Wily Coyote is the exact opposite. He spends his life setting elaborate traps on blind corners with every type of ACME kit and then laying in wait for the Road Runner. Now someone like Freddie Kissoon is a Wily Coyote. There he is up at the crack of dawn ambushing grass cuttings and spying on other people’s cars. But for all his efforts, it is he who is hurtling towards the canyon floor followed by a big round boulder ready to make him flat as a pancake, while the Road Runner who looks suspiciously like Tacuma Ogunseye goes “beep beep” bye bye on his way to Buxton. You see Wily Coyote never wins. How many times has he been blown up by his own dynamite? How many times has he had his self-planted ACME safe fall on himself? He simply does not learn from his mistakes.

Anyway enough philosophy. Being a bunny on vacation can be very tiring. All those roller coasters and beers... and who should I bump into but Freddie, Dr Luncheon, and Mister Sharma. There I was hopping behind tree to tree keeping a close eye on this cartoon trio with my notebook in paw. And folks I did so much scribbling that my pen went up in smoke.

There we were at Coney Island and Freddie pretty soon discovered the parking lot and was grilling anyone who had a swanky car about how they came across all that money. You know Americans are polite people, and they patiently explained to him about capitalism and how every man is given the opportunity to try and make a go of it and that it was silly to get envious and try and make them feel guilty about all the poor people in the world, including the vendors and teachers.

Meanwhile Dr Luncheon had set up a table and rows of chairs right on the boardwalk with a big microphone and was holding his weekly press conference which everyone thought mighty odd. They wondered whether he was some new vaudeville act since he had that strange handbag and was calling everyone ‘Comrade’. Some talent agent said he would make a good TV sitcom called ‘The Fossil’.

CN Sharma was going around in his long boots asking everyone where were the farmers’ crap. He said he had come all this way to see the American farmers’ crap since he had heard how they crap so big. Somebody called the police but when they came they decided to call an ambulance instead.

Well that was the last this bunny saw of these three. After that I was hopping all over town going to the movies. I saw Pirates of the Caribbean, also known as The Caricom Heads of Government Summit 2003. Then there was the Incredible Hulk about a young boy in England who gets mixed up in a chemistry experiment that goes terribly wrong and years later every afternoon at four he turns into an ogre and goes on Channel Nine. Bunny had his paws over his eyes the whole time.

After this, Bunny was too frightened to go in the movies so I went to a barbecue in Richmond Hill where they had a swank gas fired grill on wheels. I was afraid they would serve rabbit but it was ok. They served salmon. So much for this bunny’s old wheel rim and a few pounds of Didco chicken... suffering succotash. It was clear Guyanese are too busy making money to have any interest in their homeland. Guyana is like a distant alcoholic uncle who gets in to endless scrapes which are faithfully reported by his slightly amused relatives. This is best highlighted in the latest joke, of course a true story about the Guyanese man who got arrested as soon as he came out of JFK. He climbed onto a crowded bus and as he was going to sit next to an attractive woman he told her ‘dress down’.

The folks at the party were nostalgic, so Bunny did his best impersonation of death announcements with Jimmy Reeves singing ‘This world is not my home.’ They wept and wept and I took the chance to run off with all the food.

But I got into a real scrape at a snooty Manhattan restaurant when I asked the Maitre D if they served rabbits. Next thing the chef was holding me over a pot of boiling water. Thank my lucky stars New York had its first blackout in 25 years. In the darkness I gave them the slip and hopped off to the airport.

But wait! Things turned pretty hairy over there too. The plane was supposed to take off at 7 am but did not get on the runway until 4 pm. While every New Yorker was taking the blackout in stride, 300 irate Guyana bound passengers were swarming the Universal desk demanding to know when they would get the hell outta Dodge. The boarding clerks, who looked like they were close to passing out from being up all night, were just looking to dodge the customers. Mr Singh would come along once in a while, and with his tie undone and mouth agape did a great impersonation of Al Pacino from the last half hour of Scarface. Things got way out of hand when one punk, an American boyfriend of a passenger, threatened one of the clerks and they called the airport police. I hopped out of there but still saw him quietly begging to be allowed on. (Sometimes you just wish there was a Guyanese policeman around.) Apparently the pilots had gotten lost in Manhattan and there was no way to contact them because of the blackout. No one believed this story and when Ambassador Ishmael suddenly turned up they crowded around and begged him to do something. Socialism dies hard folks. That’s like telling Colin Powell to order a Delta airlines flight off the ground. It ain’t going to happen.

Well, eventually the replacement pilot shows up and like a bad comedian misjudges the angry crowd when he wisecracks, “Where are we going today? Brooklyn?” One guy flips and starts with the black power thing, now that was real racial and something has to be done about it. Revolution! Rabbit was scared.

Ok, so we get on the plane but even then these cats won’t cool down. Just as we are about to land in Fort Lauderdale a big man gets up and says he gotta take a leak. Please sit down, beseeches the cabin crew. He refuses to move. Please sit down, sir, it is federal aviation rules you cannot be in the john when the plane is landing at 150 mph or you will mess up your pants. He ain’t moving and what’s worse he threatens to release all over the aisle. Bunny puts on raincoat.

Ok, so finally we land and it feels great to have the ground beneath my paws, but I don’t do anything corny like Chanderpaul and kiss the ground. It’s just good to be away from the blackout or at least a New York blackout. Because you know Guyana has the best blackouts in the world.. Th.. th.. that’s all folks.