Descartes and the Rabbit

by Jack Lefebvre

      I was talking about Descartes.  That’s not unusual; it’s the sort of pretentious stuff I do in SL.  Different this time though.  I was talking to a purple rabbit.  Quite a tall one.  Again, nothing remarkable about that, not in SL.  But this was one of those rabbits that disconcert me.  She had the Bugs Bunny face and ears, but a near perfect figure: 36D breasts (trust me, I know about these things), slim waist, and a ‘two ferrets in a sack’ butt.  I was getting enthusiastic about the ‘cogito’ bit of Descartes and a bit concerned that, by the time we got to the ‘sum’ bit, my gesticulating hands might inadvertently clutch a furry lump of mammary gland and, in the process, undermine my whole thesis.
      We were standing on the pebbles of the underwater cave on Camelot Island.  Miller's, I think it’s called.  Breathing without difficulty as the tropical fish swam around us and two couples from Denmark and Holland got more and more enthusiastic about the sets of pose balls inside the little temple there.
      The rabbit seemed unaware of them.
      “It’s the ‘I’ in ‘I think’ that’s the problem,” she said.
      I knew that.  Everybody knows that.  But this was a pedantic rabbit.  She needed to spell everything out.  I decided to try to disorientate her.
      “Kant,” I said.
      Her hesitation was brief.
      “Not only the name of the writer of the ‘Critique of Pure Reason,’” she said.  “An apt description of its hypothesis, too.  And,” she added, “just a vowel and a consonant away from encapsulating the man himself.”
      One of the Danes stood up, a blonde, bronzed individual with ludicrous shoulders.  A line of (Danish) chat splashed across the screen, followed by “lol.”  Danish joke about sex, I guessed.
      A dachshund appeared from behind a clump of seaweed.
      “Nice put-down, Doris,” he said to the rabbit.
      That puzzled me.  Her floating name tag identified her as Drindle Pinkneery.