Your assumptions about The Good Fairy expose your own bigotry. She’s not in the right here. All I’m trying to do, when I scoop up field mice and bop them on the head, is to preserve my own identity as a Little Rabbit. Not many people know that Little Rabbits are under threat. I’m hoping to change that through social media.

Some history: For nearly a century, field mice have been pulling the wool over your eyes and making you believe that they’re victims, just because I scoop them up and bop them on the head. Using this falsehood, they get special treatment and benefits, and all the while the correct power structure in which Little Rabbits rule over the forest civilization is eroding. But believe me, the natural order of things is to have Little Rabbits in charge. That’s the way it’s been ever since we were Little Rabbits in Europe. Scooping up field mice and bopping on them on the head is part of our birthright.

There’s this frog who totally gets me. He’s the only one.

Everything bad that has ever happened is a result of taking away power from Little Rabbits. Little Rabbits are much smarter than field mice. Let that sink in… If I didn’t scoop up field mice and bop them on the head, they’d mix with Little Rabbits and then what would happen? There would be no Little Rabbits. It would be Little Rabbit genocide.

In 1987, 103 field mice participated in a Florida University study. The study revealed tapping the head of field mice stimulates the neurons which produce serotonin, also known as “the happy hormone.” Given this incontrovertible fact I ask you, where’s your compassion for field mice? What about their happiness? YOU’RE the one who hates field mice.

In a forest where I can freely bop them on the head, field mice would be much better off. If you say you care about field mice — you, the Good Fairy, and the Forest Council which has recently issued a statement condemning my bopping field mice on the head — you’re a hypocrite. You don’t give a damn about field mice, their children, or babies. You’re just virtue signalling to convince yourselves that you’re better than me, Little Rabbit Foo Foo. I won’t let you get away with that, baby-hater.

The frog watches everything. I know he has my back. I call him Pepe.

The Good Fairy is the real racist, because she’s destroying Little Rabbit civilization. The Good Fairy needs to take her “I don’t like your attitude” sanctimony and shove it up her ass. Oh wait… I’m not supposed to say stuff like that anymore because it’s not politically correct. Remind me: Who’s being oppressed again?

Most field mice are undocumented, you realize, so you’re defending something illegal. ILLEGAL. Think hard about that. Meanwhile, the Good Fairy threatens to turn me into a Goonie, and no one cries out. Everyone has become desensitized to hatred directed against Little Rabbits.

On a side note, don’t believe the false doublespeak Gruffalo narrative which implies that field mice are clever. The Gruffalo is a cuck. Everyone knows that, and calling someone a cuck is the best, most damning, most devastating insult and not for a moment will I ever examine why I’m convinced of that. Read this excellent article I found on Reddit called “Are field mice mammals?” Take your red pill!

Sometimes, the other forest animals watch me, perplexed, as I scoop up field mice and bop them on the head. “What on earth are you doing?” they say. “And why do you keep calling people cucks?” “I’m a proud Little Rabbit,” I tell them, “and I’m committed to safeguarding the heritage of the European forest civilization.” To their follow-up question, I reply, “Yes, I am aware that most real-life Europeans think I’m just a strange Little Rabbit. I get asked that a lot.”

And after all my efforts, what happens? The Good Fairy still doesn’t like my attitude. She’s trying to silence me and suppress the truth by threatening to turn me into a Goonie. The Forest Council has approved the measure. But just you wait. The frog is going to rise up. The frog is strong and bold. My feelings for the frog are purely platonic, by the way.

Go ahead. Try to turn me into a Goonie. We will rise up. The frog will…. Wait. Where is the frog going? Hey, come back! Don’t spawn now! I don’t have any chances left! Wait! You’ll see! We will rule the world! We’ll be the master race again! We’ll all get book deals and aaaaaaaarrrrrrrrrggggggghhhhbhbhghh!

Women do anywhere between 10 to 20 more hours of housework per week than their husbands do, according to a study released this week. Some women were surprised by the results.

“I’m floored,” said Julie Marcus, a financial analyst. “On the other hand, this explains so much. Last night after dinner, my husband said, ‘Thanks for that snack, honey,’ and I threw a sack of navel oranges at him. I was like, ‘My goodness! Where is all this resentment coming from?’ Now I understand!”

“I admit to being somewhat taken aback,” a lab technician named Naomi Hyde said after reading an article about the findings. “I had no idea that laundry and cooking and grocery shopping and cleaning amounts to so many hours a week. But that definitely sheds light on my chronic fatigue, and also the fact that I hurled a cantaloupe at my husband while he was napping on the couch yesterday.”

Some women acknowledged that they did more housework than their husbands, but said the disparity had not always been that way.

“When we first got married, we agreed to divide all the chores equally,” Etta Glover, a human resources manager, explained. “And it worked! For about five minutes. Then we had a baby. Now I can’t remember the last time a pomegranate made it through the day without being aimed at my husband’s head.”

Even though the study resonated with most women, a few defended the institution of marriage as totally worth it anyway.

“It’s a trade off,” said Glover. “On the one hand, I do more housework. But on the other hand I get to exhaustively research and plan our family vacation every year. So that’s one whole week a year that I get to kick back and drink mojitos while my husband plays in the swimming pool with the kids. Besides, what else would we do with the persimmons?”

“What’s the alternative?” said Hyde. “If I were unmarried, I might have much less housework to do, but I’d still get stuck changing the lightbulbs. And eating more bananas.”

One woman pointed out that though the study was enlightening, it gave a false impression.

“It may be that I do most of the housework,” said attorney Greta Miller. “But that doesn’t tell the whole story. I’m also the primary caregiver for our toddler, and responsible for everything that goes along with childcare for the older ones. I do the homework with the kids, for example. And the baths. Packing their lunches and schoolbags. Birthday party planning. School plays. Teacher meetings. Staying home on their sick days. Medical stuff. Driving them absolutely everywhere. What was my point again? Oh yeah. That my husband reads them a story each and every night just after I slingshot a Bosc pear his way. It’s the absolute sweetest!”

When asked if they would like the balance in their homes to change, the women gave varied answers.

“It depends what you mean by that question,” said Glover. “If the question is, ‘Do you wish that your husband would share the work more equally?’ then the answer is, ‘Sure. Why Not?’ But if the question is, ‘Do you wish that your husband would somehow magically transform himself into a berry-eating Centaur?’ then my answer would be exactly the same.”

“Frankly, I can’t imagine it any other way,” Marcus said. “I mean I’m thinking about what it would be like if my husband was the one doing the extra housework. And it would be, like, you know. It would be . . . Actually sorry, I can’t imagine it. Does anyone have a stalk of rhubarb handy?”

Some women expressed the hope that younger millennial women would share the housework more equally with their partners.

“That’s exactly what our mothers thought it would be like for us — more equality between us and our husbands,” Miller said. “So yeah. Maybe their hope skipped our generation and will go to the next one? Only time will tell. But there’s a watermelon sale over at the Stop & Shop, so I gotta run.”

“I’m not really bothered about the findings,” said Hyde. “I mean, look at Hillary Clinton. She probably did those extra hours of housework every week for years. And even though some believe she had the more promising career when they graduated Yale Law School, her husband got to be president first. But now she’ll finally have her turn! Or not. Whatever.”

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Lead image: Pixabay