The infatuated Mr. Morgan M Morgansen made his way through the streets, fastidiously checking his reflection in the nearby window of a corner shop. He simply had to look his spiffiest, as the subject of his undying infatuation was scheduled to meet him at this very spot punctually at three o’clock in the afternoon. He sighed, awaiting the arrival of his most beautified beloved.
However, when she appeared at the fancy corner shop, she was not entirely herself. Her see-globes glittered with distress, and her redstained lips trembled with anguish. She promptly pulled Mr. Triple M from his seat, tears appearing on her porcelain skin.
Now our Mr. Morgansen, his beloved being highly distressed, felt her very demonstrative sorrow, but couldn’t imagine what had caused it. The mysterious ways of the feminine were not his to understand. But his secretive love only pulled him away, taking him to her little white cottage with a white picket fence. Inside this white picket fence was a floral array of daffodils and tulips and lilies. But her beauteous arrangement of flowers did nothing to put the smile back on her cherry-red lips. For inside this white picket fence were the little bunny cousins and grandparents and strange relatives of a certain Bleedy Bunny.
Now it occurred to Mr. Triple M that his beloved should have been most happy with her vivid garden. That is, until she pointed out to him that a certain bunny relative was missing from her flowery garden teeming with life. Mr. Morgansen immediately took it upon himself to find the kidnapper of the lost floppy-eared, hoppy-happy animal.
When he was fully equipped with his round magnifying glass, he embarked his painstaking search. He search high and low, far and wide, upways and downways and aroundways and horizontalways and verticalways and diagonalways. Until…ahah! A clue had our Detective Morgan M Morgansen found, and what a clue it was!
He recognized the little sheet of paper , for it was a menu from a restaurant of specialty significance to him and his beloved, the place where they had first met. That night she had turned him from his bleedy bunny consuming era to a life without loneliness, and full of capricious, amorous whims. He made his way to the restaurant with such speed, mussing up the hair and moustache he had fixed with such persnickety detail. He ran through the doors, past the penguinous waiter who raised an eyebrow curiously, through the feline orchestra, and into the fattified chef’s kitchen.
Our Detective Morgansen was just in time! The little bleedy-bunny relative would not meet the same fate as the original bleedy bunny that had caused Mr. Triple M so much discord with his beloved. Mr. Morgensen scooped up the little bunny, chided the chef for his insensitivity to those eaters who were inclined towards vegetation over carnivorous alternatives, and strutted out the door.
He rushed the little bunny into the arms of his lovely feminine counterpart. Her see-globes alighted, her mouth curved upwards, and she persisted in thanking Mr. Morgansen in a very passionate way.
The bunny was returned to its flowery home in the garden of Mr. Morgansen’s beloved’s home. And Mr. Morgansen returned to his horizontalized position next to his lovely significant other.
The original story is not mine, but I saw a bleedy bunny story going around and it sparked an idea. If the original author hates it or doesn't want others making up new ideas about the characters, ignore my sillyness. I just wrote this on a whim; I always thought Mr. Triple M would make a very distinguished detective.
Created: Feb 05, 2010chelsea Document Media