She knew, that evil witch behind the mask, she knew nine different ways to skin a rabbit. The Pink Bunny shuddered. Who the hell teaches a child that kinda thing.
Survivors. That’s who, stupid rabbit.
The mask slipped, it always does. But here is the tricky bit. Are you ready? Because when the mask slips, instead of revealing the true face, it just reveals a new mask. How brilliant is that!
There are things you don’t know about bunnies, you might know nine different ways to skin a bunny but a bunny knows nine different ways to fuck your mind, so you ain’t never coming back.
She can hear the hillbilly laughing, can smell the liquor across the oceans.
Time to let it burn. It’s how it works. Ya gotta mimic nature. Burn the old dead things of the season before, and from the ashes new life will spring forth, green, fresh and funky as.
Alone in the dark with the man from above, here one minute, gone the next. Giant leathery wings fill the sounds of silence in the dead cavern. Claws reach for her and grasp her tight, scratching her thigh and almost breaking her in half. There is no fight to be had, the talons are too tight. Great whoosh and suddenly lifted above. Dizziness fills her mind and she is sure she can here the song of the beautiful muse V upon the rush of air. The light is getting closer, her eyes squeeze shut. Not the light, anything but the light, she prays silently to dead ears.
The Twisted Pink Rabbit has been around for a long, long time, gonna take more than a Mistress of Masks with a sharp knife and cunning mind to get between him and his skin. He holds the keys, he is the keeper of gates, how can she be skinning him 9 different ways if he opens the gates of the 3 portals to the 7 hells? The bunny snickers.
The key turns in the lock, the gate swings open wide, what once was will never be and what never was will come to be, sharp teeth, dirty claws, bright red lips, dangerous smile, killers lust, pompoms and samurai come back to play.