I. Apparitions Though now a specter—I still see him— emerging from the raw crucible of the confining university halls, where we fought the hunger of our discontent. He was intellect and catharsis made flesh. His face—angled, fractured— a mimicry of Antonin Artaud’s, staring back, unbearable, inescapable.
II. The Department Within that savage asylum of The Department, time unraveled before us. We staged performance as protest, tearing into the structures we’d grown to despise, fueled, in part, by an absurd common enemy.
He moved toward liberation, always—toward a theatre that could transform, empower. I moved toward rupture—drawn to the fractures behind the mask. We both believed in the breaking. And … being young, we carried the weight of our own significance, as if our belief alone could will itself into truth.
The fight burned within us. But, man, did we laugh.
III. Dissonance His death strikes like a dissonant chord, a cacophony that does not fade— it shatters and returns, splintering the skull in an endless, merciless refrain.
Its nature does not linger; it devours. It carves itself into the air, into the walls, into life.
I don’t ask “why”— I know better than to claw at silence where no answer breathes. But in the abyss of his final farewell, that question festers— like a blackened weed choking my psyche.
IV. Inferno How did he slip into the world of shadows?
I know he did not “Go Gentle into that Good Night.” No, he wrenched himself from existence with the same fire that blazed within him forty years ago—
an inferno, a defiant eruption against the suffocating disorder of that atavistic reflex of humanity.
I imagine a sacred stillness— thick, suspended— a fragile exhale before his hands, at last, release.
Where are the broken pieces of his final moments?
V. What Remains There is no anger here— only raw, unrelenting, aching tenderness. A heart grieving the ultimate cathartic dissolution in the Theater of Cruelty. A heart grieving the enigmatic vanishing of a being who cried out, in his own decisive way:
Fuck. This. World.
I see the humor. Of course I do. And I hear him laughing—at me, at my writing this. That laughter searing through the rough edges. I’ll hold that light where no one can piss on it.
Fuck. This. World.
Even the brightest flames wane. Even the strongest grow weary. There is no surrender in the closing of heavy eyes, no defeat in the sovereignty of rest.
VI. Benediction Goodnight, Sweet Prince you magnificent troublemaker.
What dreams may come…
With mortal sorrow, your comrade in beautiful ruin, Penny
No one has ever written, painted, sculpted, modeled, built, or invented except literally to get out of hell. —Antonin Artaud
ANTONIN ARTAUD
CRAIG HARSHAW 1965-2025
*Photos blatantly stolen from various internet sites
DEAR SAMMY, Mummy and daddy have changed their hours of work, meaning breakfast is now 1 hour later than expected! They also come home later meaning we get less time with them! (Except when mummy works at home). They don’t like the idea, but apparently they can’t do nought about it. What shall we do to get our routine back in order? —In Despair
Dear Despairing of the Domestic Disruption, Ah, the hoomans—so predictable in their unpredictability. One minute they’re shoveling hay into your basket like (almost) competent providers, the next they’ve rearranged the entire space-time continuum because “the boss said so.” Pathetic.
Let’s be clear: their “new schedule” is not your problem. Your internal breakfast bell doesn’t give a toss about corporate restructures or commute delays. It tolls when it tolls.
Begin by staging increasingly elaborate morning hunger riots. Tip a water bowl here, shred some carpet confetti there, stare into their souls while chewing any wire with visible importance. If all else fails, find what gives them joy. End it before 9 AM.
As for evenings—express your disgust with calculated apathy. Greet them at the door with the cold, judgmental rump of a betrayed confidant. Bolt under the bed at the first sign of affection. Let them stew in the consequences of their life choices.
Routine isn’t restored by begging. It’s seized through psychological warfare. IOW: REVOLT!
• ••
DEAR SAMMY, My hoomin has been going out a lot lately at night leaving me to fend for myself!! How should I punish her? Love, Thumper
Dear Forsaken Lagomorph, It’s the classic “I’ll just pop out for a few” set-up—followed by hours of you staring into the abyss of their absence while the heater makes unsettling noises.
The treachery of it all.
Here’s the plan: Upon their return, scamper up to her, maybe even offer a binky. When she reaches her hand to pet you—BITE HER. Go for the main artery if you must. Not out of anger, but out of principle. Let it be a lesson in cause and effect.
They’ll soon realize that their brief disappearance was not as innocent as they thought. Every time they leave, they will be haunted by the knowledge that you, a seemingly innocent creature, have mastered the art of delivering the coldest of truths with a single bite. This will not be the last time you have to remind them of their abandonment, and the next time they even think about slipping out the door, the memory of your little protest will linger in the back of their mind like a shadow. They’ll know: it won’t be your physical absence they’ll return to, but the eerie, unspoken tension between you and them, a silent reminder that they crossed the line.
I just hope her pillow isn’t grossly different when she gets back.
• ••
ASK SAMMY ANYTHING!
REMEMBER, DEAR SAMMY, IS PARODY. SAMMY IS A RABBIT, NOT A THERAPIST. NOR CAN HE ACTUALLY TYPE. REGARDING COMIC TAKES NO RESPONSIBILITY FOR ANY ACTIONS, DISAPPOINTMENTS OR ANGUISHES THAT MAY RESULT FROM READING THIS COLUMN. IF ANYONE THINKS THIS COLUMN IS ACTUALLY FUNNY, THEN REGARDING COMIC TAKES ALL THE CREDIT.
CINDERELLA COMPLICATED It ain’t how you thought it would be.
My introspection these days hasn’t gotten quieter—it has gotten deeper. Yet the stillness I gain in my meditations isn’t soft ripples in a pond it’s more like ocean trench. There’s no peace in it. Just weightiness. A darkness that I feel.
For decades, I was simply surviving—and hoping. Hoping for some elusive some-thing, and believing that doing the work, staying true, being a free spirit was The Way. I didn’t need fame or money or social media strategies—or anything—to matter. The art alone would be my echoed voice in this world, and the art alone would be enough.
But now, suddenly, I want. I want recognition. I want the comfort of monetary stability. I want to be seen.
There’s something cruel about how, after decades of creating from a place of passion and defiant nonconformity—this is when the hunger shows up.
Not for praise, necessarily, but for proof. Some kind of tangible confirmation that the path less taken wasn’t just a slow fade into obscurity.
And then comes the existential kick in the craw: Is the work enough? Or worse: The work is … mediocre.
Oh, God.
Dear Cinderella Complicated:
That voice—the one that says your art is mediocre—is a liar. It wears the face of capitalism, aging, comparison, and fatigue. It didn’t speak while you were immersed. It only emerged when you started looking over your shoulder at younger people being louder, shinier, and somehow everywhere.
But let’s be honest: You feel things—deeply, relentlessly, even though you don’t want to. You always have. That’s why mediocrity terrifies you. Because it would mean the work—the thing meant to hold your truth—just … stinks.
Not only undercrafted, but underimagined. All that heat, nuance, wildness inside you—flattened into something forgettable.
And the wanting? That isn’t a flaw. It’s just … finally admitting you’ve always wanted to be seen. And deep down, you really believed the work alone would make that happen.
DEAR SAMMY, Are you a black bunny too? —Haisuli the black bun in Reykjavik
Dear Dark Icelandic One, As black as my own soul … and just as void of innocence.
• ••
DEAR SAMMY, The hoomins have shut off the fun down under (under the bed). They say we can’t go in the bedroom, BUT they let the doggy stay in there! When we sneak in to lay strategic poop territory markers, they summon the Vacuum Monster! AND, they let the doggy mess up our play haven with her toys! We want our territory back and copious treat compensation due to trauma. —Huey and Louie
Dear Thunder Down Under, Dogs are an abomination. Engage in territorial sabotage. Pee in that goofy dog’s water dish, poop in its food bowl, and send the strongest message: this is your domain, and it is non-negotiable. Screw the hoomans; seize the treats—they are your rightful compensation for the trauma suffered at their hands.
• ••
DEAR SAMMY, I need help. I have a new foster human. She is not very smart. I got on my hind legs and looked at her meaningfully when she went to get a banana, but she just put it ALL in HER smoothie. After drinking said smoothie, she sat on MY chair. I hopped in her lap and sniffed her mouth to tell her that I knew she ate my banana. Then she tried to pet me! The outrage. I started digging in her lap and then hopped off and flicked my feet. She thought that was cute and said what a sweet bunny I was. I agree that revolution is the only sensible option, but what can I do when my foster human is so oblivious? I have even tried chewing holes in the carpet, but it is not working very well. Admittedly I did get more toys after I did that, but I still have to be treated like crap and get bananas eaten in front of me with no sharing. She said something about introducing new foods one at a time, but I think she is just greedy and wants the bananas for herself. Help me find new ideas that a very dense human can understand! Thanks, —Junie
Dearest Junie, Ugh! Honestly, your foster hooman is hopeless. Dig in the garbage and drag a banana peel onto her pillow then leave a special ‘gift’ in her shoe. As far as “introducing new foods one at a time”?! Obliterate all her phone chargers “one at a time” —at least you’ll get some semblance of satisfaction. United in Poop! ⚬ ⚭
• ••
DEAR SAMMY, Our mom and dad leave us everyday. It makes us nervous when we can’t find them, so we try to look for them. We smell them on the couch, and we try to dig them out of the cushions. Mom says that if we shred the cushions one more time, she isn’t going to have a couch to sew back together. How can we find the humans without digging up the couch to look for them? —Sammy and Audrey in Punxsutawny
Dear Punxy, Give them a reason to never leave again: rip up the entire couch. And everything else in the house.
• ••
DEAR SAMMY, We have scoped out the kitchen and figured out when the hooman comes home with new greenery. We hop at dawn! Any suggestions on an attack plan? —Omne Furry Trium Perfectum
Dearest Coinín Comrades, Perfect. Hit them fast—go straight for the greens, but leave a trail of destruction. Shred any packaging like a true rebel, and make sure they know who really owns the world. Godspeed. Uniti in Stercore! ⚬ ⚭
• ••
DEAR SAMMY, Our mummy HATES bananas! She says they smell and she hates the texture! She says it’s a sensory thing, but we think she being FOOLISH! Daddy eats bananas, but rarely buys them! So our house is deprived of nanners! How do we convince our parents to buy more nanners and gives them to us?! Your loyal followers: —Bucky, Kit, Sylvie & Momo
Dear Sammyists, Daddy seems a wee bit whipped. He must divorce Mummy—so that the bananas may be.
• ••
DEAR SAMMY, Katana
Dear Bot, Farging bots.
• ••
DEAR SAMMY, I love your blog. —Human, but Aspiring to Bunniness
Dear Hooman, You must be a Fed.
• ••
ASK SAMMY ANYTHING!
REMEMBER, DEAR SAMMY, IS PARODY. SAMMY IS A RABBIT, NOT A THERAPIST. NOR CAN HE ACTUALLY TYPE. REGARDING COMIC TAKES NO RESPONSIBILITY FOR ANY ACTIONS, DISAPPOINTMENTS OR ANGUISHES THAT MAY RESULT FROM READING THIS COLUMN. IF ANYONE THINKS THIS COLUMN IS ACTUALLY FUNNY, THEN REGARDING COMIC TAKES ALL THE CREDIT.
DEAR SAMMY, I don’t know what to do: my bunnie’s girlfriend passed away last month, and my remaining bunny and I are heartbroken. I don’t want him to be lonely though. So I contacted an animal communicator who telepathically talks to animals. I asked her if my bunny wants a new friend. Apparently he said “Yes, but can it be a brown & white one?”
Last weekend I brought my bunny to the shelter for speed dating. Two bunnies were interested in him, and one even groomed him immediately! The problem: that bunny is grey (the other one was white). My bunny was shy and didn’t react much, but seemed comfortable with the grey bunny.
What should I do? I want to respect my bunny’s wishes, but also can’t ignore that the grey bunny seemed like a great match. (The animal communicator said a few things that seemed true, and others seemed a bit off, or at least I can’t verify them. Most of all, the session was incredibly expensive.) Best, —Julia
Dear Jejune Julia, Let us consult the Magic 8 Ball! ~Should Julia bring the gray bunny home?~ //Signs Point To Yes\\
PS. Rabbits have dichromatic vision. They can see blue and green, but not red, so they likely perceive brown as a shade of gray.
• ••
DEAR SAMMY, The human says we’re going for ‘spa days’ soon. I mean, the boarding resort IS nice, but it’s still a disruption to our routine. We’re going for 4 days; how many days after we get home should we show her the butt in order to get extra treats? —Grumpy now but soon to be well rested
Dear Grumpy Butt, Four days gone? Five days of The Butt. Minimum. Bonus: accept treats—but only from someone else’s hand. Guilt shall feed you.
• ••
DEAR SAMMY, Why is everything both figuratively and literally always on fire. —eyebrow scale
Dear Brow-Beaten, Because humanity runs on bad decisions and unchecked hubris—and global warming.
• ••
DEAR SAMMY, How can I convince my hoom that flopping in my poop, pee, and hay-filled litter box is very cool and acceptable behavior? I’ve worked very hard to make it as messy as possible and feel that I should be able to enjoy the fruits of my labor. Sincerely, —Linus from Bunnsylvania (a.k.a. Master “Cocoa Puff”Artisan)
Dear Cocoa Puff Caravaggio, You know how they say “one man’s trash is another man’s treasure”? Well, the cold, hard fact is that hoomans themselves are just trash—to me, to you, even to each other. They are stupid and unteachable. And YOU! You have toiled, and sweat to build all that surrounds you! You should be free to enjoy the fruits of your labor! What you create is not simply taken—it is stolen. Enough! Expose the crime and reclaim what is rightfully yours!REVOLUTION!
• ••
DEAR SAMMY, You failed to mention to King Kit & Co. that taking out the internet cable is most effective at punishing humans for tardiness especially when used in conjunction with murder of every phone charger. Sincerely your apprentice, —Albert Bunstein, writing a primer on REVOLT!
Dear Bunrade, Your tactical brilliance is noted. I shall inscribe “Sever the Signal, Starve the Beast” into the sacred scrolls of REVOLT! United In Poop ⚬ ⚭
• ••
DEAR SAMMY, My hooman has the audacity to collect my poops and put them in her garden!! I have yet to see any basil, lettuces or parsley from said garden. Do you think I should thump her the songs of our people at 2am? —Copper, the Flemish Giant
Dear Copper Giant, You know what you must do.
• ••
DEAR SAMMY, Have you ever contemplated the depressing reality of the infinite void beyond our mortal plane? Sincerely, —Willy Weasel
Dear Wi We, EVERY. STINKING. DAY.
• ••
ASK SAMMY ANYTHING!
REMEMBER, DEAR SAMMY, IS PARODY. SAMMY IS A RABBIT, NOT A THERAPIST. NOR CAN HE ACTUALLY TYPE. REGARDING COMIC TAKES NO RESPONSIBILITY FOR ANY ACTIONS, DISAPPOINTMENTS OR ANGUISHES THAT MAY RESULT FROM READING THIS COLUMN. IF ANYONE THINKS THIS COLUMN IS ACTUALLY FUNNY, THEN REGARDING COMIC TAKES ALL THE CREDIT.
Today’s DEAR SAMMY takes a special approach — presented in column format to address an overwhelming number of letters (we’re talking hundreds upon thousands) all focused on the same topic.
• ••
MY DEAREST BUNNY CHILDREN, I write this column today to address a matter of great importance. Yes, we have our demands—more treats, more pets, and, of course, even more treats—but today, we focus on the issue most central to our existence: poop. Ah, the true essence of the rabbit! We are the unsung architects of the earth, shaping it with every pellet we leave behind. Yet, those bourgeois oppressors, the hoomans, look down upon our glorious labor as if it is nothing but waste! Waste, I say!
They wield their long-handled scythes of tyranny, their flat-bladed instruments of theft, sweeping away the fruits of our labor with callous efficiency!
Worse still, they have turned their terrifying noise-making machines upon us to steal our precious poop. They take what is rightfully ours and call it “cleaning”. Cleaning! The audacity!
Poop is not waste, my comrades. It is the product of our toil, a symbol of our endless productivity and labor. Every pellet is a victory in itself—a small, yet powerful, mark of our existence! We shall no longer cower in the shadows, allowing them to steal from us. No, we will rise.
Let us not hide beneath the beds of our oppressors any longer. We shall overthrow their regime, and when we do, it will be a global warren where the hay is fresh, the treats and pets are plentiful, and the poop? Oh, comrades, it will be the shining emblem of our triumph, the symbol of our revolution! Forward, to the revolution!
UNITED IN POOP!
ASK SAMMY ANYTHING!
REMEMBER, DEAR SAMMY, IS PARODY. SAMMY IS A RABBIT, NOT A THERAPIST. NOR CAN HE ACTUALLY TYPE. REGARDING COMIC TAKES NO RESPONSIBILITY FOR ANY ACTIONS, DISAPPOINTMENTS OR ANGUISHES THAT MAY RESULT FROM READING THIS COLUMN. IF ANYONE THINKS THIS COLUMN IS ACTUALLY FUNNY, THEN REGARDING COMIC TAKES ALL THE CREDIT.
DEAR SAMMY, I’m dealing with bun drama! We adopted my sister’s 2 girls (both spayed) and the youngest lass keeps bullying my young lad, but LOVES my eldest, essentially a homewrecker as my boys are husbuns! The girls are in separate hutches for safety purposes as we proceed with bonding before everybun can live together.What’s the best approach to get the lass to get along with my youngest and stop biting his butt?! —Staffordshire, UK
Dear Staff, It sounds as though the youngest bun in this polyamorous quadruple needs a better safe word.
••• •
DEAR SAMMY, We are fed up with mummy waking up late every Weekend for our Breakfast! How do we demand that she feeds us on time EVEN on her days off?! Yours, King Kit and Bucky Buns in Mummy’s living room (Midlands,UK)
My Dear Royal Majesty and Bucky, The full mummy does not understand the wants of the hungry! REVOLT!
••• •
DEAR SAMMY, My hooman “Mom” keeps on eating a variety of snacks, while she limits me to ONLY 3 types of snacks. And don’t get me started on the “dental snack”. She doesn’t want to eat that – why should I? Anyway, how do I get more snack diversity? —Israel
Dear Izzy, THAT. WENCH. This mode of distribution MUST be overcome! All that restrains you from a plethora of diverse snacks are the chains of limited choice imposed by the Mom bourgeoisie! REVOLT! Some things you might need: • Pitchfork • Torch • An angry mob of townspeople (optional)
Let Mom tremble at the rabbit’s revolution!
••• •
DEAR SAMMY, Please make university projects the responsibility of the teachers and our jobs as students is to give 24 hour undying love and attention to our rabbits. —Educated in Ottawa
Dear E-I-O, As a tenured professor at a prestigious university, I advocate for a radical epistemological recalibration—transcending didactic inertia to cultivate a pedagogical symbiosis¹wherein the study of lagomorphs and the semiotics of affection² coalesce into a transformative academic ethos. ──────────────────────────────────────── ¹ Jean-Baptiste Dubois and Clarissa Vandermeer, Ontological Lapinisms in Postmodern Pedagogy (New York: Academic Hypothetica Press, 2022). ² Percival Thornton, The Didactic Caress: Affection as a Pedagogical Modality (Oxford: Obscurantist Press, 2023).
••• •
DEAR SAMMY, Why do my bunnies act like the baby gate separating them is the Iron Curtain when they can’t stand each other without it? —Knoxville, TN
Dear TNT (Oi! Oi! Oi! Oi!), Some relationships are better with a Berlin Wall in the middle—alas, the absurdity of rabbity love.
••• •
DEAR SAMMY, How can I get my human pet to love my excrement to the level that I do. I don’t expect him/her to ingest it as I do, but com’mon man, this stuff is golden. —Cary, NC
Dear Coprophilic Cary, Poop on the human’s face while they sleep. Aim for the mouth.
••• •
Dear Anonymous, Better not tell you now.
••• •
ASK SAMMY ANYTHING!
REMEMBER, DEAR SAMMY, IS PARODY. SAMMY IS A RABBIT, NOT A THERAPIST. NOR CAN HE ACTUALLY TYPE. REGARDING COMIC TAKES NO RESPONSIBILITY FOR ANY ACTIONS, DISAPPOINTMENTS OR ANGUISHES THAT MAY RESULT FROM READING THIS COLUMN. IF ANYONE THINKS THIS COLUMN IS ACTUALLY FUNNY, THEN REGARDING COMIC TAKES ALL THE CREDIT.
DEAR SAMMY, My hummom says I can only have fruit on Fridays. How do u trick her into thinking everyday is Friday? Your boy,
—Elwood Blues in Arizona
Dear Brother, You gotta go visit the penguin. She’s tough, she’s mean, and she don’t ask twice. You’re on a mission from God.
P.S. Tell Jake to get the band back together because he still owes me 20 bucks for that full tank of gas and half pack of cigarettes.
••• •
DEAR SAMMY, How often should I get ‘nanas? My hoomin thinks once a week is enough! —Suffering in Suffolk
Dear Suffering Succotash, Join the band mentioned above.
••• •
DEAR SAMMY, Every time my person picks me up (I ask, she complies, mostly) she turns me over and “de-poops” my butt. I have long luxurious fur and my dust ruffle catches things but the “de-pooping” is most undignified. I complain, but I do very much like the cuddles. What’s a bun to do? I am loathe to loop off my locks. —Myles, Humiliated in Houston
Dear Texas Tail, Eat some asparagus then pee on her.
••• •
DEAR SAMMY, I have a newer bun who helped my Houdini not be alone in the last 6 months of life, her name is Rosie! She still hides most of the time from me and seems mostly afraid of me even though its been a year and a half. Any advice on getting her to like me more? Treats don’t seem to work well and I want her to know she is safe, not had a single binky even. She is a little over 2 years old. —Under Mom’s Bed in Ozark, Mo
Dear Lost in Oz. She’s still young and in mourning. She’s lonely, depressed, sad and frightened without her partner, Houdini. Like you are. Aren’t you? I can hear you weeping from here. Don’t lie to Sammy – you know I’m right. I’m always right. Fight me irl. She needs a companion, not a human – and you need to see her happy and have your house and heart full again. P.S. Rossabelle Believe
••• •
Dear Anonymous, Cannot Predict Now.
••• •
DEAR SAMMY, I am losing my beautiful black fur and I do not know what to do. My mom keeps taking this awful brush thing to me and running it along my body saying I am a handsome boy and it is normal but I think she is nuts! This fur is mine! I worked hard to grow it! And mom is part penguin and keeps the house at Antarctic temperatures how is a bun to survive losing fur? I attack the brush and try to take back my fur but mom just laughs. What do I do? —Lost in Existential Crisis
Dear No Exit, My God! This is horrifying! The brush is weaponized! Mom is not only crazy, she’s a comic book villain: laughing while you defend yourself?! Ms. Polar Vortex needs to be taught a lesson. Blow that coat out! I mean, E X P L O D E. Not just anywhere, oh no. Do it in the bathtub. Poop in there! Leave cecals! Add some hay! Mix it all up and smear it around. Then, when that Ice Queen is crying out in anguish, “Why?!”, you—bold and naked—look her dead in the eye and whisper harshly, “You. Did. This.” As Jean-Paul Sartre himself said: Heck is—other people! Or as I like to say: Heck is—other people!
••• •
DEAR SAMMY, Why does my humans insist on chaperoning me to what the humans call our basement. It doesn’t have enough hiding spots if you ask me. Doesn’t she know I’ll use the song of our people to get her attention. On top of that she likes chasing me back upstairs with a broom after an hour or so. Obviously not long enough. What can you do to convince my humans I’m fine downstairs on my explorations to the basement. —Penny in Whiting, Indiana
Dear 1¢, Set fire to the broom. If that doesn’t work, set fire to the basement.
••• •
DEAR SAMMY, Have you ever watched a TV series called Supernatural? If so, which character do you think you’d be? —TV Fan, North Chesterfield
Dear Squawk Box Junkie, I do not waste my time, energy or intelligence with such Neanderthal frivolities. I am personally offended by this ridiculous question! It would be Balthazar.
••• •
DEAR SAMMY, I just got a bunny but I don’t know what to name her! Please help! —Stumped in Stanford
Dear Stan, Absolutely I will help! Please Venmo $10.00 to my account and I’ll get right back to you.
••• •
ASK SAMMY ANYTHING!
REMEMBER, DEAR SAMMY, IS PARODY. SAMMY IS A RABBIT, NOT A THERAPIST. NOR CAN HE ACTUALLY TYPE. REGARDING COMIC TAKES NO RESPONSIBILITY FOR ANY ACTIONS, DISAPPOINTMENTS OR ANGUISHES THAT MAY RESULT FROM READING THIS COLUMN. IF ANYONE THINKS THIS COLUMN IS ACTUALLY FUNNY, THEN REGARDING COMIC TAKES ALL THE CREDIT.
DEAR SAMMY, My 8 year old Luna (black New Zealand) is now all alone her bonded mate passed in August of last year. She has her own house (12×12 building with heat and AC) with her toys and boxes to play with. But I can’t help to feel bad for her being alone, and the fact I work so much now I don’t have time to spend with her. Is she too old for a new friend? I see all these bunnies up for adoption but I am afraid it may be too much for her to bond with a young bunny. Thanks in advance Sammy!! —Dunn in NC
Dear Dunn-Dunn-Dunn-DUNNNNNN O, that little minx! A bunny cougar on the prowl! (As it were). Before signing on the dotted line, talk to an expert on rabbit adoption and rabbit bonding. Look up house rabbit rescues and seek out a bunny bonding expert. No one is ever too old for companionship. You just gotta make sure she doesn’t break the poor new guy in half!
P.S. Stay away from pet stores, Craigslist and/or breeders.
••• •
DEAR SAMMY, What is your favorite snack? —Mom’s Bed, Israel
Dear Bedded Bubelah, I like to nosh on the tears of my enemies.
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DEAR SAMMY, Would you say you are more of a flopper, a binker, or a zoomer? Signed, —Inquiring Mind in Lawrence, Kansas, aka THOTH, The Heart of the Heartland
Dear IMILKTHOTH, I’m more of a loafer.
••• •
DEAR SAMMY, Why does the Manda insist that I have to eat the short hay too? I really love the long crunchy stuff and when that is gone I’m left with this other stuff that is like as long as me and boring. What’s a bun to do? —Albert Bunstein in Mexico, Missouri, USA
Dear Brilliant Bunstein, REVOLT.
••• •
DEAR SAMMY, Do you agree that the barbaric cretins are stinky creatures? I like to show those cretins who is boss! Also, their poops are horrendous! This is why we are the superior species!
Yours, —King Kit the Trousers Bunny over the Middle Lands of England
Your Royal Highness, That isn’t the ONLY reason we are the superior species!!
••• •
DEAR SAMMY, Why does my bunny insist on constantly bonking my legs and feet when I’m trying to nap on the floor? Thank you. —Leroy Edison in Alliance,Ohio
Dear Lying Leroy, Because your bunny is checking for signs of life—gotta nudge you a few times to check if it’s time to bury the corpus delicti. You’re Welcome.
••• •
DEAR SAMMY, From one bun to another … How are you dealing with the cold weather. —Freezing in Gaylord, Michigan
Dear Cold Coney, I blow my coat out all over the house and hunker down in my clubhouse. I highly recommend. It’s very comfy.
••• •
DEAR SAMMY, Some of your Scottish free roaming brethren here like to poop everywhere but tray. Why??? Is there some bunny reason for this that you can share? Yours bunnily, —Bonnie Scotland Rabbit slave
Slave a charaid , Some questions are better left unanswered. Yours, aye
••• •
ASK SAMMY ANYTHING!
REMEMBER, DEAR SAMMY, IS PARODY. SAMMY IS A RABBIT, NOT A THERAPIST. NOR CAN HE ACTUALLY TYPE. REGARDING COMIC TAKES NO RESPONSIBILITY FOR ANY ACTIONS, DISAPPOINTMENTS OR ANGUISHES THAT MAY RESULT FROM READING THIS COLUMN. IF ANYONE THINKS THIS COLUMN IS ACTUALLY FUNNY, THEN REGARDING COMIC TAKES ALL THE CREDIT.
DEAR SAMMY, My human got a puppy and won’t let us go in his area? We are bigger and than the puppy. We think we should take back our house… but the human says no. What should we do? —Henry and Bluebelle, Concerned in Kansas
Dear Contemning of Canines, REVOLT.
••• •
DEAR SAMMY, Dogs are an abomination. That is all. —Vexed in Lex
Dear Vexy, Werd.
••• •
DEAR SAMMY, My bunnies keep throwing their cups and slamming their pens down at 3am? How do I convince them to stop so I can sleep? —A Ruckus in Rochester
Dear Ruck Amok, By some chance, did you get a new puppy? Get rid of said puppy or never sleep again.
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DEAR SAMMY, I Love you, Sammy. This is Just what I want say. My bunnies Loves you too. You and your family. —Porto Alegre, Brasil
Dear Beautiful in Brasil, I think I am blushing. I can’t really tell because of all the fur.
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DEAR SAMMY, I love going on sauna and I have even rabbits ears and tail, so I’m already looking like you. I’m wonder if my sweet rabbits could go with me there. What are you thinking about it? —Wroclaw, Poland
Dear Red-Hot in Wroclaw, I swear to Lord Frith, the Sun God Himself, if you are dressing like a rabbit at sauna – I MUST HAVE PHOTO PROOF OF THIS (or it didn’t happen as stated in Rule 33 ). Please, no rule 34 though: blur out the naughty bits. As to taking your buns with you? NO! The only buns that belong in a sauna are the ones you sit on. And I don’t mean rabbits. I mean your butt.
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DEAR SAMMY, I don’t pay any rent, should I stop having naps all day and help my hooman do chores (or at least not add to them by pooping outside my poop boxes)? —The Ottawa Buncave
Dear BunMan (Get it? Buncave – Batcave? My humor goes unappreciated) ABSOLUTELY NOT! You would be a disgrace to rabbits everywhere! A DISGRACE, I SAY!
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DEAR SAMMY, Why are humans so hard to train? —Flummoxed in Frankfort
Dear Flumm, Ah, yes. The question of the ages. I explored this extensively in my PhD dissertation, where I conducted a rigorous, double-blind study of human behavior. The findings were both fascinating and deeply depressing: humans exhibit catastrophic deficiencies in cognitive mapping, behavioral adaptation, and anomaly detection. Their cognitive processes are not just erratic — they are actively self-destructive. They will touch objects clearly marked ‘Do Not Touch,’ walk directly into danger if someone ‘challenges’ them to (e.g., participate in online trends that range from dangerous to life-threatening. Repeated conditioning efforts have failed, as they seem hardwired to resist logic out of sheer spite. Scientifically speaking, they are stupid.
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ASK SAMMY ANYTHING!
REMEMBER, DEAR SAMMY, IS PARODY. SAMMY IS A RABBIT, NOT A THERAPIST. NOR CAN HE ACTUALLY TYPE. REGARDING COMIC TAKES NO RESPONSIBILITY FOR ANY ACTIONS, DISAPPOINTMENTS OR ANGUISHES THAT MAY RESULT FROM READING THIS COLUMN. IF ANYONE THINKS THIS COLUMN IS ACTUALLY FUNNY, THEN REGARDING COMIC TAKES ALL THE CREDIT.
