Carrots of Doom
Night crawls over the suburbs with a stale chemical hush,Lawns shiver in the wind, plastic flamingos upended and crushed.Somewhere in the static of streetlights and the stench of garbage bins,Rabbits with eyes like burnt-out fuses hatch impossible, wicked sins.Forget the calendar bunnies with blue ribbons and tilted heads,Tonight, the alley teems with saboteurs, all teeth and grudge and threadbare threads.Nobody sees the first wave hopping through the garden mulch,The silent marauders, wielding carrots, plotting a vengeful, sugar-crazed pulch.
A widow counts pills in her kitchen, believes nothing stirs but mice,But the pantry cracks open—a bunny appears, knife-bright carrot, eyes cold as ice.It sniffs the air, the widow’s heart pounds, the television flickers,The rabbit sits up, then swings, the carrot splitting light, sharp as scissors.Her obituary is brief: “Natural causes,” they’ll claim,But no one finds the orange-stained gouge, or the gnawed-out name.Children giggle in the cul-de-sac, trading horror stories for kicks,Mocking monsters and vampires while bunnies rehearse their bloodthirsty tricks.
Every block party ends the same: hotdogs, beers, confetti, a runaway grill,But tonight, the bunnies crash the scene, carrots raised, ready to kill.Frank from next door tries to kick one, his sneaker meets fur and then snaps—The rabbit counters with a carrot so jagged, Frank’s toe is all that’s left on the grass.Panic erupts, neighbors scatter, barbecues overturned, meat left to smoke,As a rabbit sits on the swing set, carving initials into the wood with a carrot’s poke.Dogs cower under cars, cats leap the fence and don’t look back,A rabbit nibbles a tire, then pops it with a carrot, just for the crack.
The news crews show up, blue jackets and empty bravado,Reporters sneer at the carnage, call it mass hysteria in Ohio.Their laughter dies with the click of carrot on collarbone, a red spray on lens,The live feed cuts as a bunny gnaws a microphone, then chews through the van’s rear end.Carrots of doom, they laugh, carrots of doom, the anchor tries to say—But his final words are drowned by the squeal of tires and a bunny eating the toupee.Cops barricade intersections, radios squawk, badges shine,But rabbits burrow under the cruisers, then spike tires in a perfectly synchronized line.
No one believes the scale until city hall is breached,A sea of fluff, a storm of orange, every inch of marble besmirched and bleached.The mayor is discovered clutching a carrot like a crucifix,His body riddled with tiny holes, his mouth stuffed with produce and licorice.Husbands try to save their wives, children try to hide,But the bunnies pop up in toilets, claw through walls, and ride elevators with pride.Everywhere a carrot gleams—once a snack, now a shiv,Each bite brings a new shriek, another reason not to live.
And in the night, the rabbits gather, post-coital and exhausted,Sharing a smoke, giggling over body counts, nothing left unexhausted.One drags a carrot across a neighbor’s sleeping chest,Tracing obscene messages, vandalizing the rest.Mothers find stuffed animals ripped apart by dawn,Real rabbits sitting among the fluff, grinning, violence drawn.Nothing can stop them—not traps, not poison, not pleas for peace,A bunny with a carrot is a judge with a sentence that will never cease.
Supermarkets become slaughterhouses, aisles thick with fur and gore,Bunnies ride shopping carts, hurl carrots like spears, barricade the automatic door.A man tries to buy his way out—offers lettuce, cabbage, tears—But the rabbits want only chaos, more carrot-fueled fears.In a cheap motel, a woman undresses, unaware her fate is sealed,She gasps when the curtain twitches, a bunny appears, carrot upraised, pleasure and death revealed.Her scream is lost in the mattress, her last sight a cottontail,Her corpse found later, carrot jutting, crime scene details never mailed.
Night after night, the slaughter repeats, no sanctuary left,The police surrender, the priests pray, the comedians bereft.By sunrise, the rabbits own the city—carrots stuck in fire hydrants, streetlights, throats,Graffiti written in pulp and seeds, a warning in the smoke.The last survivors huddle in closets, armed with celery and despair,Knowing the bunnies will sniff them out, drag them into the glare.The only lesson written: never laugh at a rabbit or its snack,For when carrots turn to weapons, no one makes it back.
No monument is built, no hero remains,Just a field of abandoned cars, and orange stains.Every child who survives dreams of twitching noses, claws, and doom,And every adult knows the joke: you never beat the carrots in the room.Carrots of doom, last thing anyone feels,The world ends, not with a bang, but with bunnies spinning the wheels.