Friday, April 03, 2015


Being the sour old grumpus that I am, I tend to have a bitter and sneering attitude toward Easter. Which it will be in two days. Screams of childish laughter while they cast eggs (at old folks) and torture bunnies. In their youthful innocence. Not, dammit, around me.
I do not like Easter. The mythos of a magic zombie and a furry critter handing out candies does not thrill me. The theatrical parades of festive breads and Filipinos on crosses strikes me as moronic and boring.

I'm okay with the narrative of nation-formation that underlies the tradition, but that seems to have fallen by the wayside. The Christian world has conveniently forgotten about ten horrendous plagues, the closing of the Red Sea waves upon a mighty army, and the subsequent forty years of stumbling around a wasteland following chimeras.

Oh, and the zotsing of idiots presuming with fire pans.
And eating the same thing day in day out.
For forty freaking years.

Stupid gentiles.

What IS IT with the eggs, anyhow? Hard boiled eggs have truly horrible after-effects! You really want your entire family to run around making eruptive sounds? Yes, I know your kids are monsters, so why do you want to add on to the effect? They disgust me already, and they shout.
Then they eat chocolate bunny wabbits.
And run around screaming.
Little psychopaths.
Street people.



I am the groundhog of doom. Come near me with those farkakte oeufs, and I will tickle your catastrophe! Your underwear will become a damp constriction, and your hammock will toss you into the next county when you lay yourself down. All your casseroles will turn to muck, yay, even the green bean and onion soup concoction!

By which I mean to say that I am NOT vested in the holiday.

Remarkably, the Atkins diet pizza is remarkably similar to the kosher le peysach pizza. Just a lesser burden of hashkacha.

Please remember, anchovies are kosher.

They were in the wilderness.

Good with manna.

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