Buster “Bunny” Shurgle was born February 29th in the year 1964 — the son of a big time, small town preacher in Arkswallows, Georgia. His father, Ace Shurgle, orchestrated four missionary trips per year. The rest of his time was spent with the community: working to rebuild houses, blessing pets, radio telethons, divine spring car washes, door-to-door conversions, and faith healings.

Bunny’s arrival on the Shurgle’s doorstep didn’t surprise too many folks. Immaculate conception was pretty common in those days. He even had Ace’s ears and eyes — it was a leap year miracle.

Momma Betsy was pretty worn out by the time he came along. She’d birthed six sons and two daughters and the Angel Gabriel was bringing more by all the time. Lord knows, the Lord works in mysterious ways.

He wasn’t raised by wolves exactly, but he did spend a lot of time on his own. Somebody was always shouting, “Where’s Bunny?” Through the years, he ventured out further and further.

An idle mind is the devil’s workshop and the Shurgles had a full-time foreman in Betsy. Half the time, he slipped her mind; the other half she spent trying to forget him: Blessing Bunny in his tiny doorstep basket.

Nobody thought about him when he turned “sweet sixteen.” According to City Hall, he was only four years old. Plenty of time. It would always be this way. He drifted from year-to-year, house-to-house, job-to-job.

Sometimes “odd job” fits just right. Bunny had a slew: range ball collector, shoeshine, caddie, big sale sign holder, rodeo clown, hot dog vendor, seasonal - spring - hourly costume B, and finally — at the ripe old age of 30 (70) — president, founder, and ringmaster of the Bibleland Circus Maximus.

In later years, he often spoke of his legendary upbringing as a hero quest — enlightenment through marination, he called it. Biographer Zann Randolph wrote about the unlikely crowning moment of his career:

He was sitting in the crowd — four rows up. A large bengal tiger had just mauled and eaten the lion tamer. Screams shot through the tent and pandamonium arose. Instinctively, he ran toward the tiger who was now threatening the rest of the crew with gut wrenching roars and untame breath. He unearthed his only remaining possession — a gideon bible handed to him only minutes prior. Placing the tiny green bible on his forehead, he spread his arms out wide.

The tiger shrunk back — sulking back obediently into its tiny cage. The circus troupe rejoiced. Bunny was an instant sensation. They carried him into town and hastily arranged a victor’s parade.

News of his heroism spread to neighboring towns — with each mile his size and virility grew. In truth, he was a tiny man, but took to wearing stilts. He opened The Bibleland Circus Maxiumus in 1994. It was a huge success — enough to bring holy beastiality wholly way back from Roman times. Not since Tiberius had there been such widespread copulation.

Unfortunately for those intimately entangled in the movement, Bunny suffered a fate similar to another infamous Julio-Claudian. His sudden far-reaching powers overwhelmed him and in what became known as the Circus Train Wreck, Bunny was burned alive in an SUV rollover pile-up.

A landmark lawsuit followed, the result of which decreed that the official religion of the nation be changed from fossilinity to polyfuelism.