But damn, Darla, those rabbits I'm always chasing are cute buggers, but when I catch them–which is not often by the way–they're all fanged and foaming at the mouth and their pinky eyes are big ol' weep holes of blood. What does it mean?
Oh yeah … and what does it mean when that guy who took over thinks coal mining or logging or working the line are the jobs of the future? I'm feeling so 19th century, Darla. Is that why I'm having these god awful satanic bunny dreams?
I don't know. I guess it's like what the kids say about sexuality. My humanity is fluid.
Semi-Daily Scribbles 
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