Big F'n Rabbits... With Guns!

By Gregory Gregyon

Celia is seeing rabbits in the woods at the bottom of her garden. Really, really big rabbits. And people are turning up dead, squashed to bits, and with bullets in them. What the hell, you know? Is she going crazy here? Or is there some terrifying kind of horrible conspiracy going on?
A monster movie in book form. About big rabbits. With guns.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Gregory Gregyon
• Release date: Jan 14, 2012
• ISBN: 9781465908766

Gregory Gregyon

I want to write stories that are short enough and simple enough to appeal to people that don't normally read because their attention gets distracted by playstations and internet porn and fluffy bunnies and things, but that also appeal to people who do love to read as much as I love to read. I also want to write b-movies in book form. Monster movies rule. Anyway, hello. Gregory Gregyon is not my real name. It'd be awesome if it was, though.

Book preview

Big F’n Rabbits… With Guns!

Gregory Gregyon

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2012 Gregory Gregyon

My mother and father are both fucking the sheriff. Separately, I mean. Not like a threesome thing. I’m the only one who knows it. Well, besides the sheriff, I suppose, but he doesn’t know that I know it, so he’s a few rungs down the food chain of knowledge, to mangle my metaphors beyond salvation. The irony is, if you forgive an eighteen year old American attempting to define something as ironic, when I told my mother I thought I might be a lesbian, she totally flipped the fuck out about it. Which was partly the intention of it all, but when she was threatening to kick me out of the house because my life is an abomination, I couldn’t help but want to tell her that her husband is ass reaming her boyfriend. My dad, by the way, doesn’t look like your typical gay guy. He doesn’t wear leather chaps to work or anything. He wears a suit, and drinks beer, and votes Republican, so he’s doing a pretty good job of covering it up. The sheriff, though, is as hollywood-gay as the hills, from his super shined shoes to his well groomed moustache. The biggest mystery in my life is not how my mother is fooled by the sheriff, but quite why he is fooling her in the first place.

Oh, other than the big fucking rabbits. That should probably take the prize for biggest mystery.

Why the sheriff and the old man are balling, that’s less of a mystery. We live in a pretty small town. The homosexual community here is small to the point of non-existence, and so they’re probably doing it out of lack of options. My dad, after all, is no catch. He’s fifty but looks a dozen years older, the last year of stress at work having bitchslapped him about the face and taken his knees from under him at least once a day until just getting out of bed in the morning presents him with a challenge. I remember when they started putting the big squeeze on him at the office. He didn’t say anything to us, but his behavior completely changed. He was taking walks down to the woods at the bottom of the garden every night, just standing there, gazing into them for hours on end, contemplating who knows the fuck what. Oh, and he started fucking the sheriff, too.

The sheriff, for his part, is something of a dish, despite his moustache. Sometimes, when he’s around and helping himself to a cup of tea whilst whichever one of his lovers he’s just finished boning is removing his fluids from their orifices, I look at that moustache, and wonder why it is that gay men so frequently have moustaches but so rarely have beards. I have no answer to this question. I have no answer to any question. But yes, the sheriff is a dish, with his workout shoulders and his jaw that looks like action man doing two rubix cubes in his mouth at once and his swept back blondness. So much so is he a dish that it makes me wonder whether my little sister Ashley is also fucking him. Ashley is fourteen years old and a whore. Not a literal whore, you understand, that takes money for sex, but an MTV whore that wears skirts that make women make jokes about belts and men run into the nearest private room and deposit their semen into one of their socks. Her life pattern, if broken down into simple terms, would look a little like this:

Age 0-2: eat and shit and sleep.

Age 2-13: play with Barbie dolls.

Age 13: develop breasteses.

Age 14: create a new sexually transmitted disease from the cocktail of already existing ones that reside in the festering sperm depository that is her cunt.

So now you know that I’ve got the secretly gay dad and the terminally oblivious mother and the cock addicted sister, you’re probably wondering what Hollywood cliché I am. Well… I’m none of them. Sometimes, when my mother is so drunk that she forgets to ignore me, she asks me why I don’t wear black clothes and dye my hair purple like the other fucking weirdoes. But I’m not a goth, or an emo, or whatever else it might be called. I have no obsession with death, I can’t understand the appeal of worshipping the devil, and I like pink, as most girls do. I’m not even depressed. I’m just… distracted.

Well, there’s a war on, for fuck’s sake. How can I not be distracted? I’ve become a little addicted to sensationalist doom-mongering on the internet, and so now I know for sure that Armageddon’s on its way, and bringing the kids with it. Maybe it’ll be the damn Arabs that cause it, you might think. I don’t know which prejudice you choose to embrace. Maybe you think it’ll be the North Koreans, or maybe the evil white men who run the Republican party, or the Jews that control the world, or the Indians and Pakistanians, or the Germans, reappearing from their latest attempt at pacifism and embracing its opposite once more, or maybe it’ll be an alien invasion, or whatever the fuck. I imagine it’ll be none of these things. What will it be?

I’ve already told you. I don’t know the answer. I don’t know shit.

But it’ll come, and come soon.

So there’s a war on, and enough media to keep me inhaling it all day, and I’m supposed to give a fuck if my mother is pissed off with the maid or my sister is fucking the newest pool guy? I’ll be honest, though, I do sympathize with my dad. He works for a pharmaceutical company, and there’s been some major fucking upheavals at his work for one reason or another, and they’re putting pressure pressure pressure on him, and so it’s no wonder he’s not coping well. You know how people say people turn grey overnight? It happened to my dad. Only to his skin rather than his hair. His hair is still blond: his skin is grey. He looks like a fucking Muppet or something. It’s apparently government interference, causing the stress. There’s always been government interference in his job, there’s bound to be when he’s off inventing new crazy drugs that can rid the world of diseases that the CIA created to wipe out Africa or whatever the fuck, but this government interference is different somehow.

But you probably don’t want to know about that. You probably want to know about the rabbits.

The first time I saw one was a month ago. Not a rabbit, you understand, but one of the big rabbits. I’ve seen lots of rabbits before. They live in the woods at the bottom of our house. Plus, I had one when I was young. It died, as is always likely to happen. My father told me it was in bunny heaven. But let’s stick to a month ago. I remember the exact circumstances, because, well, it’s not the kind of thing you forget. I was sitting, as I usually do at dusk, in the back garden, watching the sun lower itself into the woodland beneath. My mother and sister were in the kitchen behind me, having the most inane of conversations, distracting me from the clarity of mind I like to achieve whilst watching the sunset. My mother was complaining that there was nothing romantic about peeling carrots, and my sister was saying that the maid only has one night off a month, and my mother was saying all the same, our father had promised her romance when he’d convinced her to leave the city behind and ship off to the middle of fucking nowhere, and my sister was saying if there was no romance in her life she should do something about it, and I was imagining the whole world collapsing around me and nobody noticing. There had been a helicopter crash