You better move that trampoline. We need to mow that area. It’s getting to be a real snake pit under there. Real dangerous. This whole yard is a wreck. I don’t care about the metal stakes or the netting frame, just move it. You got babies, you can’t have a snake pit like that.
Get this dog away from me!

What am I going to do with this pet rabbit? Every day it looks like a different historical character. It changes its physical appearance. Every morning. It's damn creepy. And totally unpredictable. One morning the thing looks like Daniel Boone, the next it's Robespierre. And it just sits there eating brown lettuce all the while reminding me of the ultimate futility of the human experiment.

Rabbits aren't supposed to look like famous dead humans. They're supposed to not blink and lay chocolate eggs. Never a moment's piece.

Dreary, meaningless toil and subservience forces the mind to seek escape and comfort. Others without the natural gift of imagination seek out the bottle or the gypsy smoke, but I take pride in my inventiveness. I turn instead to novel outlets like ketchup packet hoarding and burning pictures of horses. When the rotten stress of screaming infants becomes too much, I find solace in repeatedly subscribing and unsubscribing to expensive foreign policy magazines.
Under extreme duress, I have been known to busy myself by renaming all of my furniture.
Even in denial one finds opportunity for expression and individuality.

What we’ve come to realize is that wiping the slate clean is needed and necessary. Nothing else works. So with that in mind I’m going to spend the rest of the decade signing the name Ronald Altonburg. I will accompany this new persona with turtle necks all year long.
React as you will. Ronald A. hasn’t any time for your judgement.