Easter is right around the corner, so what better way to spend this joyous holiday of rebirth and renewal, than with two lost and confused children, a Chevy Corvair, and a man in a bunny suit so shoddily made it screams nothing but "SERIAL KILLER RUN KIDS RUN?"

Car ads nowadays will tell you all about how safe a car is, how powerful a car is, how it's especially good on gas or the very nice terms of the loan agreement. They will not, on the other hand, send you screaming into the next room while you lock the door, even though no one else is home. And they especially won't do it with a horrible, sick, twisted version of the Easter Bunny.

And just in case nightmare-bunny isn't scary enough, the unwitting children try to help set the scene:

Hey, you the Easter Bunny? You're out kinda late, aren'tcha?

What time of night does this take place, that these kids are also out kinda late, in what is clearly not the best of neighborhoods? And what's he doing there anyway, just sitting in his Corvair, with his head lazily hanging out the window? Trolling for victims?

He's a "pretty big bunny," he explains, at which point we're treated to this horrible menagerie of facial experiments:

This Is The Most Terrifyingly Joyous Corvair Ad You Will Ever See

AHHHH WHAT IS THAT KILL IT WITH FIRE

"... yeah," the kids reply, skeptically. They know something has gone horribly, horribly wrong, both with this rabbit and with their lives up until that point, and it looks like they're playing it smart, playing it safe, and just going along with whatever this dude wants to say. It's like when the crazy guy on the subway sits down next to you and starts telling you all about the CIA coming to get him. On the one hand, you don't want to get stabbed, but on the other hand, it would be rude just to leave.

"I need lots of room in a car," the nightmare-bunny explains. For bodies, probably. He goes on to describe his appendages, which is definitely something only a crazy person would do upon first meeting, or ever, but then he gets to the description of the dilapidated strips of sad sackcloth hanging from his head.

And my ears, WELL!

Well, indeed.

"Where do you carry everything?" the boy wants to know. In his situation, finding out his own final resting place is a fair question.

The nightmare-bunny says that the Corvair has lots of room for carrots, which he demonstrates by opening the door. Carrots tumble out, like so many severed limbs. And then he points them to the second place storage spot in the car, up front, where he stores his "eggs."

He opens it wide, just enough so that everyone can get a good look at the disembodied heads that lay inside. "Just a minute," he tells the two soon-to-be statistics. He wants to climb in with them. He wants to be one, with them.

Nightmare-bunny clambers out, and hands the kids two, tiny, jewel-encrusted Fabergé eggs. After receiving orders from the bottomless vortex to eternity that lies in the front of his car, he has decided to spare the innocents' lives.

"No one will ever believe you," he says. "It's not worth telling mom and dad, it'll be our... little... SECRET."

"So long, Mr. Easter Bunny!" they reply.

I don't remember Easter being anything like this.