Colorado’s Real-Life “Last of Us” Outbreak: The Horned Rabbits of Fort Collins

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The Horned Horror of Fort Collins: When Folklore Comes Alive

It starts with a whisper.

A neighbor swears they saw a rabbit with horns in their headlights. Another insists something with antlers scurried across their yard at midnight. By the third sighting, no one’s laughing. In Fort Collins, Colorado, a legend has clawed its way out of the dusty pages of folklore and into the real world.

The locals call them jackalopes. But these creatures are no taxidermist’s joke or roadside myth. They are real rabbits, twisted by an ancient virus into shapes that feel more nightmare than nature.

The Virus That Wears a Mask of Myth

Behind the terror lies Shope papilloma virus (SPV), a relative of human papillomavirus. Spread by mosquitoes and ticks, it doesn’t make rabbits sick in the way most viruses do—it rewrites their flesh.

The result? Wart-like tumors that sprout on their heads, ears, and eyelids, ballooning into grotesque antlers, black spikes, and curling tentacles of flesh. Some rabbits stumble blind, unable to eat. Others carry their deformities like a crown of thorns until the tumors turn cancerous and end them.

It is cruel. It is incurable. And in Fort Collins, it is spreading.

A Town Haunted by Its Own Rabbits

Imagine walking home at dusk, the Colorado sun bleeding into the horizon, when you spot movement in the brush. A rabbit hops into view. But instead of twitching ears, you see jagged horns jutting upward, tumor-cloaked eyes staring blindly back at you.

This isn’t science fiction. It’s daily life for residents of northern Colorado. Trail cameras catch their misshapen forms. Backyards echo with whispers of “zombie rabbits.” Parents warn children not to touch them.

The unsettling truth is that these rabbits aren’t dangerous to people. Wildlife officials stress it: humans cannot catch SPV. Pets are safe, too. The real carriers are the insects, tiny winged ferrymen ensuring the virus passes from one rabbit to the next.

But that knowledge doesn’t erase the horror of seeing one up close. “They look like something out of The Last of Us,” said one resident, shaking their head. “Except it’s not a TV show. It’s right here.”

Folklore Made Flesh

The myth of the jackalope has long haunted the American West—a rabbit with antlers, part trickster, part symbol of wilderness magic. For decades, it was a campfire joke, a postcard oddity, a creature of taxidermy hoaxes and tavern tall tales.

Now, with rabbits in Fort Collins growing horn-like tumors, the joke feels different. Less whimsical. More prophetic. The line between legend and biology has blurred. The jackalope has stepped out of myth, carried on the back of a virus older than memory.

Nature’s Dark Imagination

Scientists explain it calmly: outbreaks spike in summer, when mosquito numbers rise. Warmer, wetter conditions make it worse. Domestic rabbits can be treated, but the wild have no such luxury. There is no cure, no salvation, no intervention.

But stripped of clinical language, what’s left is chilling: an entire town living alongside horned, disfigured rabbits, animals twisted by forces unseen, wandering suburban streets like omens.

The Lasting Image

Somewhere tonight in Fort Collins, a child will press their face to a window and see it—a rabbit, stumbling under the weight of its tumors, its head crowned with grotesque horns. They’ll pull the curtain closed, unable to forget.

Because sometimes, horror doesn’t need to be written. It grows in the grass, hops across your lawn, and waits in the dark.

Fort Collins has its jackalopes now. Not whimsical, not mythical, but real—and more terrifying than legend ever promised.

To Educate as Equals: Rethinking Learning Beyond Hierarchies

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For generations, Filipinos have been told that education is a ladder. At the top, we imagine scholars, professors, and policy-makers; at the bottom, the so-called “masa” who, in this narrative, must be taught, trained, and uplifted. But this vision of education—as a hierarchy where one stands above and another below—is both flawed and dangerous.

To “educate” is not to stand higher. It is to stand beside.

The very word only feels heavy when we attach power to it, when we imagine classrooms as miniature kingdoms, with one voice commanding while the rest are compelled to listen. But true education has never been about domination. It has always been a circle: endless, equal, and shared.

The Knowledge of the Streets and Fields

Take the jeepney driver. Each day, he navigates Metro Manila’s chaos with a mastery that no academic lecture can duplicate. He reads the rhythm of the road like music—anticipating the pulse of traffic, negotiating with other drivers through hand gestures and headlights, and understanding the psychology of passengers squeezed into narrow benches. That knowledge, borne of experience, is not inferior to a professor’s theory. It is its own kind of brilliance, a testament to resilience, patience, and the art of survival in a city that often feels designed to crush its people.

Or consider the farmer. Beneath his sun-worn hands lies a wisdom far older than the universities that too often overlook him. He knows the secrets of the soil: when to plant, when to harvest, when the rains will come, and when the sky is lying. He is a living archive of sustainability, carrying techniques refined through centuries. And yet, in a society that prizes diplomas, his knowledge is dismissed as “uneducated.” How ironic that the very people who feed the nation are treated as if they have nothing to teach.

And then there is the quiet observer—the ordinary Filipino who, without titles or degrees, sees politics and economics with piercing clarity. He might be a vendor, a tricycle driver, a housewife scrolling through the news after a long day. But his insights, sharpened by lived reality rather than policy papers, can cut to the truth more quickly than a panel of experts ever could. What he lacks is not intelligence, but the platform to be heard.

Breaking the Myth of Superiority

None of these truths make one person “better” than another. They only remind us that wisdom does not live in ivory towers alone. It dwells in markets, in rice fields, in jeepneys, in classrooms, in barangay halls, in conversations under nipa huts and in debates across social media threads.

The illusion of hierarchy—the idea that some knowledge is “higher” and some “lower”—is what keeps us divided. It is the same illusion that politicians exploit when they call the masses “bobo” for electing the wrong leaders, while forgetting that elite decisions have often failed the people just as badly.

The reality is simple: we all hold fragments of truth. What I know, I share—not to claim superiority, but to return the gift of learning. What others know, I receive—not as a student beneath a teacher, but as an equal in a lifelong exchange.

Education as a Shared Rising

When we redefine education as equality, it ceases to be about who leads and who follows. Instead, it becomes a collective rising. Teachers learn from their students. Farmers teach scientists. Jeepney drivers teach urban planners. Communities teach governments. And in return, knowledge flows back—renewed, refined, and relevant.

Education, in its truest form, was never about hierarchy. It was about humanity. It was about how we rise—not as individuals climbing a ladder—but as a people holding hands in a circle, lifting one another so no one is left behind.

In the end, to educate is not to dictate. It is to listen, to share, to stand together. Because the wisdom of the Philippines does not live in a single classroom, but in the everyday lives of its people. And until we honor that truth, we will never truly rise as one.

Tambayan Talks with the Pambansang Influencers: Where Every "Kwento" Gets Its Weight

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In a dazzling leap forward for Filipino digital storytelling, Tambayan Talks with the Pambansang Influencers is set to become the most dynamic youth-powered online platform this nation has ever seen. Hosted by Wazzup Pilipinas, this isn't just a show — it's a movement. A digital tambayan where stories collide, ideas ignite, and authenticity reigns.

At its core is Ross Flores Del Rosario — the steadfast truth-teller, environmental advocate, and founder of Wazzup Pilipinas, whose unwavering commitment to integrity and community empowerment has made him a modern-day Umalohokan, the ancient Philippine heralds of vital truth 

A New Chapter in Digital Hangouts

Imagine your favorite Filipino hangout — the warmth, the banter, the sincerity — now amplified onto a national stage. Tambayan Talks transforms that intimate vibe into a bold online forum, co-created with the Umalohokan Influencers and Content Creators, empowering a spectrum of voices — from students and young activists to entrepreneurs and social innovators.

Here, every kwento has kwenta — because each perspective shapes our nation’s future. It’s inclusive, it’s honest, it’s unapologetically Filipino.

Ross Del Rosario: The Voice of Integrity

Ross Del Rosario’s influence extends far beyond being the “Pambansang Blogger.” His platform, Wazzup Pilipinas, stands out as a pillar of credibility in a media landscape often swayed by clickbait. Through his commitment to truth and community-driven journalism, he has emerged as one of the country's most trusted digital storytellers 

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Moreover, his leadership of the Umalohokan Workshops — inspired by pre-colonial town criers — continues to nurture a new generation of storytellers trained not just in media skills, but in ethical purpose and social responsibility 

Where Storytelling Meets Purpose

Tambayan Talks isn't content for content’s sake. It is a digital amphitheater for:

Youth-driven narratives that challenge the status quo.

Environmental advocacy, echoing Ross’s green initiatives.

Ethical creation, seeding digital literacy and media responsibility.

Cross-sector dialogue, bringing together students, advocates, entrepreneurs, and visionaries.

This co-production with Umalohokan creatives ensures the show doesn't just talk at audiences — it builds community. It doesn’t just tell stories — it sparks change.

When Tradition Meets Transformation

Anchored by the ethos of storytelling as civic engagement, Tambayan Talks carries the spirit of the ancient Umalohokan — messengers of truth — into the modern digital age. Audiences aren't just spectators; they become participants, joining a national tambayan where curiosity, courage, and collaboration reign supreme.

Why This Matters Now

In an era awash with noise and superficiality, Tambayan Talks offers clarity — a space where youthful energy meets thoughtful dialogue. It is a place where important conversations aren’t sidelined by spectacle, and where platforms are built not on sensationalism, but substance.

Looking Ahead

As Tambayan Talks with the Pambansang Influencers begins to stream, it promises to reshape what it means to gather online in the Philippines. More than a series, it's a living, breathing hangout — where every voice echoes with purpose, and every story carries weight.

Ross Del Rosario isn’t just hosting a show — he’s igniting a national movement, turning casual hangouts into beacons of inspiration. Because here, indeed, every kwento has kwenta — and together, they might just inspire a generation.