Comments: Very funny! Loved the twist at the end, and who doesn’t fear and love the Rabbit Overlords?
“It’s Bassbinder, Sir”
At the Crackleberry Calendar, Note Pad, and Weapons-Grade Fissionable Material Production Laboratory, Marvin Bassbinder sat eating his lunch of cock-a-leekie soup. The spoon was reaching his mouth when the “We Have All Been Forsaken” alarm Klaxon blared causing Marvin to drop his bowl. The soup spilled onto his chest, burning his nipples because he was sitting in the middle of the cafeteria shirtless. The other employees stopped staring at Marvin and ran to the door, but it had locked automatically.
After pasting a dozen napkins to his wet torso, Marvin joined them. Through a rectangular window, he saw his boss, Mr. Tattler, standing on a conveyor belt, holding a cadmium rod and a 2013 calendar of The World’s Greatest Prime Ministers.
“Can’t you see what we’re doing here?” Tattler yelled, shaking the metal shaft like a club. “We create things that will be of no use in the revolution. What will you do when the rabbit overlords arrive and all you have to fight with is a note pad that says “I Love My English Springer Spaniel”? We must prepare before the bunnies start reading our thoughts!”
“Don’t worry, everyone,” Marvin said. “It looks like Mr. Tattler was in the glue processing room again. I’ll take care of this.”
“Put some pants on first,” someone shouted.
“Right,” Marvin replied.
“Underwear too.”
“Yes.”
Marvin put his clothes back on, finishing with the traditional top hat and brocade dickey of the head of security. He then used his keycard to enter the production floor. Mr. Tattler was ranting to one of the assembly workers.
“Twelve feet tall, that’s how big they’ll be, Ronnie. You won’t be smirking when the Lepus Lords force you to work in their carrot mines!”
“Mr. Tattler!” Marvin bellowed.
“Stay back, Musstinder!”
“It’s Bassbinder, sir.”
“Stay away, Frasshuffer.”
“Bassbinder.”
“Don’t attempt to stop me, Krisslender.”
“Bassbinder.”
“Really?” Ronnie said to Marvin. “How many times are you going to repeat your name?”
“Fine,” Marvin said. “Mr. Tattler, let’s go back to your office and lie down.”
“No, I won’t go, Cufflinker.”
“Bassbinder,” Marvin whispered.
“Dude,” Ronnie whined.
“Mr. Tattler, you’ve been huffing glue again.”
“How dare you? I am Benjamin Franklin Abraham Lincoln Howard Taft Tattler. I do not sniff glue.”
“Look out!” Ronnie suddenly shouted. “Rabbits!”
Mr. Tattler turned, and Marvin leapt to tackle him but caught only the cadmium rod. Tattler had ducked away and was now waving his shoes over his head.
“Everyone clap your shoes together! It will call the Majestic Order of the Pixies, and they will save us! Oh pixies, oh pixies, save us now! We love you, we love you, yessiree, oh wow and how!”
Marvin removed the stun gun from his utility belt. Mr. Tattler had taken a lot of volts already, so he hated to zap him again, but afterwards he could plug him in at the containment building and let his body run one of the generators. Tattler had formed a Venn diagram with packs of Mister Misty’s Musty Murky Moldy Mystery Myths post-it notes. He was standing in the area where the circles overlapped, talking to his loafers through a Dr. Scholl’s Extra Strength Sweat Absorbing insert.
Using Ronnie as a human shield, Marvin approached Mr. Tattler who threw note packs in defense.
“Crap, ow, dammit, stop, shit, son of a bitch, ouch!” Ronnie hissed.
With Ronnie’s face taking the beating, Marvin was able to get close enough to stun his boss. The man dropped to the floor with a weak “Marsha Pixie, come back, I want to marry you.”
Marvin hefted Tattler over his shoulder, took him to his office, and laid him on the sofa. He tucked a blanket around the older man’s chest, placing a stuffed animal next to him. Then he walked down the hall to the office of the company president. Marvin knocked and opened the door.
“Mr. Cottonball?”
The white, six-foot-tall rabbit sitting at an elaborate desk looked up. “Yes, Fusspimper?”
“It’s Bassbinder, sir.”
“Yes.”
“Mr. Tattler had another episode. I got him back to his office to sleep it off.”
“Hmm. This is happening far too often, Crasstinkler.”
“Bassbinder,” Marvin mumbled.
“I believe it’s time for Tattler to retire. I’ll draw up the paper work. I assume he tapped his shoes?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Please apologize to the Queen of the Pixies when her brood shows up. Tell her it won’t happen again. That will be all, Bassbinder.”
“It’s Bass . . . oh . . . never mind.”
END
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