I wake up every day purely out of spite because surviving in a house with 700 jack rabbits has become my full-time job. It started with one cute little fluffball, and within 48 hours, it had invited its entire extended family, turning my walls into a nonstop stampede of chaos. They ate my cat and my grandma almost immediately and didn't even pretend to feel bad-just left me a sticky note that said "skill issue" like they were rating my grief on Yelp. These rabbits don't obey the rules of biology or basic sanity; they lay emotional eggs everywhere they go. If a rabbit experiences even the slightest hint of a feeling-happiness, confusion, the breeze being slightly too breezy-boom, hundreds of eggs explode into existence like nature's worst confetti. My kitchen looks like an omelette factory run by demons, my fridge is basically a nesting site, and opening a cabinet is a gamble between finding food and triggering an avalanche of rabbit emotions. And don't even get me started on the internet situation. These monsters chew cables like they're slurping gourmet spaghetti. Every time my ping shoots to the moon, I know another rabbit is deep in the walls power-chomping through a wire like it's training for some kind of ungodly eating competition. They've kidnapped my router multiple times and left ransom notes made from shredded receipts. I'm too tired to negotiate, so I just slide snacks under the door and hope for mercy. The living room is no longer mine; the rabbits declared it an independent nation, and the immigration officer is a rabbit named Greg who stares at me like I owe him rent. The entire house smells like drywall dust and animal ambition, and I'm terrified because I swear they're getting organized. If the rabbits ever learn language, they're overthrowing me within the hour. If I'm online, it means I have negotiated temporary peace. If I'm offline, assume the rabbits have upgraded from chaos to full rebellion.