Office Haikus

Vince Bunnyman’s day at work through the ancient art of haiku poems.
8:35am.
Morning brings coffee.
Instant, white with one sugar.
No cream biscuit though.
9:03am.
How was your weekend?
Insert meaningless response.
How was your weekend?
10:27am.
Cake for morning tea.
Double chocolate mud cake.
Fat fat fatty fat.
11:06am.
First meeting of day.
Statistics fly like seagulls.
Noisy and pointless.
12:49pm.
Soup sits on my breath.
In drastic need of some gum.
Don’t reach under desk.
1:19pm.
Email down again.
IT put down the donuts.
People need their porn.
2:10pm.
Where is my red pen?
Stationary cabinet
is empty again.
2:14pm.
Seriously now,
who has taken my red pen?
Now forced to use blue.
3:33pm.
Another meeting.
Dave’s process presentation.
Try to look awake.
4:41pm.
With my new haircut.
I’m told I look a bit like,
one Michael Buble.
5:00pm.
As five o’clock strikes.
Everyone’s thoughts turn to home.
My thoughts turn to beer.
Epilogue:
Spending the whole day.
Thinking of haikus at work.
Yields little output.

A Lover & A Fighter

Vince Bunnyman is a lover and a fighter.
If push comes to shove though, and it often does, his one and only love is fighting.
It began on his first day of Kindergarten.
Mark Wilkinson took Vince’s Tonka Truck from him without asking and Vince had never felt such anger.
He lashed out in ways he had never experienced.
Sand and open palms flew wildly in every direction.
SLAP!
Tears followed.
Mark Wilkinson swore that he didn’t hit Vince and to this day Vince hasn’t told another soul that he’d accidentally slapped himself.
Mark was unharmed aside from a small amount of sand that found its way into his mouth.
Vince was inconsolable.
As their teacher picked him up from the sandpit his arms and legs still flailed out of control.
Mark spat the small grains of sand back into the sandpit and looked on in bewilderment.
Vince may not have been victorious that day, but no one ever touched his Tonka Truck again.
During his primary school years Vince’s passion for fighting grew steadily.
He would fight anyone that looked at him funny or had more football trading cards than he did.
He would fight older boys, younger boys, girls of any age, and even the school’s gardener.
No one was safe from being challenged to a fight by Vince.
Those who accepted his challenge were instructed to meet him behind the bike shed after school.
Most of the time however, Vince was nowhere to be found.
His excuses ranged from having detention; to attending a better fight at another school; to training for his black belt at a fight academy with a real life Ninja.
Needless to say, no of these were true.
The truth was Vince had to be out the front of the school straight after the final bell to be picked up by his Mum, and his Mum would always yell at him if he was to keep her waiting.
And he didn’t want that.
When he did appear though, Vince was quickly put back in his place by boy, girl and gardener alike.
Still, covered black, blue and embarrassed, Vince fought on.
By the time he reached high school he’d begun wearing a leather jacket and eventually formed a small gang.
There were only two other kids in the school who would join Vince’s gang.
Both were 2 years below him.
Both were near sighted.
Both had chronic asthma.
They trialed many names for their gang.
The InVincibles.
The Ass Punch Crew.
The Three Tough Guys.
The Bette Midler Appreciation Society.
None of them stuck though and the gang remained nameless.
They even tried starting their own fight club.
Deep in the basement of Vince’s family home they would take turns wearing Vince’s leather jacket and fight each other.
Fists were thrown.
Legs were thrust.
Name calling was attempted.
Luckily no one ever got hurt.
Mainly due to none of them ever landing a punch, kick or mean name with any kind of efficiency.
It kept them off the streets though and, more importantly, away from other, more able gangs.
Vince recently started his first job.
Data entry.
There aren’t many opportunities to fight in the white-collar world for Vince, but next Saturday he and his fellow work colleagues will participate in a team-building exercise that Vince is very much looking forward to.
Corporate Boxing.
Vince’s opponent is a middle level manager named Mark Wilkinson.
Vince isn’t sure if it’s the same Mark Wilkinson whom he first fought with in the Kindergarten sandpit.
But it doesn’t matter.
Vince will show everyone why they should never touch his Tonka Trunk.

Top Ten Reasons For Not Writing

Vince Bunnyman’s Top Ten Reasons For Not Writing…
No. Ten: My spelling is atrowsish.
No. Nine: Training for the 2011 Competitive Eating Circuit is very time consuming.
No. Eight: My keyboard has a restraining order against me.
No. Seven: That picture on the wall above my computer of the dogs playing pool constantly mocks my ability as a snooker player, dog owner and fashion expert.
No. Kaw: I’ve become obsessed with making up new numbers.
No. Six: I’ve actually been writing a lot but I’ve accidentally logged all my posts under Quincy Moneycans.
No. Five: De Bortoli’s 2007 Shiraz.
No. Four: I swore I wouldn’t write again until I avenged my Master’s death.
No. Three: Trampolining is heaps more fun.
No. Two: The Velociraptor I got off eBay is proving to be more of a handful than I’d originally thought.
No. One: Zumba is a lifestyle, not just a workout.

Know Your Bunnyman Part No. 5

Vince Bunnyman is filmed in front of a live studio audience.

Like No Other

Vince Bunnyman ran like no other.
Some people run for weight loss.
Others for fitness.
Others to forget.
To clear their head and let the endorphins do their work.
Vince however ran as if his life depended on it.
Which it did.
He just didn’t know why.
Or more precisely, he didn’t know what.
What was chasing him?
He’d heard stories.
He’d read articles.
That’s why he’d come here.
To the middle of nowhere.
To the bush.
To the place few indigenous people still called home.
The trees tried their best to hold him back, scratching and tearing at his skin as he pushed on.
The pain was nothing compared to what his mind conjured up if his fate was to fall into the hands of his pursuer.
Not that you would call them hands.
It was suppose to be a myth.
A fable.
A legend from generation’s long gone.
A story that the first settler’s had told their children to keep them from venturing out into the bush alone.
To keep them safe.
Story or not, Vince did not feel safe.
His heart raced with the same urgency as the rest of his body.
Whatever it was, it was getting closer.
And Vince was tiring.
He’d been running for what felt like forever.
In reality it was since he’d returned to their campsite.
Since he’d seen the blood.
The body and the blood.
He hadn’t had time to check on her properly.
To check for any signs of life or even a pulse.
The beastly howl that came from the darkness around him was enough to make him turn away in an instant.
To run.
The sound of heavy footsteps behind him instilled images of an elephant trampling towards him.
But there were no elephants here.
And an elephant had not done that to her.
The heavy snarling that followed him now sounded somewhat like a rabid dog or wild dingo.
But both of those animals would surely have caught up with him by now.
Whatever it was, it was big, heavy and angry.
Everything else was left up to Vince’s imagination.
So he ran.
He ran from his imagination as fast as he possibly could.
Praying that it would never catch up with him.

The Elephant In The Room

Vince Bunnyman pushed the heavy trunk to one side.
It fell from his head to his shoulder, and in doing so tipped his centre of gravity sharply to the right.
Without fuss he realigned himself and continued reading.
Lillie was being playful.
Elephants and Don DeLillo do not mix.
Regardless, it was his favourite place to read.
Sitting on his reliable, yet uncomfortable, wooden stool and leaning against Lillie’s cage.
The spotlight attached to the cage shook as she removed her trunk from between the bars.
Usually Lillie would simply stand behind Vince.
Attentive.
Watchful.
As if she was following every word with Vince as he read his book.
Tonight though, she was restless.
Not the type of animal you normally took for a walk when they were in this type of mood.
Besides, the constant drone of the rain on the tent canvas above them indicated that it was not an evening for a moonlit stroll.
Her trunk found itself on Vince’s head again, this time forcing him forward.
He closed his book with a thud, pushed her trunk to one side again and turned towards his giant grey friend.
Let’s practice then.
Lillie let out a tiny blast from her trunk in agreement.
Her plan had worked.
Vince unlocked her cage door and set off to retrieve the props they used in their routine.
By the time he turned around again to face Lillie she had opened her cage door and was standing just outside of it.
Vince stood right at the edge of their tent, roughly 20 feet from Lillie, and held high a group of brightly coloured hula-hoops.
Lillie’s trunk instinctively reached for the sky.
One by one Vince looped the hula-hoops towards Lillie.
His aim was not true.
It didn’t matter.
Lillie masterfully manoeuvred her trunk from left to right, up and down, catching every single hula-hoop thrown in her direction.
Impressive.
She then dropped them to the ground as Vince raised his hands high above his head making himself into a human pole.
One by one Lillie looped the hula-hoops back at Vince with her trunk.
Each one falling perfectly over Vince and dropping to his feet.
Even more impressive.
Smiling, Vince lowered his arms and gave his friend a small round of applause.
Time for the second act.
Turning to his left, Vince pressed play on his aging tape deck.
The air crackled with the sound of an old record player.
And then… The Chicken Dance.
Vince motioned his hands like the beak of a chicken.
Four beats.
Lillie flapped her ears like the wings of a chicken.
Four beats.
They both wiggled from side to side.
Four beats.
Vince clapped, whilst Lillie stomped.
Four beats.
Then, in time with the music, Vince and Lillie spun around on the spot, returned to their original positions and started the routine again.
And then again.
Each time faster than the last as dictated by the music and the unwritten laws that accompanied it.
Lillie had never been to a country wedding or a 40th birthday party; this was the closest she would come.
The music stopped and both Vince and Lillie did their best to return their breathing to normal.
Lillie raised her trunk and again let out a barely audible blast.
She really did love the Chicken Dance.
Time for the third and final act.
From the side of the tent Vince pulled his latest prop into the centre of the tent.
It was giant hula-hoop.
Standing only just bigger than Lillie.
She was not what you would consider a very large elephant.
In fact, the adverting posters on which she was featured billed her as “the 3rd smallest adult elephant in the southern hemisphere”.
None the less, the size of Vince’s giant hula-hoop was impressive.
It took all his strength to navigate it into position.
A task he secretly hoped Lillie might have helped him with.
Instead, she backed away two tiny steps.
Vince shook his head, indicating that Lillie was being childish.
She knew what was next though.
With the flick of a match Vince lit the giant hoop and in an instant it glowed red with flames.
We should try it at least once.
Lillie edged back even further, almost back inside her cage, as the flap to their tent opened and a man with a small monkey on his shoulder entered.
The monkey was holding an umbrella in an attempt to keep them both dry from the horrible downpour outside.
It had only half succeeded.
You’re on in five minutes.
Vince smiled and gave the man an acknowledging nod.
Good luck.
Vince and Lillie didn’t need luck.
All they needed was for the show to go on.
One hula-hoop trick and one silly dance at a time.
Lillie dipped her trunk into her nearby drinking water and emptied it onto Vince’s giant hula-hoop, extinguishing the fire and with it the hope that tonight would be the night.
It wouldn’t be.
Maybe next time.

Know Your Bunnyman Part No. 4

Vince Bunnyman refers to himself in the 4th person.

No More Cigarettes

Vince Bunnyman misses Cigarettes.
He’d first gotten Cigarettes when she was a kitten.
Just 6 weeks old.
She was named Cigarettes because his partner, Celia, had left the house on her daily outing to the shops to buy cigarettes, but instead, came back with a kitten.
Along the way she’d passed a newly opened pet shop and couldn’t help but notice Cigarettes in the window.
Cigarettes was alone.
Cigarettes was the last of her litter.
The runt.
The outcast.
Forlorn, adorable and mischievously playful all within the few brief moments that Celia spent looking at her through the glass window.
Cigarettes was a constant source of joy for both Vince and Celia.
She would swat their empty packets of Peter Jackson’s along the hardwood floors of their house for hours.
With its grey packaging, it was the closest thing she had to a mouse.
Cigarettes knew when the last of the packet was being lit.
She would stare Vince down with built up anticipation whilst he took his first draw and then, without looking, throw the packet to the far side of the room.
Cigarettes would then give chase, pouncing on the defenceless packaging like the most ferocious of her feline ancestors.
When Celia made her and Vince’s favourite meal, Nachos, Cigarettes would do whatever it took to get a delicious mouthful of her homemade Guacamole.
Eventually they set aside a small bowl especially for Cigarettes to enjoy whilst they ate their meal.
It was the only way they could eat in peace.
During the warmer months, in the fading sunlight, Vince would sit outside in their small courtyard with Cigarettes and glass of his favourite Shiraz.
A welcome ritual after a long day at work.
In winter he would sip on a cup of Earl Grey in front of the heater with Cigarettes curled up on his lap.
Peaceful time.
Reflection time.
Vince and Cigarettes time.
Cigarettes died two weeks ago.
The Vet said that it was lung cancer.
Passive smoking.
Vince and Celia have not smoked since.
They will always miss Cigarettes.

Ready

Vince Bunnyman opens the front door of his three bedroom house in outer suburbia, ready for a new day.
His two children rush past him with their school bags slung over their shoulders.
Wendy is out first, followed closely by Kyle, both vying for the privilege of sitting in the front seat of the family’s newly purchased 4WD.
Vince kisses his wife goodbye.
A peck on the cheek.
Their daily physical contact.
Vince forces a lopsided smile and turns to join his children.
Dressed in his favourite suit, his briefcase feels lighter than usual as he reaches into his pocket to retrieve his car keys.
Wendy tries to catch her breath as she stands with her hand securely on the door handle to the front passenger seat of the 4WD.
Beep-Beep!
She pokes her tongue out at her brother as she opens the door and pulls herself inside the unnecessarily large vehicle.
Disappointed in losing to his older sister, Kyle opens the back door and reluctantly throws his school bag on the back seat, muttering inaudibly as he does so.
Vince tells his children to say goodbye to their mother.
Bye Mum.
Car doors slam simultaneously.
Keys?
You’re holding them Dad.
Right.
The car springs to life and pulls away from the curb, away from the family home.
Kyle reminds his father that they’re picking up Kelly today.
Wendy taunts her brother as only a sister can.
Ooooh.
Lovers.
Kyle scowls in retaliation.
Shut up.
Make me.
Kyle dismisses Wendy with a disapproving shake of his head.
Kyle and Kelly sitting in a tree. K, I, double S, I, N, G.
Dad!
Vince attempts to quash the dispute by saying his daughter’s name in a stern, sharp voice.
First comes love. Then comes marriage.
Dad!
Vince calls his daughter’s name again, this time with more authority.
Then comes Kyle with a baby’s carriage.
DAD!
WENDY!
LEFT!
Vince impulsively springs into action and makes a sudden left turn into Kelly’s street.
Lovers.
Vince brings the car to an abrupt halt outside Kelly’s house and instantly shoots a disappointing look at his daughter.
She turns sharply to face the front of the car as the back door opens and Kelly steps inside.
Morning everyone.
Kyle instinctively smiles.
Hi Kelly.
Hi Kyle.
Vince wastes little time and steers the car away from Kelly’s house.
With a full car, the remaining car trip is comparatively quiet.
Wendy barely moves, occasionally glancing up at her father.
Kyle and Kelly exchange sheepish glimpses in the back seat.
Pulling up to the front of the school, Vince turns off the car's engine.
Kyle and Kelly hastily jump out of the car and run towards the school building, both calling out goodbyes as they do.
Wendy however, steps halfway out of the car and pauses.
Bye Dad.
Silence.
Vince stares blankly into his steering wheel.
Bye Dad.
Silence.
DAD?
Dad, I have to go now.
What?
Vince turns to his daughter.
I have to go.
Vince smiles at his daughter.
Of course Sweetheart, have a good day.
Wendy returns the smile.
Thanks Dad. You too.
Vince half-heartedly waves to his daughter but she’s already gone and thinking of nothing but her impending school day.
Love you kids.
Vince watches Wendy until she disappears in a sea of school uniforms and then turns back to his steering wheel.
Its black vinyl shines in the morning light as Vince absentmindedly runs his hand over it in an almost caressing manner.
BEEP!
Vince is shocked back to reality by the impatient parent waiting in the car behind him.
He waves a meaningless apology, starts the engine and navigates his 4WD away from the school.
Away from his children.
As he drives, the road seems unusually unoccupied.
Bare.
Empty.
Vacant.
Concentrate.
Left turn.
Right turn.
Left turn.
Within minutes he is back in front of his family home.
The engine of the 4WD falls silent.
Collecting his briefcase, Vince exits the car and stands on the footpath in front of his house.
Inhaling deeply, he moves purposely towards the front door.
Ready.

Know Your Bunnyman Part No. 3

Vince Bunnyman is easily dist

Without A Lunch Box

Vince Bunnyman is without his lunch box.
It was taken from him in the 3rd grade.
It was a good lunch box too.
It was green with a picture of Raphael from the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles on the front.
Raphael was Vince’s favourite.
At least half of his 3rd grade class had, at one time or another, referred to the lunch box as “radical”.
Even his teacher, Miss Murray, thought it was “radical”.
She told him once whilst the class were out having lunch on the school oval.
The one person who thought it was more “radical” than anyone else though was Luke Perry.
Not the brilliant actor Luke Perry.
No.
This Luke Perry was short, chubby and smelt like nail polish.
Luke Perry had admired the lunch box ever since Vince brought it to school on their first day of the 3rd grade.
They soon became friends.
Especially at lunchtime.
Luke Perry constantly asked Vince where he had gotten the lunch box and once even offered him a straight trade for his Garfield lunch box.
Vince had received the lunch box from his Mum’s friend Pam for Christmas and there was no way he was trading it for a Garfield lunch box.
That was an insult.
Besides, everyone knew that Luke Perry’s favourite Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle was Michelangelo, so it was odd for him to have such a fascination with it.
Occasionally Luke Perry would ask Vince if he would like to swap lunches.
Luke Perry’s Chicken and Mayonnaise on White Bread, in exchange for Vince’s Peanut Butter on Brown Bread.
It was an easy decision for Vince. He hated Peanut Butter.
But every time Luke Perry would attempt to take Vince’s whole lunch box instead of just the sandwich. Like it was an unspoken understanding that the lunch box was part of the sandwich trade.
It was not.
Every time the deal was deemed null and Vince would be stuck with his Peanut Butter on Brown Bread.
One lunchtime though, his lunch box was no longer there.
It should have been in his school bag where it always was.
He knew 100% that he hadn’t forgotten it. And even if he had, his Mum would have dropped it off at the Principal’s Office and an announcement would have been made over the PA.
No, his lunch box had been taken.
Taken without his permission.
Taken straight out of his bag.
Taken without him even knowing.
The one and only suspect was more than obvious.
Luke Perry.
Vince stormed back into his class room, ready to confront Luke Perry and regain what was rightfully his.
But Luke Perry was nowhere to be seen.
Luke Perry had gone.
Miss Murray said that Luke Perry’s father had collected him just before lunchtime for a family vacation.
Luke Perry never returned from his family vacation.
Vince never saw or heard from Luke Perry or his beloved lunch box ever again.
Sometimes, whilst eating his lunch, Vince pictures Luke Perry sitting on a sun-drenched beach with his Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle lunch box sitting by his side, enjoying Chicken and Mayonnaise on White Bread.
Vince thinks they would both be quite happy.

Numbers Count

Vince Bunnyman believes numbers count.
1 may be regarded as the loneliest number, but that’s really only because it has the least amount of friends on Facebook.
Overall though, 1 is only slightly more lonesome than everyone else.
2 is company.
2 is partnership.
2 is business.
2 means business.
Don’t mess with 2.
2 will pull a knife on you and take your wallet.
3 is the magic number.
Vince saw it pull a rabbit out of a hat last week and the things it can do with coloured handkerchiefs is a sight to behold.
3 is available for kids parties and corporate functions.
4 is Vince’s favourite.
They both enjoy Soy Macchiatos.
5 is high.
Always fun.
Always celebrating with the slapping of skin.
It’s only on the down low, when you’re too slow, that the fun ceases to exist.
6 is under constant surveillance by the authorities.
They believe 6’s should not hang out in groups of 3. It’s just not safe.
If you see multiple 6’s congregating in the same vicinity, please dial 911.
7 is very talented… according to its parents.
They are both very proud that it is a prime number. Something they will not hesitate to tell you about if you ever happen to meet them.
8 can go fuck itself.
9 is loved by cats all around the world.
And so it should. It gives cats the power to dream and do as they please.
We should all be so lucky.
Very little of this adds up.

Wear Many Tee Shirts

Vince Bunnyman wears many Tee Shirts.

There are 3 main categories.

The first is the Bed Tee.

This Tee has been around forever and more than likely started its career as a Social Tee (see category 3 below).

It is rare for a Tee Shirt to start life out as a Bed Tee.

Unless it was a Christmas gift from Auntie Sheryl.

The Bed Tee’s main role is comfort.

Soft. Thick. Durable.

Long sleeves in winter, short in the summer.

The Bed Tee is most likely to be found in the second drawer down, hanging out with the underwear and socks.

The second category is the House Tee.

The House Tee is self-explanatory.

It rarely leaves the house.

It gets involved in common household chores like vacuuming and sitting on the couch watching TV.

Generally the House Tee will only see the light of day for outdoor chores like lawn mowing and hedge clipping.

With the exception being a trip to the shops for a packet of cigarettes and chocolate milk.

The House Tee is unlikely to obtain status in the second drawer down with the underwear and socks.

The third category of Tee Shirt is the Social Tee.

However it is also referred to as the Party Tee and the Good Tee Shirt.

Not that its morals are in any way impressive, or any better than those of the other Tee Shirts.

The Social Tee cares for little but the moment.

The Social Tee speaks volumes about its wearer.

They are bold and confident, yet easily distracted by bright colours.

White Tee Shirt with blue stripes, yellow stars, red dots and what looks like orange letters that spell out a common word.

They are outgoing and comical, but in a crude, sexist and often racist kind of way.

Brown Tee Shirt, image of breasts with a bow on top, text: Hello Titty.

They are big, muscular and take good care of themselves, but only themselves.

Black Tee Shirt. Tight. Defining. Plain.

They are intelligent and reserved, but more than just a little bit behind the times.

C:\DOS

C:\DOS\RUN

RUN\DOS\RUN

The Wrong Side Of The Tracks

Vince Bunnyman once knew a girl from the wrong side of the tracks.
But she hadn’t always been from the wrong side of the tracks.
Her family had previously lived only 3 bus stops away.
Then her Dad moved away and she moved with her Mum and her Brother to the other side of the train tracks.
The wrong side.
Within a couple of days of moving house they realised that their bedroom windows faced each other.
They were separated by two pains of glass and the V-Line train.
At first they would wave good morning and good night to one another.
Eventually they started using Morse code via torchlight.
Unfortunately neither of them understood Morse code so their conversations were subjective at best.
For his eleventh birthday Vince received a 1:100 scale remote control helicopter.
He would tie Teddy Bear Biscuits to the underside of the helicopter and attempt to fly them over the train line to her adjoining window.
Sadly the Teddy Bear Biscuit never made it past the Three-Fourteen to Shepparton.
One month later her Dad returned and her family moved again.
She was now 2 train stations and 6 bus stops away.
She’d never seemed closer.
Once again she was on the right side of the tracks.

Know Your Bunnyman Part No. 2

Vince Bunnyman is Ed You Kay Shone Elle.

Between Two Girls

Vince Bunnyman overheard a conversation between two girls.
The two girls have a friend.
Their friend’s name is Fluffy.
Try not to smirk.
Fluffy has a beautiful girlfriend.
Try not to look surprised.
Fluffy and his beautiful girlfriend join the two girls for trivia every Monday night.
Try not to ask them what the capital of Nebraska is.
Fluffy isn’t very good at trivia, but he’s better than John.
He is better than John for 3 reasons.
One, John never answers any questions, but always states, “I knew that would be the answer”, once the answer has been revealed.
Two, John’s name is John. Not Fluffy.
Three, John does not have a beautiful girlfriend to bring to trivia.
Their trivia team has never won, but they occasionally get a $10 drinks voucher just for competing.
Once, Fluffy’s beautiful girlfriend won a beer sculling challenge.
The team earned 2 points and a jug of beer.
Fluffy is truly blessed.

Respect Juice

Vince Bunnyman respects Juice.
Today was a big day for Juice.
It’s a scientific fact that 1 out of 3 people start their day with Juice.
Vince does.
Sometimes he even finishes his day with Juice, but that’s really only for special occasions like Christmas and Birthdays.
His favourite is Mango and Apple.
Tropical, yet familiar.
Today whilst at lunch more people ordered Juice than Coffee and Tea combined.
Coffee and Tea have had it too good for too long.
Vince believes their days are numbered.
On the way home two young men in their 1994 Holden Commodore each enjoyed a 1 litre carton of Orange Juice.
They shook it vigorously after each mouthful to ensure an even spread of liquid and pulp.
It was like watching a synchronised sporting event.
Shake. Swill. Shake. Swill.
Smile for the Judges.
Shake. Swill.
They clearly understand how to make the most of their Juice experience.
Society could learn something from these two young men.
Vince hopes to one day meet someone called Juice.

Know Your Bunnyman Part No. 1

Vince Bunnyman is a tool.

Sleep Like A Sapling

Vince Bunnyman slept like a sapling.
Every moment comfort.
Every moment warmth.
Blissful. Peaceful. Slumber.
No REM.
Every moment comfort.
Every moment warmth.
Stay away Michael Stipe.

Ride Public Transport

Vince Bunnyman rides public transport.
Trams are his favourite.
Today however, he’d made the decision to drive.
He decided to go Keys over Metcard.
Sally, Andrew, Amanda and Carlos had decided the same.
More than likely those weren’t their real names, but Vince had named them all accordingly as he sat gridlocked beside, behind and in front of Sally, Andrew, Amanda and Carlos.
To his left Sally sang along to the latest Top 40 hit, most likely something by Pink or the Black Eyed Peas.
To his right Andrew screamed into his iPhone like it was disobedient child.
In front of him Amanda was taking the opportunity to apply her make-up in her rear-view mirror, she was probably just going home to play online poker again though.
Behind him Carlos unbuttoned his shirt and struggled in the confined space to remove it. In doing so he revealed his pudgy flesh beneath before again struggling to cover himself, this time in a large bright yellow t-shirt.
Carlos then took his right index finger to his right nostril and retrieved an obstruction that was obviously hindering his breathing.
Vince decided that his name probably wasn’t Carlos.
He also decided that he would catch the tram again tomorrow.

Never Alone In A Cafe

Vince Bunnyman sits alone in the café.
She’s late again. She just doesn’t know it.
The noise from the Waitress’s iPod is soothing.
The noise from the other customers even more so.
She arrives with book in hand.
He is already up to the world news section.
Just like the line in the song that he can’t remember, the Barrister forgets to make his coffee.
She turns to the dog-eared marked page of her book and continues the journey.
He looks to his phone for the time and moves onto the Sunday supplement.
No news, nothing different from last time.
She looks up, but not long enough for their eyes to meet.
Typical.
The coffee arrives.
Skinny. Flat. White.
Two of the three words relate, but not like they used to.
He watches her whilst he drinks.
Something they both did in previous cafés.
In previous lives.
The coffee goes faster than usual and thrill is gone.
The only saving grace is a complimentary Muffin and the determination that next time will be different.
Next time he’ll make the effort to say hello to her.

Start here ->

Vince Bunnyman has begun.