SLAVE BUNNIES AND EGG-LAYING GRANDMAS

After a long and surreal day, I couldn't get otters out of my mind during the entire trip back to the city. What if, for instance, Easter was about otters? And fish; otters love fish.

Wouldn't that be a whole lot better than a flying magic zombie coming back to tell you it's okay to eat pork?

Or the vampire bunny?


And what if Easter dinner had nothing to do with eggs, lamb, or the classic wine-braised rabbit, but instead meant that you got to take an entire family of otters to a restaurant for some lovely steamed fish. And stir-fried eels with black bean sauce. Ginger and scallion oysters.
And garlicky whole cooked crabs.

They would sit around the table expectantly, as their sensitive noses could smell what was going on in the kitchen. A few of the adults would experiment a bit with the chopsticks, and look almighty relieved when you told them that it would be okay to use paws. The younger otters would be totally unconcerned, they had NO intention of using utensils of any kind.
Oh boy! Crustacean! Jaws and teeth!

The tiniest one would probably be standing on her stack of phone books waving at the little girl at the next table over, because she looks so cute in her frilly pink dress.

The only tool really necessary would be a shell cracker, because one cannot sit around a table in public gnawing loudly.
Or whacking at shells with stones.


As the host human you would be responsible for interacting with the restaurant staff. Placing the order and such. Remember to suggest that the best thing to drink with seafood is weak tea, NO softdrinks.
Otters are naturally already hyper-active.
No need to wire them further.
They're vibrating!


All rational people would rather spend Easter-Sunday with charming and funny otters, perhaps playing patty-cake or rock-scissors-stone in between courses, than visiting the grim elderly relatives and trying to find a bunch of damned eggs in the grass among the bugs and worms after listening to a preacher curse them for being irreligious and marrying outside the faith. Especially THOSE people. Gadzooks.

That story about a magic flying zombie?

Nah, not really believable.

Egg-laying bunny?

Hoo-hah!



Go on. Treat the otters. Be a mensh.



If you are disturbed by this post, and indignantly judge it to be sacrilegious and in extremely bad taste, why, more than sufficient reason for your vengeful deity to strike me down with a bolt of lightening, feel free to pray that such divine vengeance happen forthwith.
Forthwith!

My powerful otters will protect me.

Those coloured eggs will rot.

Bunny gonna get you.




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