day!"

Riddler: Maybe he works for Sam's Club?

Two-Face:  No, he doesn't work for Sam's Club, you moron!  He's a multi-millionaire! 

All:  Ohhh!  Never thought of that.

Two-Face: So who has some suggestions as to who he might be?

Ra's al Ghul:  Well,  how about Warren Buffett?  I've always admired him.

Bane:  Me too!  

Two-Face:   Hello: Earth to Ra's al Ghul and Bane  ....  Earth to Ra's al Ghul and Bane!

Ra's al Ghul and Bane:  Yes, Two?

Two-Face:  Warren Buffett  is 83 years old!

Ra's al Ghul: Oh.  Well how about Bill Gates?

Riddler:  Nah, too nerdy.

Joker:  I was thinking maybe the Koch Brothers.  One of them could be out there as Batman while the other lobbies the hard-core Republicans, then they could switch off.  Very efficient!

Bane:   Are you kidding?

Joker:  What do you mean?

Bane: Those two guys are way more evil than we are!  The Koch Brothers are about as likely to be Batman as they are to be lunching this week with Dr. Cornel West. 

Two-Face:   Guys, I'm leaning toward Mark Zuckerberg.  He's young,  he's brash, and he's done wonders for the popularity of kittens. 

Ra's al Ghul:   I think I just heard the sound of ten thousand Jewish grandmothers kvelling!  But could Batman really be Jewish?

Riddler: He looks to me like the kind of Jewish guy who can't stand the sight of blood.  So, no.

Joker:  How about Donald Trump?

Bane:   Joker!   Much as we all hate the Dark Knight,  Batman cannot be the world's biggest asshole!  

Penguin: Say, what about Bruce Wayne? 

Joker:  Bruce Wayne? He's an idiot!  He burned down the family mansion and didn't even notice when his girlfriend morphed from looking like Katie Holmes to Maggie Gyllenhaal! 

Penguin: Too bad, because he's the only multi-millionaire living in Gotham, his parents' murder could have sparked a life-long battle against injustice, and he spent years in the Himalayas studying the deadliest and most secretive form of martial arts in existence.

Joker: Sure.  Now moving right along ....

Ra's al Ghul:  I've got it!

All:  Who?

Ra's al Ghul:  OPRAH!

All:    OPRAH!  Of Course! 

Ra's al Ghul:  We all know Oprah can do anything.  No doubt she can save Gotham from any one of us, look absolutely stunning in the doing, and still be home in time for dinner with Stedman.  

Bane:  Oprah it is!  Now who's up next to destroy Gotham City?

Two-Face:  That's me.  I'm scheduled for October 8, 9, and 10.

Bane: Great!  I'm marking it in my book.  Penguin, you are assigned to approach Oprah and tell her we will expose her secret if she dare oppose us.

Penguin: What secret?  That she and Gale ....

Bane: Not that secret!

Penguin:  I'll do it!  I'll do it on behalf of Arch Villains Who Think Batman Sucks everywhere!

Bane: Terrific.  And Penguin?

Penguin: Yes, Bane.

Bane: Get me an autograph.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Where Is Everybody?

Is anybody here?  I'll settle for a Republican!

There is something peculiar about this day. 

I've felt it since the moment I first awakened.  Something more peculiar than just my pajama drawstring having gotten caught and knotted around you-know-what which had me talking like the late Truman Capote until I got to the john. 

I think to take a look outside. 

Odd.  There is  no one anywhere.  No men. No women.  No children.  (I think that about covers it.)

Where is Everybody?  

I leave my home and walk for blocks.  Stores shuttered  .... restaurants closed ... no one to be seen. Everywhere I look is like a convention of viewers of the Oprah Winfrey Network. 

Where is Everybody? 

I call out now in rising fear.  "Hey, I've got Regis Philbin here,  come out and meet him and get a selfie!"

But Regis doesn't draw like he used to.  How soon they forget, even Regis.

Now I run frantically from building to building like a giant pinball but without the dings, lights, or any half-way decent total of points!

Where is Everybody?! 

Has the Zombie Apocalypse taken place while I slept? Where are the mindless creatures bent on eating our brains and making us soulless and inhumane just like they are? And aside from Republicans, where are the Zombies? 

Or maybe I've awakened in a world where everyone is invisible. 

If everyone is invisible, that would make going to a movie hardly worth 12 bucks unless it stars Morgan Freeman's voice. 

Where is Everybody?!!  

Oh dear God, a lot of people owe me money!!

Am I going mad?! Perhaps I've been abducted by a giant alien who has brought me to his home planet to serve as a play toy for his young daughter!  No, that's unlikely since in space they only have A batteries and I run on re-chargable D's. 

Where is Everybody?!!!  

Despair!  Terror!  Indigestion! 

I feel alone, solitary, totally isolated from the whole of humanity! I've never had this feeling before other than when I'm having sex with my usual partner. 

"Where is Everybody?!!!! 

Anybody ... anybody ...   I'll settle for Nicholas Cage!!!  Oh, to hear a song by ABBA or stand-up by Tracy Morgan!!!"

Suddenly emerging from the shadows is a figure of a man.  A big fat man.  A big fat sweaty bald man in plaid shorts with a T-shirt that says "Kiss Me, I'm  the Cook!"

"Thank God!  Hello, hello, my friend, oh thank God!!!"  

"Yeah, dude?" 

"You and I are the last people on Earth!!!" 

"Idiot! It's the Fourth of July and everybody's at the shore, pool, or backyard barbecues."

"Oh, yeah,  I forgot.  Well, then why are you here?"

"Ran outta ice." 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

If you liked this post, you might also like The Trouble with Mr. Serling, The Eye of the Be-Voter, and And What Are You Doing for the Holiday, Perry?

If you hated this post, I hope you wind up in The Twilight Zone episode To Serve Man smothered in onions on a nine foot tall bald alien's table in the same plate as Paula Deen!

I'd rather eat her than listen to her!

Who's Sorry Now?

"I'm sorry.  So Sorry ..."

It's a bombshell of proportions as broad, wide, and far-reaching as the person delivering it once physically and proportionally was!

Saying her "mythic, perfect story" was "one big lie," Oprah Winfrey has admitted that she cheated during most of her famed television talk show career, bullied people who dared to tell the truth, and is now sorry about it all --- especially the "being caught" part.

After denying doping allegations for many years, last night Oprah opened up to Oprah Winfrey on the Oprah Winfrey OWN Television Network that to improve her TV hosting skills she used multiple banned drugs, intravenously injected common household cleaning products, and enlisted Satan to prepare a demonic potion containing strands of former talk show host Phil Donahue's distinctive silver hair.

"Got me, y'all!" Oprah told Oprah in the exclusive  interview with Oprah which is expected to enable the words "OWN" and "ratings" to appear in the same sentence without setting off a small explosion for the first time since the network's founding in 2011.

Allegations that Ms. Winfrey had used banned substances have been swirling about the popular talk show host ever since viewers started wondering how someone who once seemed to have an unerring sense for successful television could have possibly founded a  TV network as consistently entertaining as spending an evening with Stedman Graham.  

In the frank and "no holds barred" interview,  Ms. Winfrey employs all of her famed interviewing skills to expose Ms. Winfrey once and for all as the noble self-sacrificing individual she has always been whose actions have been motivated exclusively by her fervent desire to entertain and uplift the American public.  Despite this, there are some who believe Ms. Winfrey granted the interview to Ms. Winfrey solely for the cynical  purpose of seeking quick self-serving forgiveness from the American public.

"I have far too much respect for Oprah Winfrey to do anything that!" replied Ms. Winfrey. "From now on, I will do everything in my power to hopefully one day earn back the solid bond of trust I once had with the American people I so love and admire." 

"Though it would be good if I could be forgiven before March, folks," Ms. Winfrey added. "I'm announcing a new business venture with former Tour de France winner Lance Armstrong around mid-month and I expect all of you to support it!" 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Whatever Became of Oprah Winfrey?

Where is she now?

You probably remember the name.

Once she was the Queen of American Media.

But the Oprah Winfrey story is yet another in the long line of sorry McLean Stevenson/ David Caruso/Shelley Long Gonna Blow This Popsicle Stand and Become a Big Star scenarios.   Sadly it takes just one show business flop for even the highest and mightiest to join these less than illustrious ranks.

For Oprah Winfrey, it was Reach for the Skies, a television show in which she starred as a City of Chicago vice cop who’s also an angel. Despite a high-rated premiere episode in which special guest Tom Cruise played someone who is not gay, the show sank faster than Governor Chris Christie in a bottomless dunk tank.

The highly touted special effect in which Ms. Winfrey’s feathery wings punched out pimps and pushers, comforted weeping crime victims, and reached for a Snickers --- often all in one take --- failed to find favor with viewers.  Similarly the syrupy Mitch Albom-crafted dialogue often did not go down well, especially when thrust into the mouth of acerbic frequent guest star Chicago Mayor Rahm Emmanuel. 

And a weekly episode-ending epilogue in which Ms. Winfrey sat around humorously mulling over the night’s adventures and drinking coffee with God had to be scrapped when God demanded to be paid “at least as much as Steadman.”

Reach for the Skies lasted six (6) episodes. When Ms. Winfrey came out to do her tearful farewell on the final show, even Gayle King was watching America’s Best Staring Contests on Fox.

To be sure,  Ms. Winfrey tried other ventures. She started a television network named OWN, which somehow failed to attract expected viewership with programs like  Oprah Winfrey Presents: My Favorite Notary,  Anyone I’ve Ever Met Has Loved Me, and Best Memos I Ever Wrote to Tom Cruise, Who is Not Gay.  Soon viewers began abandoning OWN in record numbers, often moving great distances at severe hardship to areas where the cable company declined to carry it.

Meanwhile Ms. Winfrey's cash-strapped magazine --- named O because she couldn’t afford additional letters in the title --- was forced to resort to scandalous tabloid journalism, all of which was about Ms. Winfrey since it was cheaper than paying reporters to make up scandalous tabloid journalism about anybody else.  Ms. Winfrey sued O Magazine for libel  seven (7) times, continually getting away with it until courts started catching on that she herself was the one who made up the headline Oprah Winfrey Has an Alien Baby; Now You Can Too!

Over the next several years, Oprah Winfrey was largely forgotten.  The public, you see,  has a short memory.  

Don’t believe that? Quick, what did I just say the public has a short one of?

Ah, crap! Thanks for helping me prove my point, jerk!

One day Ms. Winfrey was accidentally caught on YouTube in the process of shop lifting, trying to bench press an entire Pier 1 Imports.  Out of this came remembrance, redemption, and a small nonspeaking part in the upcoming Here’s Shelley Comedy Hour!”

I hope many of you will be watching.

Cause I won’t.

Gayle, Steadman, and me just love us our America’s Best Staring Contests on Fox.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dear Mr. President ....

  

PEOPLE’S REPUBLIC OF CHINA

Date: August 3, 2011

To: The United States of America
       c/o President Barack Obama 

Subject: Interest Payment on Loan No. 2011-13C
_________________________________________

Dear Mr. President:

Please be advised that as of today you have missed a payment of interest due on the above captioned loan. The amount now due and payable is $68,000,000,000.47, covering interest, late fees, and a touch of hush money to keep this letter out of the hands of Rupert Murdoch.

As you recall, Loan No. 2011-13C was arranged to provide financing for you to provide tax, farming, and tanning/bronzing subsidies for the wealthiest .5% of Americans, six (6) month’s salary for one of the two (2) annoying brothers on Car Talk (the only currently permissible funding for the Arts per your Republican Party), and two lattes at Starbucks Coffee in Havertown PA.

We are sorry we had to turn you down for a smoothie, but it rendered the financial risk just too steep.

Perhaps you have simply overlooked this obligation.  Maybe you left your wallet in your other suit.  Oh, your other suit is at the dry cleaners,  and you don’t have the money to reclaim it? 

Well, just ask the dry cleaner to hand back the wallet!   You are the President of the United States, man! 

In some circles, you’re still perceived as having clout.

Please be advised that if you do not make payment of the above amount within five (5) days of the date of this letter, we will turn the matter over to the law firm of Ginsberg, Hirschberg, Feinberg, and Mishkin. Lotsa luck taking them on when your Michele Bachmann cannot even pronounce the word “chutzpah!”

Please also keep in mind that we have liens on everything in your country.  If necessary, we will foreclose on any and all assets necessary to satisfy the debt, including:

~ your Mount Rushmore,

~ your Grand Canyon,

~ your other suit, and

~ the armored and booby-trapped vault that contains your nation’s most heavily guarded and strategically valuable secret: Whether it really, truly is Oprah and Steadman, or  Oprah and Gayle, as even we suspect!

Please do not compel us to take this action. 

Very truly yours, 


The People’s Republic of China,  a/k/a

The Money Store

 

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Why Superman Hasn’t Saved You Lately from Marauding Aliens

For as long as I can remember, I’ve wanted to be Superman.

Or even Batman, although I’d prefer being Superman. The Man of Steel is faster than a speeding bullet, more powerful than a locomotive, and able to see through hot women’s clothing in a single bound, making powers 1 and 2 more or less superfluous.

Yeah, I’d rather be Superman. But most of my life all I’ve ever succeeded in being, damnit, is Clark Kent!

What I truly can’t accept, though, is that there really isn’t any Superman, and there’s as likely to ever be one as Sarah Palin being elected president of MENSA. There’s just too many improbabilities.

Superman grew up from Superboy to a guy in the prime years of life who can pretty much do anything, including speak in front of a group of 25 or more lawyers without sweating. But that means Superman’s going to keep growing older! Nobody wants a 147 year old blob of wrinkly flesh hanging around that’s impervious to nuclear attack, let alone a plastic surgeon’s scalpel. Blue and red leotards wrapped around a tush begging helplessly for liposuction spells a dude who’d be lucky to get my spillovers!

And of course …. Superman, Superman, I wish I could fly like Superman!

But what about the rights of the already indigenous residents of the sky? At the speed Superman flies, there’d be scores of mid-air fatal fowl collisions daily, generating litigation that’d have PETA setting up headquarters at the Fortress of Solitude and poor Kal-El frantically squeezing coal into diamonds just to pay his legal bills!

Who cuts Superman’s hair? How does he clip his nails? Does he kill passers-by when he farts? When he flushes, where do the excremental remains spend eternity?

All right then, if Superman can’t exist, can we at least get ourselves a Batman here? He has no superpowers --- just peak physical conditioning, superior intellect, an arsenal of Bat-shaped weapons and vehicles, unlimited time, and almost as much money as Oprah makes each time she draws a breath.

But then how tough would it be for any geek with a computer --- even one as primitive and malfunctioning as yours --- to feed in all these criteria and have the computer spit back

 “It’s Bruce Wayne, you moron!”

Would anybody think that Batman’s alter ego works the lingerie counter at Target? “Sorry, Commissioner Gordon, I know the Penguin is running wild in the streets of Gotham, but I’m not off work until 11:00 tonight, and my supervisor’s been riding my ass all week!”

At least Batman seems to have broken up with Robin, the annoying-as-hell Boy Wonder. At 16 years old, Robin ought to be thinking about snuggling up with someone who wears make-up other than the Joker.  And is there anything credible about the bright red and yellow costume? While Batman’s decked out in a dark blue and black camouflage suit, Robin's as inviting to criminal types as a Coney Island shooting gallery!

We love our superheroes because in an apparently God-less universe we want somebody powerful to swoop in and care for us, end crime and poverty, capture Bin Laden, and on certain days – yes - kick the living crap out of our boss or spouse.

Jerry Siegel and Joe Shuster, the two young and unpopular Jewish boys who in the 1930’s created Superman, must have felt much the same. They devised someone all powerful because they --- and most of America --- were feeling very Clark Kentish, powerless in very perilous times. And nobody but nobody was seeing through women’s clothing back in those days except the editors at National Geographic!

So it’s a dose of cold water to most of us that in reality there’s never going to be anybody invulnerable around to save our butts, powder them, and trundle us contentedly off to bed.

Unless of course, I ever get to be Superman … or even Batman.

I promise to always save you from marauding aliens.

As long as you agree never to laugh when I bend steel in my bare and very saggy breasts when I’m 147 ....

~~~~~~~~~~~

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Once upon a time in a lovely green valley by a lake --- where the price for buildable lots was so high you could never hope to afford one --- there stood a charming cottage in which Blog, a young bunny,  and Mother and Father Bunny lived. 

Blog was generally a happy little bunny except for one thing --- he was ashamed of his ugly sounding name.

“Why do I have a horrible name like Blog?” he asked Mother and Father Bunny.

“It was supposed to be Bob,” explained Mother Bunny, “but Dad burped when he said the name to the Register of Bunny Names and unfortunately the clerk wrote down “Blog.”

Now there was a law in the land where Blog and Mother and Father Bunny lived that forbade bunnies from changing their names.

It was called the “Jennifer and Jason Act,” passed by a group of bunnies born in the 70’s who were afraid their really cool names might be yanked away and they’d be saddled with annoying 90’s names like Max, Zachery, and Carlotta.

Despite sadness over his horrible name, Blog was always happy when Mother Bunny read to him at bedtime. He especially loved two books: “The Little Engine that Gave Up and went for a Beer” and “Twitter Sticks it to Margaret Wise Brown.”

Mother Bunny read these two books to him over and over. She would have read them to him under and under, as well as in between and in between, if only those two idiotic statements made any sense.

Of the two, Blog especially adored “Twitter Sticks it to Margaret Wise Brown.”

It taught a wonderful lesson about bitterness, acrimony, and revenge, and had pop-up pictures too! It told the tale of Twitter, a beautiful young bunny with a lovely smile and pretty blue eyes, who was cast as the ingénue in an upcoming warm-hearted children’s book “The Runaway Bunny” by Margaret Wise Brown.

Twitter was brutally fired by Margaret Wise Brown, who thereupon replaced her with some no-talent male bunny she was rumored to be sleeping with. The meanest children’s author this side of Eric Carle, Ms. Brown was known on the set of an earlier book, “Goodnight Moon,” to make the Bowl of Mush cry.

Twitter was undaunted. She began networking on LinkedIn and made history by becoming the first person ever to make successful use of LinkedIn’s moronic Endorsements feature.

Before long, she attracted the attention of a children’s book author named Perry Block.

Their collaboration led to “Twitter Sticks it to Margaret Wise Brown,” which quickly went viral after being selected for Oprah’s Book Club. It vastly outsold “The Runaway Bunny,” the first edition of which included an ill-advised chapter showing a scantily-clad Margaret Wise Brown and the no-talent Bunny vacationing in Majorca.

How Blog admired Twitter! 

“And what a beautiful name!” Blog thought. “How could anybody ever say that you could waste time with Twitter?” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In a few years, little Blog grew tall and came of age.

One day he announced to Mother and Father Bunny that he was going out into the world to seek his fortune.

“I would like to meet Twitter before I begin,” said Blog. “I googled her and I know where I may find her.”

“By the way even ‘Google’ would have been a better name for me.”

The next day, Blog bid Mother and Father Bunny farewell and set off on his journey, making his way out of the lovely green valley by a lake --- where the price for buildable lots was so high you could never hope to afford one --- and where there stood the charming cottage in which he, Blog, a young bunny, and Mother and Father Bunny lived.

In a few days Blog arrived at the address he had googled for Twitter.

“But what is this?” exclaimed Blog!

The sign in front of the address said:

Hoppity’s House of Hotties!

Blog entered.

Red flocked wallpaper. A fat pig with a cigar playing an upright piano. Steve Buscemi!

Blog realized he wasn’t in Kansas anymore.

“Where … where can I find Ms. Twitter?” Blog stammered to a large animate rubber ball standing just inside the door, who was in fact ‘the Bouncer.’

“She’s in the back, Mac!” said the Bouncer.   He was also a poet.

Blog made his way to the back of the building. Through a half open door he saw a wan, pale, painfully thin young bunny he recognized as Twitter, his hero.

“Ms. Twitter,” Blog called hoarsely, “Ms. Twitter...”

Twitter turned and gave a half-smile. “Yes, do I know you?” she said.

“Ms. Twitter, I’ve been a huge fan of “Twitter Sticks it to Margaret Wise Brown” ever since I was a small bunny. You are my role model!”

Oh, sure!" sighed Twitter. "I’m a role model like Paul Rudd and Seann William Scott in the movie ‘Role Models,’ also starring Jane Lynch. I’m sorry to disappoint you. Hope you haven’t traveled far.”

 “May I ask what happened?”

“My life was once wonderful, just as in my book. I was hanging with Oprah and Gayle, signed to do big budget book with Curious George, Rowling’s people were at the doorstep! Then it happened.”

“What happened?”

“The older man who wrote the book, Perry Block, turned on me! He stole all the money, saw to it that I got nothing, and began spreading vicious lies that I … that I was doing it like a bunny!”

Twitter broke off in loud sobs!

(Author’s Note: The above allegations are the subject of litigation and are unproven. And I am NOT an older man!)

"Imagine," sobbed Twitter, "me, doing it like a bunny!  I don't even get poked on Facebook."

“So you had no options,” Blog said quietly.

"I had to eat,” said Twitter, “but I couldn’t even get a walk-on in a Captain Underpants book!”

Just then, a loud voice bellowed from outside the dressing room

 “Twitter doll, time to give the customers some yum-yum!”

 Blog saw the look of terror in Twitter’s still beautiful blue eyes.

“I’m sorry,” she mumbled. “I have to go on now …”

“Twitter,” said Blog, “this might seem crazy, but I have an idea. I’m going out into the world to seek my fortune. Why don’t you come with me?”

Twitter looked as if she’d been struck by an anvil from a Warner Brothers cartoon! In fact, since this is a children's story, she was struck by an anvil from a Warner Brothers cartoon.

 “Why … why would you do that for me?”

“I know you don’t really know me, but I've known you all my life.”

“I think I trust you, but …”

“Twitter, I would never!” said Blog. “I don’t even have HBO.”

“If you’re sure I won’t be a burden.”

Blog couldn’t believe his ears!

Yes, they were long, furry, and stood straight up from the top of his head, but he should have been used to that by now!

Twitter got ready to go, and she and Blog were soon outside and on the road. Where they were headed, neither of them yet knew.

 But somehow it didn’t matter.

“You know,” said Twitter, “I don’t even know your name.”

Oh no! What if Twitter thought his name was stupid?

What if she thought his name sounded like “Bob” if you burped when you said it?

What if she no longer wanted to go?

“My name’s Blog,” he muttered nervously.

“Blog,” said Twitter.

Twitter repeated it again. “Blog,” she said slowly and thoughtfully.

“I think that’s a very nice name.”

“You think that?!” sputtered Blog, amazed. “Why?”

“Because it’s the name of someone who cares.”

For the first time in his life, Blog was no longer ashamed of his name.

Actually, he was kind of proud of it!

And in that very moment, Blog felt like a million bucks --- which would have been many times over what you’d need to buy a buildable lot in that lovely green valley, by a lake, where there stood the charming cottage in which he, Blog, a young bunny, had once lived. 

The End 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

With apologies to Eric Carle and to the memory of Margaret Wise Brown, both of both I’m sure were and are very nice. 

And very gracious thanks to Mooshe Nickerson for her terrific original illustrations that accompany this story.