Mr. Bun Hates Tacos
General Disclaimer: This story may contain scenes of a graphic and/or sexual nature. As such it is not suitable for view by persons under the age of eighteen. Please respect the law in your area, it's in place for your own good.
Mission Statement: This story was written and collaborated on by one or more members of TheMishMash. We are a team of like minded friends who strive to bring humor, drama, adventure, and sordid affairs to the masses. Comments and questions are always welcome and we can be contacted through our user page here on SoFurry. Please denote who you're asking for when leaving a message. Sincerely... Ghoti, Bones, and Scratch.
Mr. Bun Hates Tacos
Written by: Ghoti (Extra funny provided by Bones)
Content: This story... Yeah... It's about Mr. Bun. And tacos. Just read it. You won't regret it. No Yiff.
Personal Notes: Ghoti says, "Mr. Bun... Mr. Bun does not like tacos. And although that particular part of the story doesn't come into play until the end, I'm still quite proud of everything that leads up to it. I've tagged this as 'humor' because I can't read all of it without laughing. If some of you find that I've mislabeled it, I apologize. You also have my sympathies, because your sense of humor is broken."
Mr. Bun was a toy. A blue terrycloth plush rabbit to be precise.
He was fully aware of his existence as a stuffed animal. He could not remember having been made however. Indeed, considering his age, he couldn't remember very much before his arrival at The Empire at all. He did recall being plucked out of a cardboard box which contained several other toys by an elderly, and somewhat crotchety opossum.
The aging proprietor of the shop gave Mr. Bun a cursory look over then unceremoniously laid him on top of a pile of other plushies. Mr. Bun had a moments concern for the plushies he sat upon but quickly disregarded their plight in favor of his own when the next 'child safe' toy was laid on top of him.
For the next several days Mr. Bun was left to contemplate his unique predicament with nobody to share his thoughts with. True, he shared the heap with other stuffed individuals, but after a few hours spent trying to convince a stuffed fox to kindly remove his foot from Mr. Bun's left ear, it became apparent that they were either dead (A singularly chilling thought) or simply assholes. Either way, none of the rest of the toys, whether by incapability or abject snobbery, seemed interested in what he had to say.
Sometimes animals came into the shop to look around and happened by the toy heap. And sometimes they would pick up a plushie and give it a look. Sometimes that plushie was even Mr. Bun. But these fleeting inspections served little purpose other than to temporarily relegate him to the top of the pile. Ever the optimist, Mr. Bun took these opportunities to gloat to the other toys, now beneath him.
Then, on a particularly gloomy day, Mr. Bun's luck changed. In the following weeks, he often found himself wondering whether it had changed for the better or worse, but he was satisfied there HAD been a change. It started when the bell over the door to the shop jingled, and Mr. Bun, from his fortunate location on the side of the pile facing the shop entrance, saw a particularly severe looking rabbit girl approach the cash register. The owner, whom Mr. Bun had learned was named Hatcher, didn't look up right away, and the girl, looking to Mr. Bun as though a reception of streamers and confetti wouldn't have made her happy, cleared her throat before speaking.
"You the only one minding this dump, Grandpa?" She said. Mr. Bun was torn between mild fear of the girl's attitude and respect for her fearless assertiveness.
Mr. Bun fancied himself a learned observer of the animal condition.
The possum looked up from his paper and gave the girl a mildly curious look. "Can I help you, Miss?"
"I doubt it, if you aren't even able to answer my question." She replied. "Is there anybody else working here of not?"
"I hire on helpers from time to time. But they never seem to last long." Hatcher gave the girl a look that seemed to challenge her boldness. "They say, I'm too rough on them."
The brown furred rabbit returned the challenging look. "You need any help right now? They say I don't break easy."
Mr. Bun took notice of the girl's paws at that moment. She had them fisted to her sides. From his proximity to her, she appeared to be containing some private anger with much difficulty. Having a particular fondness for cuddling, which was expected from a toy, Mr. Bun nonetheless thought being cuddled by one such as the rabbit girl could be hazardous to your health.
Hatcher and the nameless young lady looked at each other for a moment. Then the old man said, "I suppose I have an application you could fill out if you're so inclined." He then rummaged around behind the counter while he continued to speak. "You're not from around here are you?"
"No, I'm not." She replied. "And I'm rather proud of it."
Hatcher came back with a sheet of paper and handed it and an ink pen across the counter to her. "It won't take long to fill it out. Just make yourself to home and hand it back when you're done."
The severe bunny grinned humorlessly, took the application, and walked away, presumably to find a better place to fill in her information.
Mr. Bun steeled himself and played dead as she walked by. A cold breeze followed her and some of the plushies around him actually tumbled from their place in the heap. The girl paid no mind to the toys however. Mr. Bun supposed what few toys she might have grown up with met untimely ends due to senseless decapitation. She seemed that type.
A few minutes after the girl's passage through the shop, the bell jingled again and a pair of unlikely friends came inside. One was an unusually white bat. The other, a lightly spotted bobcat with an eye patch covering a scar on his face. Mr. Bun forgot about the grave rabbit girl for a moment when the bat spoke to the possum behind the counter. "Billy! What's doin'?"
The old man appeared to recognize the bat and passed a few words with him. During the short exchange, Mr. Bun made the distinct note of the possum's obvious distaste for the bat. He seemed friendly enough. But maybe that was just it. Sometimes animals, especially older ones, didn't care much for people who were always cheerful. Indeed, the bat hadn't stopped smiling since he came through the door.
Mr. Bun personally thought that much pain could be alleviated from the world if everybody would just TRY to get along.
At any rate, the two younger animals eventually departed from the cranky marsupial and went their separate ways. Mr. Bun soon lost sight of the pale chiropteran, but the lynx lingered nearby, looking through this and that until he happened to walk by the toy pile.
Having already had one near miss with an undoubtedly dangerous animal, Mr. Bun prudently keep his mouth shut as the big cat gave the pile a disinterested look before moving on. Mr. Bun stifled a sigh of relieve when the cat stopped short of walking away though. He turned back and looked right at the blue bunny. His one eye was of an unsettling smoky red color and when he trained it on Mr. Bun, the plushie had to exert all his strength to stay still and quiet.
"Huh." The big cat said and reached out a stubby fingered paw for the bunny. Mr. Bun went limp and allowed himself to be picked up by the freckled feline without incident. Although the cat didn't grip him particularly hard, nor turn him upside down or hold him by the ears, Mr. Bun still fought to remain quiet as he was brought to eye level for inspection.
Although no words were passed, and the cat didn't growl or seem outwardly interested in chewing him to pieces, as Mr. Bun looked at his own reflection drowning in the off-putting russet stare of the feline, he mentally readied himself to fight with all the fluffy fury he could muster. The big cat surprised him however, when he reached up his other paw and gently smoothed Mr. Bun's ears back behind his head. Another brief petting was applied and the cat smiled at him.
Mr. Bun relaxed when it became apparent that the big cat's looks might not match his intentions and allowed himself to be carried away from the toy pile. His opinion of the large lynx improved even more when, upon reaching their apparent destination at a bin of used video games, instead of simply tossing Mr. Bun aside without fanfare, the big cat set him gently on a nearby shelf.
Mr. Bun observed the bobcat as he dug through the bin for some time, prudently keeping silent so as not to interrupt, until his pale furred, winged companion returned. The bat had an excited look on his face. "Dude, you'll never guess-" He started.
The big cat broke in and reached for Mr. Bun. "Me first." He turned and presented Mr. Bun, once more worried about being so freely submitted to potentially dangerous species, to the winged one. "I found it over by the toys." Mr. Bun bristled internally at being referred to as an 'it', but calmed considerably when the lynx amended his statement. "Check him out."
The bat had external claws unlike the bobcat but his grip was no more threatening. Mr. Bun marveled at the fact that the chiropteran only had three fingers but strove not to stare. Impoliteness, while not only rude, might provoke the bat to biting, which he seemed more than capable of. Indeed, Mr. Bun got a better look at the pale one's teeth than he might have wanted as he talked. "I didn't think you were the snuggle bunny type." He said to the cat.
Their conversation continued for a minute or so. Mr. Bun kept silent and allowed himself to be rigorously inspected by the bat. After ascertaining that he was devoid of tears or stains, the bat gave Mr. Bun a surprisingly polite smile which was only slightly marred by his inch long double set of fangs, and tucked him gently under his arm. "You're right." The bat surmised. "I think I will take him home."
The big cat nodded. "Told ya. Now what was it you found?"
From his not too terribly uncomfortable position in the crook of the bat's arm, Mr. Bun saw the pale one's face light up in excitement. "Oh Dude, you gotta see it to believe it. Come with me." The bat then led them back through the calamitous aisles of the store, past the pile of toys, where he stopped abruptly. "Shit." He muttered under his breath and Mr. Bun suppressed a distasteful frown. "She must be giving her application back to Hatcher." A chill crept up Mr. Bun's spine as he realized the bat was seeking the angry looking bunny from earlier. The big cat sought clarification and the bat led them back to the front of the store.
Mr. Bun pretended to be invisible when they arrived back up front and the bat approached the girl as she was preparing to leave. He silently commended the white bat for his bravery as he passed a few words with the girl. During their short exchange, he learned the bobcat's name was Scratch, a name Mr. Bun thought must surely be a nickname born from his scar and eye patch. He also learned the bat's name was Fish, a name Mr. Bun thought was just improbable enough to be real. Either by grace of a mutual hatred for all animals or simply because she just didn't like the bat in particular, the brown furred rabbit insulted him, then summarily dismissed the lot of them and left the store. Mr. Bun was grateful.
Before paying for Mr. Bun, the bat and bobcat also exchanged words with the elderly proprietor and they learned the bunny girl's name was Sable. Mr. Bun, being unwilling to interrupt anybodies conversation when he hadn't been officially recognized as a participant, simply regretted not being able to tell them his name.
After the appropriate amount of money had been rendered, Mr. Bun found himself being tucked into the inside pocket of Fish's coat. Although dark and somewhat confining, he found the warm, womb-like interior of the garment to be comfortable. He took a moment to consider his comparison to the inner pocket to a womb as somewhat paradoxical due to the fact that he had been manufactured and not born, then dismissed it as frivolous.
Mr. Bun considered himself intelligent enough to avoid meaningless philosophical arguments. Especially considering that his head was filled with cotton instead of brain material. Which was, of course, also irrelevant as an existential quandary. Mr. Bun smiled to himself.
There was a sense of movement, he heard the overhead bell of the possum's shop jingle as they left, then there was more movement. The bat said something to the bobcat that was too low and muffled for Mr. Bun to understand, and then they moved a little faster. After less than a minute, he heard an electronic chime as they presumable entered another shop. Mr. Bun took a moment to lament his inability to see anything of the world outside, then relegated himself to inner patience. He seemed to remember coming to terms with the fact that time revealed all you needed to know at some point in his clouded past.
The bat spoke to somebody. "Hey, Folsom. Where's Bones at?" There was a reply, too distorted by the enveloping jacket for Mr. Bun to make out, then the Bat spoke again. "Well, cut him loose. It's lunch time."
There was silence accompanied by stillness and Mr. Bun correctly assumed that Scratch and Fish were waiting for somebody. Presently, the bat spoke again. "There he is. Hey, B. You hungry?"
A clear, reserved voice spoke in reply. "Always. You buying?"
The bat laughed. "Always. Let's go."
The chime sounded again as they left the mystery store. Mr. Bun heard a pattering sound and they began to move faster toward wherever it was they were going to eat. He surmised that the gloomy day had finally culminated in an early afternoon shower and was thankful for his full enclosure in Fish's jacket. After a minute or so of near running, presumably spurred on by the bitter bobcat who was voicing his displeasure at getting wet with poorly concealed frustration, another, slightly different, chime sounded. Mr. Bun felt the bat shake himself free of moisture and took a moment thereafter to clear his dizzied head.
Fish spoke, apparently to the new animal they had picked up in the last location. "Hey Bones, lookit. It's your girlfriend." Mr. Bun felt the bat nudge the other animal with his elbow.
"Hmm." The other mused noncommittally. Mr. Bun admired this mystery animal's reserve. He appeared to be in full control of his emotions as they seemed to walk a short distance before he spoke to somebody. "Hey, Becky."
A feminine voice, far too soft and timid for Mr. Bun to be able to understand from within his confinement in the coat, made a reply, then seemed to ask a question.
The bat spoke up again. "C'mon Beck. It's 'bout to rain outside, there's nobody else in line, and you know what we want. Pass a few words, yeah? I promise you won't get in trouble. You're the hardest worker they have here, they'd be crazy to fire you."
The soft voice spoke again, sounding even more timid. Mr. Bun felt the bat reach into his coat and then toward the inside pocket. Mr. Bun allowed himself to be grabbed, feeling somewhat reluctant to leave the comfort of the pocket, but too interested in all the new developments outside to want to stay.
If nothing else, Mr. Bun knew he had his priorities in line.
"I got something that ought to cheer you up, Beck." Fish stated and withdrew Mr. Bun from his coat. The light assaulted his dark adjusted vision, but Mr. Bun's squinted eyes went unnoticed as the bat initially had him turned facing the wrong way. By the time he was presented to the mystery girl, who turned out to be an extremely shy looking young mouse in a green and gold uniform, he had reassumed his natural 'just a plushie' look.
The mouse girl's tense facial features soften somewhat at the sight of him and Mr. Bun silently rejoiced. The look of childlike happiness was what he longed for, but this look of relaxation and mild amusement would do for now. The girl tentatively reached out a paw and unknowingly mimicked the bobcat's earlier adjustments by tucking Mr. Bun's ears back behind his head. "He's cute." She smiled at him then turned her attention back to the bat. Mr. Bun noticed she wore a nametag which read 'Becky M.'.
"I thought so." Came the rumbling, and still somewhat displeased voice of the bobcat. Mr. Bun noticed a poorly concealed look of fright pass over the girl's delicate features as her eyes darted to the feline. Mr. Bun could understand her misconception, but he thought she would think differently if the big cat petted her just once.
"I did too." Fish said from behind Mr. Bun. "So I'ma take him home and put him up with my other plushies."
"What's this?" It was the other male voice who had joined them at the last stop. A black paw came into Mr. Bun's field of vision and he left in it's velvet grip. He was then looking into the face of a skunk with green eyes. As the skunk, almost assuredly the 'Bones' individual the bat had been talking to, looked him over, Mr. Bun noticed that they were in a fast food restaurant. Pleasant aromas filled the air. "Nifty." The skunk remarked on Mr. Bun. The plushie in question took note of the black and white mephitidade's singular gaunt visage. It was obvious that Bones was a nickname as well.
He was given back to the bat and Fish placed him on his shoulders where Mr. Bun peeked down on the scene through the bat's sandy blond head fur. From his elevated angle Mr. Bun got his first look at the menu for the restaurant, and if he had fingers, he would have clenched them in rage.
They were in a taco shop.
Mr. Bun hated tacos.
The tantalizing smell of a fresh, warm tortilla filled with well seasoned meat and topped with a light salad and a generous amount of specially prepared cheeses. The spicy undertone of hot sauce, drizzled laboriously and effectively over the already monumental combination of flavors. The singular tang of sour cream, the contrastingly green chives sprinkled almost lovingly atop. Tacos were, beyond doubt, a gift from above, bestowed on a world in which the sun seldom shone without burning those it fell upon.
Mr. Bun hated them because he could not eat them. They silently teased him with their beguiling ways. Promising unparalleled delight but never delivering. Sitting smugly in their steamy pockets of ubiquitous awesomeness. Existing both as a testament to the ingenuity of ethnic animals from another land and as an emblem of acceptance and improvement for the land that these animals called home. Tacos, in Mr. Bun's opinion, were, regardless of his own supreme loathing, to be commended also for their unique and all encompassing ability to bring together animals of all species under the calming and unifying umbrella of their savory succulence.
Oh, how he hated them. Their conceited and self-righteous attitudes. Their noiseless surety that they were, beyond doubt, the only food that really mattered.
Whether as punishment or by misfortunate oversight, Mr. Bun was a toy. And with a sewed on mouth, the closest he could ever come to eating a taco, which although he had never tasted one he knew to be the food of the gods, would be to press his mouth against one and pray to the lord of osmosis that it could be absorbed through his terrycloth face.
Deep within his rage, Mr. Bun must have somehow managed to clench his fingerless paws anyway for the bat beneath him cringed and reached up to remove the plushie. "He snagged my fur." Fish explained to the others. Mr. Bun noted at this moment, that the menagerie of friends had already ordered and received their food whilst he had been seething. Fish carried Mr. Bun to a vacant table and Scratch and Bones conveyed the food.
Mr. Bun found himself placed on the table in a semi-comfortable sitting position. Before he could protest, the two trays of mouthwatering, Mexican inspired morsels were placed in front of him. Another dense, penetrating fit or ire overtook him and he spent the time it took the three friends to eat seething in mute fury. Any conversations that were held were lost to the infuriated plushie.
Near the end of their meal, another patron of the hateful eatery bumped the table on his way out and Mr. Bun, being too well ensconced in his inner turmoil, was caught off guard and fell forward.
Directly into a taco.
For one blissful moment, the plushie heard a choir of angles singing as his fluffy face pressed against the flavorful and aromatic meat of the food. The smell filled his senses and at any second, physics would begin to transfer the deliciousness inside him. Then the level voice of the skunk interrupted the heavenly jubilation. "Whoa there, little guy." And Mr. Bun was whisked away from the taco.
The skunks paw quickly administered a few quick swipes to his face before he was raised to eye level for inspection. The black and white animal looked him over carefully, somehow missing the mingled look of fury and disgust on Mr. Bun's face, before speaking to the others. "That was close. But check him out, I don't even think it'll stain."
Mr. Bun was set back down after the other two agreed that no visible remains of the taco 'defiled' his face.
Mr. Bun, who had always been thankful for his existence despite it's limitations, who had only love for children and most animals in general, who never uttered a word out of turn, who held peace in his nonexistent heart for most everything on earth, swore revenge on the skunk.
And swore it HARD.
Thankfully, the three did not deign to stay in the restaurant beyond completion of their meal. After saying a goodbye to the young mouse girl, Mr. Bun was once more relegated to the comforting inner pocket of the bat's coat.
Despite being equal parts dismayed at his inability to eat, weary from his long sustained anger, and infuriated with the monochromatic mephitidade, Mr. Bun found himself slipping willingly into a light slumber. Although the now rainy day might hold adventure or drama or even sordid affairs for the three 'living' animals, the blue terrycloth rabbit found his interest drawn only to the inner fantasy of his dreaming mind. Thus, did he sleep.
For a time.
Ending Time Stamp: Wednesday, January 12, 2011, 1:55 pm