Easter Bunny Goes Out of Business

“I’m late. I’m late,” said Mr. Bunniwunie.

“Indeed, you are,” said Uncle Sam.  “Hand over the pot of gold, for I owe wagons of such tender to places that lay east by east of east of here.”

“A bunny has neither rainbow, nor pots of precious stones.”

“Then I’ll have that pillbox hat and that green felt jacket, which keeps your worthless hide warm.”

“What, pray thee, will become of me?” asked old bunny, handing over all he owned.   

“Pray not,” said Uncle, as he collapsed the hat and slipped in a pocket.  “We separate such things from the reckoning.”  Of the vest, he shredded the fuzzy material and cast it to the wind.

“How did these vestments aid the cause?” asked Mr. Bunniwunie.

“As a citizen of the glen, you may ask,” said Uncle.  “But I shall never tell.  Of this, I will say only one thing: I have deprived you of your trappings as an example, least all bunnies delay to pay.”

“How shall I go forth, naked as I am?”

“Perhaps, you need welfare now,” spoke Uncle with a wink.  “How many offspring have thee?”

“Oh, many,” said Bunniwunie.  “My wife, Alice, and I have a collection of decorated eggs stashed about the shire.  Dyed in pastels of pink, blue and yellow.  Quite extraordinary this year if I say so myself.”

“Eggs, you say.” Uncle pondered.  “Un-hatched eggs are asset of considerable worth.  Are you being evasive?”

“Nay,” the bunny said.  “My business is known about the village.  Every child can vouch for me.  I am familiar to the media, especially this time of the year.”

“Then I shall offer an extension,” Uncle said.  “Sell your eggs and give Uncle a quarter to begin, a third for labor and a half upon the end.”

“Robbery,” protested Mr. Bunniwunie.

“Ssssh, call it not,” said Uncle, bending down low.  He whispered into one of Bunniwunie’s giant ears.  “Hatch your eggs, claim them as dependents, and I shall owe you.”

“Is it better to proliferate, than to toil and propagate my gifts of joy upon the world?”

“Indeed,” said Uncle.  “The Royal Accountant has proclaimed that a trillion taxpayers are required to settle our debt with eastern concerns.”

“But a trillion bunnies upon the glen will burden our resources, strip all things green and leave us hungry in the winter that shall surely come to pass.”

“Tsk, tsk, Mr. Bunniwunie,” said Uncle.  “We must solve one problem at a time.”

The End

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