I’m just a poor boy — no bunny loves me.

As I told you guys yesterday, I’ve been trying to feed the legions of little brown bunnies that perennially invade my neighborhood.  They’re totally not going for it.  I’ve been out there two days in a row this weekend, and it looks like they haven’t touched my offering below.

Yeah, yeah, I know — I should be feeding them lettuce or something; rabbits probably don’t eat bread.  But I don’t really maintain a healthy fridge; the only green thing in there is a package of Mint-Chocolate Chip Klondike Bars.  (I have a problem.)

Cheese?  Will bunnies eat cheese?

I suspect I’m still thinking too much in terms of New York’s animal supplicants.  The cats there will eat anything, and then demand more.  You feed a stray cat in New York, he shows up the next day with five more cats and a lobbyist.

Even the birds won’t eat my bread, for some reason.  That makes no sense to me.  There was a single, dejected-looking robin outside this morning that only looked at me like I was some sort of imbecile:

Presented with bread,
one plumping, sullen robin,
indicates disdain.

[Update: that Robin has not left the yard.  Pretty sure she lives here now.]

I stopped by the Arby’s in Vinton and ordered at the counter, and the girl asked me, “Is there a name for your order?”

Except I didn’t I didn’t understand what she meant, and I got flustered about being from out-of-town, so I stammered something along the lines of, “I dunno, let’s call it Ted,” and now the people at Arby’s think I’m some kind of maniac.

A pal of mine just complained on Facebook that autocorrect keeps censoring a certain curseword and changing it to “duck.”

I told him that autocorrect HAD to censor it — because its meaning is fowl.

DAMN, I’M GOOD.