Ah, the glorious Easter story.
They rolled the stone away from the tomb to reveal… a giant Cadbury Crème Egg! Alleluia!
Then they rolled away the egg to reveal… the body of Jesus! Dead? Hell no. He was in a big dirty sugar coma. That’s not dried blood on his hands; that’s the remnants of a chocolate-covered marshmallow Peep.
And contrary to popular belief, he was not wrapped in the Shroud of Turin. He was wearing a big pink bunny suit.
In fact, that wasn’t even a wooden crossbeam he lugged through the streets on his shoulders last Friday; it was a jumbo Toblerone bar. Just for you. From Jesus. You’re welcome.
And His disciples… Now I know they’re usually depicted as men with beards and flowing garb, but they were actually not men at all. They were fluffy yellow chicks in gardening hats.
I’m sorry, Jesus. Thanks for the sacrifice that miraculously inspired a holiday steeped in milk chocolate. How would I get my fix (and fat ass) without you?
It’d be just heavenly if chocolate were the extent of it. But Easter has become a second Christmas. Pray tell, when did this happen?
As an advertising gal, I know how it happened: the onslaught of mega brands like Hershey, Hallmark, The Gap, Disney, Lego, Nestle, and Nintendo. Combine that with our ever-growing human desire to see, taste, experience and own everything on earth and you’ve got a billion-dollar industry built entirely around a bloody bunny. Yesterday morning, I saw the face of a jackrabbit in my grilled cheese sandwich and got $17 for it on ebay.
But when did this Easter mania happen? Well, the bunny legend dates back to 17th century Germany. But even growing up in the 1980s, I don’t remember the holiday being this big of a fuss. And take it from me – an Easter baby. Born three days after Easter Sunday, I was the icing on the Jesus Cake. And speaking of cake, my birthday often fell around Easter, so my birthday cake often looked like this:
My birthday outfits were geometric nightmares in pastel. This one even came with a set of bunny ears. (And an arsehole.)
Whatevs. All I know is – Easter was no biggie.
I guess over time the evil geniuses seeped it into our social consciousness and before we knew it “chocolate,” “clothes,” and “crap” came before Christ in our list of Easter “C” words. Out with the Prince of Peace, in with the Reese’s Pieces! C is for crock of shit all around.
Now that I have my own egg-seeking candy muncher, other moms are asking me, “What are you doing for Max for Easter?”
As eggnostic as I am, I’d be quite content if they were inquiring about our righteous resurrection rituals. I wish they were asking me which letter in the word E-A-S-T-E-R Max would be holding in the church pageant. I mean, my answer would still be “we’re doing nothing.” (I tried to reenact the crucifixion once using Mr. Potato Head but his hands and feet kept falling off while I was driving in the nails.)
But no, what they’re asking is – what am I buying Max for Easter? To which I can’t help but utter a bewildered, resounding HUH???
It kinda goes like this:
“So what are you giving Max for Easter?”
“Uhhh, I dunno. A wedgie?”
“Oh.” (You horrible mother.)
“Why – am I supposed to give him gifts for Easter?”
“Well, you don’t have to. But you know, some parents (good parents) give their kids candy eggs, chocolate bunnies…”
“Oh yeah, I could do that. They sell that stuff at the liquor store, right?”
” …and clothes, toys, bikes, video games…”
“Shit, son! The Easter Bunny really goes all out. Is this revenge for Santa sporting that fur-trimmed suit? Should I put up a tree and set snares under it?”
By now, she has already hopped away from my miserable sarcasm. I deserve it. If I were smart, I’d simply reply, “Oh you know, I’m having a egg hunt like everybody else.”
But I just can’t be anybody else.
“Oh, I’m having an egg hunt. An egg hunt so world-class, with eggs so skillfully hidden, they’ll appear on milk cartons. You’d need to give the house a colonoscopy to find them. They’ll be missing so long, authorities will issue a turquoise alert. Nancy Grace will be yakking about it for months. Bloodhounds will hang themselves, worthless and defeated.”
Which to her sounds a lot like, “You foolish, foolish twit of a woman.”
And hey, maybe it’s better to be a foolish twit of a woman than a miserable prick of a mom. I dunno. Pass the jelly beans.
Max will be eating eggs during Easter. But most of them will have sprung from a chicken’s twat. He’s not even three years old! One chocolate bunny contains enough sugar to send Turbo Ginger on a Boston Cream Marathon.
Sorry, I’m sounding crazy. There’s nothing wrong with a bit of Easter fun. But baskets brimming with clothes, toys, gadgets… Seriously, people? You’re giving your kids all this stuff… for Easter? For God sake, I just found a pine needle in my arse crack because we just had Christmas, like, five minutes ago! The house still smells like fu*ken fruitcake!
Yay, the baby Jesus is born! I think I’ll go spend an Almighty fortune on gifts.
3 months later…
Yippee, Jesus is risen from the dead! I think I’ll go crucify my credit card.
I mean I guess I get it: Christmas and Easter are about love, shown to the world by the son of God. So, to honour that greatest of gifts, we show our love by giving one another frivolous junk. Yeah, that makes sense.
Admit it, runny babbits – Easter is just another reason to overspend and overeat and overindulge your children with crap to make up for your shit-brick parenting. What would Jesus think? Tsk tsk.
Imagine how many kids out there, rustling through the backyard grass in their new Easter clothes (WTF) in search of little foil-wrapped eggs, don’t even know who Jesus is.
At least there’s hilarity in it all. Easter at the mall is a riot. Parents line up with their kids to get their snap taken with the Easter Bunny. A couple months ago, they sat on the lap of a creepy old man in a red suit and ratty beard. Now it’s time to get cozy with some sweaty guy in a rabbit suit made of pure evil. Here’s a photo of my friend’s twin boys, Will and Jack Cross. And a bunny who will haunt my dreams ’til July.
And check out this one. The sweet daughter of Mo’ Blo’ reader Roxanne, and a bunny who should have kept some of the candy for himself. I think it’s safe to say this one’s not a cottontail.
So, eggheads, what other Christian holidays can we go to hell with?
We have this dry period around summer. How about we have a Noah’s Ark Day and give our kids expensive watercraft? Every child needs a Sea-doo.
Let’s have a Mary Magdalen Day and have all the little girls go around drying people’s feet with their hair. That’d be super cute.
And we just gotta have a Jonah-And-The-Whale Day. We’ll have some dude dress up in a whale suit and make our kids sit in his mouth.