Modern Primate

So far, the Presidential nomination process has supplied the American people with enough facepalms and uncomfortable laughter to last every man, woman and child well into 2013. Lost in this torrid shitshow has been the subtle art of political slashfic—UNTIL NOW. Each week I’ll select a particular media artifact (a picture, video clip, or ill-conceived comment) and will write a story based on the people, places or things contained therein. Today, Rick Santorum breaks for Easter! 

“Mommy will you fix my bunny ears?” Ricky Santorum asked.

Mrs. Santorum finished applying her lipstick and shot her son a dangerous look.

“I just fixed them,” Mrs. Santorum said. “All you do is squirm.”

Ricky was excited because it was Easter, which meant he got to wear his normal pajammies to his church’s egg hunt. He’d always worn his pajammies on Easter, but last year one of the kids asked if he was a rabbit, because of the smell. Ricky thought this was a good idea, so when he got home he glued a bunch of cotton balls to a catcher’s mask and asked his mom to help him sew two old socks to a headband he’d found on the walk home. Today was the first time he’d be wearing his Easter outfit outside!

Once he was all dressed, Ricky wandered down to the kitchen. He opened the refrigerator and looked for those orange sticks his mom made him eat sometimes. “Mom!” Ricky yelled. “Where are those orange sticks?”

Mrs. Santorum didn’t answer. “What is wrong, Doc?” Ricky asked. He booped out his bunny bottom and wiggled his tail.

_

After Church all the little kids followed Ricky into a field, where he’d dumped out a few containers of eggs. The winner of the egg hunt would get a special prize—an Easter basket filled with the most delicious chocolate treats. “I made them myself,” Ricky told all the kids.

“What’s that smell?” one of them asked.

Ricky shrugged, and half the cotton balls fell off his mask. Why were people always asking him that?

_

Mrs. Santorum said Ricky should air out his pajammies, so instead of driving back with her he walked the whole way home. In a parking lot outside a Dunkin Donuts, Ricky spied another person in a bunny costume and skipped over to say hello.

“Hello other bunny,” Ricky said. “I’m running for president!” He smiled so big the rest of his cotton balls fell off.

“Hello,” the bunny said.

“That’s a cool costume,” Ricky said. “Did your mom help you make it?”

The other bunny didn’t answer. Ricky felt a funny hotness in his face. The bunny sure looked strong.

“Do you have a name, other bunny?” Ricky asked. The hotness in his face was moving down his throat. Suddenly his palms were very itchy.

“Michael,” the other bunny answered.

Ricky couldn’t think of what to say next. “I like your mouth,” he finally said. What a funny thing to say! But it was little and painted pink, like a shoe.

“What else do you like?” Michael asked.

“You look soft,” Ricky said. He and Michael stood there quietly. Ricky was suddenly feeling very fuzzy.

-

That night Ricky had a hard time falling asleep. Not even his Glowbear Bible was helping. His face kept getting hot, and there were all these little bits of chocolate stuck to his bunny suit. “I must have sitted on a Reese’s,” he told his mom. Mrs. Santorum was very cross and sent him to bed without any warm milk.

Ricky sighed and flopped over on his tummy. Maybe tomorrow he’d go out looking for his new friend Michael. But how would he recognize him, without the suit? Ricky thought and thought until his head started hurting and he drifted off to bunny dreamland.