Qu'ils mangent de la brioche

It seems to me as though people are asking me for a story. So far my blogs have been going nowhere, and like my life, I like it that way... Yet I also like popularity. I enjoy spending my Sunday evenings refreshing the stats button on Blogspot.com and finding that I have three readers from America, and I shed a slight morose tear when I find that those readers have fallen to one. So if its a story you want, then, my humble droogs, it is a story you will have...

One day there was a rabbit, his name was Dave. Dave was a simple soul, not particularly intelligent, or liked for that matter. He had his loyal band of brothers, but they were drab with very little charisma or zest for life. Dave worked in the carrot factory, mashing long orange vegetables all day for bunnies and other small furry creatures that weren't able to consume solids til over the age of 9 months.

Dave, like many other rabbits of his generation had gone to bunny school, then to university, but he always knew what was imminent... death, lol, JK, a wife. Dave had one tooth longer than the other, and very unbridled hair that made him look something of a Rabbit tramp. His mother had always referred to him as 'Dave, my precious Hobo', which was understandable, because the day, the hour, the minute in which this story is set, Dave was wearing trousers which fell messily to reveal the tops of his Superman underpants and a square white shirt covered with carrot stains from his lunch.

Dave was walking down the road when all of a sudden....

'Let them eat cake', Marie Antionette, one of the most infamous women in history never gave the people what they wanted, and neither will I.

Note to readers, when I typed in 'like a carrot' on google to aid my story-telling, this is what came up http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/User:Carrot-like ... I don't know whether it was the true randomness of this page, or the fact that everything written sounds exactly like my boyfriend.