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How far the mighty have fallen.  As a young Roger Rabbit I watched my beloved Jessica star in movies and appear on the cover of Playboy! True – I was themodel for the Playboy Bunny logo and in my early days Hef and I would sit together and pick the next Bunnies (human females, of course).  He often tested the merchandise while Imodeled for Easter candy makers and a wide assortment of other products.

My distant cousin Bugs was all the rage back in those days as well – but he only got paid in carrots. Swindled by his agent. Later, though, our mutual attorney Elmer O’Hare negotiated a new contract that provided for his nine hundred children and grandchildren to attend Briarwood University. And Bugs got a lifetime supply of pork products, which he traded tothe Chinese for bok choy and snow peas.

Yes, life was going quite well for me – hot wife, Hollywood lifestyle, pals with Hef – and even health insurance.  But then there was that nasty business with Marvin Acme – I mean why would I murder some dirtbag for not giving me my own strip show in the newspapers? Remember newspapers?

It was just a bit later that I got the idea. I mean, without all the makeup and threads – and other “enhancements” – I was just as much a regular rabbit as any of Bugs’ grandchildren. And I had tired of the fame – and the notoriety.  Jessica got a hare up her legs (if you know what I mean) – and I was just not feeling it any more.

THEY WANTED ME TO STAR IN A NEW SERIES CALLED EASTER ISLAND EASTER BUNNIES.  

BUNNIES DON’T LAYEGGS – OR EAT OR DELIVER THEM, I INSISTED. BUT THEY SAID IT WOULD BE A HIT.

The whole idea offended my sensibilities.

And then I read this report from a washed-up songwriter about how he had been down in Key West and found this bar that a bunch of supposedly dead musicians were running under assumed names. No stress, nopress, no demands for “another single.” Tom Petty knew that pressure.

And I thought – why not fake my death and join them? I mean,I can wait tables, right? And they surely are not gonna tell MY secret because theirs would be out as well.  

To carry out my plot, I went back to my old rival Baby Herman and we wrote a script in which I get killed. Only just like future history, someone slips a loaded pistol into the scene (or so the public was told) and I actually end up (apparently) dead. The whole place goes berserk – giving the real me time to slip away – and so the story is put out that someone stole my dead body and buried it in Joshua Tree.

Janis and Jimi were glad to have me at their place in Key West. Both had been big fans of my work, and both were envious of my close relationship with the notorious Hugh Hefner. They were eager for all of my stories, as were the other former celebrities now living under new names withnew faces to boot. Plastic surgery works wonders.

My first week there I mostly checked out the local scenery. Jessica had left me for Hef, so that bridge was burned on both ends. And I was a bit lonely, being the only rabbit at the bar. My day job was as host – keeping the people waiting for tables entertained and bringing them drinks and stuff to tide them over until they could order their dinners.

Did I mention the menu was all vegetarian and seafood? No rabbit on the menu. No beef, either. Not even turkeys would be served. I ate well.

Yes, we were open nine to five – and oddly enough, Dolly Parton was in on the secret and visited once in a while. She always reminded me of Jessica – and (hush hush) one afternoon we were at the beach and .. well I had better not tell THAT story.

Was I happy? Did I miss Hollywood? Yes, I was happy, and No – Hollywood had lost its appeal. And its ability to make good movies featuring guys like me. Our restaurant was popular – we even decided to have dress-up nights and our once-famous stars made the most of the opportunity to pretend they were themselves – or more often, their wanna-be’s.  

Once I dressed up as Peter Cottontail – but I won’t do that again.  The crowd kept wanting me to sing, “Here comes… “ and I just couldn’t do it. He WAS an ancestor of mine – half a century before my time. But HEdidn’t sing, either – and I still don’t know why people thought I should.

Well, that’s my story, written in my own paw. Gotta get back to work. Another busload is due in any minute – Japanese tourists with cameras.They love our seafood – and we always stock up on seaweed when we know they are coming.  I don’t eat that seaweed stuff.  I stick to carrots and bok choy.