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Our Visit to the Bunny Museum: 24,000 Freaky Bunnies

While Mia Matsumiya was in town there was one museum we visited that stood out above all others: The Bunny Museum in Pasadena, California. The Bunny Museum is the home of Candace Frazee and her husband Steve Lubankski. It is the home to over 24,000 fucking bunnies (3 real, 23,997 fake).  They even have a placard on the wall from the Guiness Book of World Records proclaiming the world record for most bunnies.  Mia and I had tried to visit the museum the last time she was in town, but the museum was booked the one day we were free (you have to call ahead for an appointment, as literally dozens of people visit the museum a month.)

I think technically the term "fuckload" means 24,000.

Mia and I joked about opening a rival museum in a house across the street with 25,000 bunnies just to piss off the Frazee-Lubankskis.  I think that would be a funny prank to spend my mountains of Scooby-Doo 2 cash on.  The funniest part is I could give two shits about bunnies.  I'd just do it to be mean, and destroy the lives of these nice, loopy people.

The vibrant and accomodating Candace herself showed us around the house.  At one point I used the word "rabbits" to describe what we were looking at, and Candace glared at me like I had called these porcelein things "niggers."  I didn't want to use the N-word so I thrust my thumb toward Mia and said, "What? Is that like if I called this one here a 'gook'?"  Candace said no, it's just that "bunnies" is more cute. And if Candace is about anything, it's about the cute.

(It was around this time that Mia started thinking of many awesomely racist names to call me: Milk person, chalkie, creamface, Crayola flesh, nothing-skin, ghostie, albino lite, etc. Personally I prefer "mayonnaise monkey", which was suggested by one of my Twitter-followers, @washeteria.)

Candace and Steve's collection started sixteen years ago.  They called each other "Honey Bunny" so Steve gave Candace the very first bunny, the plush rabbit in the photo above.  I found this all very romantic. So romantic, in fact, that when Candace left the room I jerked off all over the stuffed rabbit's face.

Fuck. I just realized I used the word "rabbit" above. Sorry.  From now on I'll refer to them as "redskins."

I have very little interest in fake redskins, but I do love real redskins. So I was pretty excited to feed this redskin here some kale we bought from the Vons down the street. The other two redskins were hiding under the couch, and they supposedly weren't as blind and old as this one. But it was still pretty cool feeding it, even though it was the worst one.

Candace kept telling us to make sure to go out to the backyard. It seemed to be very important – I guessed it would be either some giant steel rabbit sculpture, or a giant, bunny-shaped man-eating plant that Candace fed all the bunny museum visitors to.

When we got out there, we were a little confused.  There was a big stack of trash and crap in the middle of the yard and most of the rabbits were fucked up or broken.

I was a little pissed off about the broken rabbits.  I mean, what the hell, are you really counting this thing without a head as one of the 24,000 bunnies?  I had half a mind to call up Guinness and tell them they need to strike at least one bunny off that 24,000, because this is fucking redonkulous.

I mention the word "redonkulous" because when my brothers and I were younger, we used to play this fun game: When one of us had a date with a brand new girl, the rest of us would come up with an embarrassing word or phrase that brother would have to use on the date.  For example, "redonkulous," "Isn't that special?" (in the church lady's voice), "I love to rock out with my cock out," "touche," etc.  We'd have to use this phrase as if we were completely serious.  We weren't allowed to make an ironic face or do air-quotes (well, unless air-quotes was the dare of the night.)  Anyway, it was a lot of fun, and made getting laid a lot more challenging. I strongly suggest it for infantalized bromantic males all over the world.

Back to the backyard…

This place had some of the creepiest rabbits of all time.

On our way back inside, we passed by the refrigerator. I started getting obsessed with what she was counting as a bunny.  Because if she's counting all these refrigerator magnets as bunnies that is some seriously fucked up shit. A refrigerator magnet isn't a bunny! Especially when it's a carrot.

Candace explained that her backyard was her "garden of broken dreams," where they plant broken bunnies so that new bunnies will grow. I didn't have the heart to tell her that this was never in a million years going to work.

I was happy to see that Candace and Steve had stuffed all their former rabbit pets and put them in a glass case. And by "happy" I mean "fucking horrified."

Even worse I found THIS THING next to one of the rabbits. Candace had stuffed her dead kitten so that it could sleep peacefully forever more. And by "peacefully" I mean "I'm going to vomit all over this stuffed kitten."


We asked Candace what the weirdest bunny she had was. She showed us this "Elvis Parsley" bunny. HAHAHAHAHA!  Get it?? Elvis PARSLEY!… Urm… Mia and I were both probably visibly disappointed.

So then Candace got out THESE RABBITS.  And – I am not kidding – THEY ARE MADE OF SHIT. We perked right back up: Candace knew how to make us happy.  The brown one was made of cow shit and the gray one was made from zoo animal shit.

Mia and I were so excited over the poo bunnies that Candace said, "I know what a couple of perverts like you want to see!" (I'm serious she said this), and then she showed us this rabbit.

It has a cock. For reals.

At about this point, Candace asked what kind of photos we were getting, and Mia started showing her the pictures on her camera.

Candace FREAKED OUT when Mia got to this one, because there are signs everywhere saying not to touch, and Mia is not only touching this bunny high chair, but she also moved it to go behind it for this photo opportunity. AND it was in an area which is completely off limits to bunny museum patrons!  Candace was pissed!  I was so glad she hadn't seen the photos on my camera of me masturbating on Honey Bunny Prime.

From then on, Candace endlessly mentioned how "naughty" Mia was and "what a very, very bad girl" she was and how she "deserved a spanking." At first it just seemed chastising, but after it went on it seemed to become somewhat lascivious in nature. And – hey, I may be wrong – but I was pretty sure that she wanted to eat Mia's pussy.

That's about 33% short a really awesome threesome.

Anyway, after about an hour and a half in the Bunny Museum, it was time to go.  Yes, it's ridiculous.  Yes, it's outlandish.  But it's also the greatest museum I have been to in my life.  The single-minded bunnyriffic purpose of it is overwhelming.  And, despite all my joking around in this blog, Candace makes an extraordinary host. Yes, she's kooky, but I'm not really one to talk.

I strongly, strongly suggest everyone go on their next visit to L.A.

The Bunny Museum 1933 Jefferson Drive Pasadena, CA 91104 (626) 798-8848 (call ahead for appointments!)

As Candace would say, "Have a hoppy day!"


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