When I was a child I was scared of the Easter Bunny. Something felt off about a six foot rabbit breaking into a house at night to give kids chocolate. My experience with the furry fandom has not changed this opinion. /1 https://twitter.com/boozybadger/status/1249393658903826432

My grandfather, who was a very rough individual and was, in many ways, uncultured, did not understand this. And so, when he discovered a bunny burrow by the garage in his backyard, he proceeded to tell me it was the Easter Bunny’s home. /2

This could have led to any number of humorous misunderstandings, but Grandpa was a rough, crusty southern man who once blew a hole through the overhang of his own roof with a shotgun while taking a nap, so we know that’s not where this is going. /3

Instead, one year my grandfather had a BBQ, and the whole family was there in his yard. Except for me. I refused to go in the yard. Instead, I sat in his living room with Grandma Stabby, and we watched the rest of the family enjoy themselves through the screen door. /4

Because, you see, the Easter Bunny lived in the back yard.

And when Grandpa tries to get me to go out, I insisted I would not. Because the Easter Bunny was there. And I didn’t want the Easter Bunny to get me. /5

And this confused Grandpa. So he went out to his garage, and then into the back yard. And then, a few moments later, there was a loud bang and my dad yelling “WHAT ARE YOU DOING?” at his father. /5

And then the screen door burst open, revealing my grandfather with his varmint gun in one hand and a dead rabbit in the other, with a big smile as he bellowed “DON’T WORRY BOY! I DONE GOT THAT EASTER BUNNY FOR YOU!” /7

...I believe my scream was heard in Nashville. And we weren’t allowed back at Grandpa’s for a little while after that.

And that, friends, is the story of how my well-meaning but very rough grandfather murdered the Easter Bunny one year because I wouldn’t go to a BBQ.