FESTIVE THOUGHTS ABOUT SYNTHETIC FUR

A friend whom I've known for a long time and with whom I used to converse telephonically in a work-related context believes that unless you have accepted Jayzus effing Christ as your personal saviour you will go to hell. And posted this on Facebook. Naturally I did not hit like or respond. Life is too short to pick fights with old folks living in the red states.
Unless they direct their wrongheadedness at me specifically.

Another friend has been posting Easter-related photos for the past week. Pictures of little children looking traumatized or terrified sitting on the laps of Easter Bunnies, some howling. Horrific nightmarish bunny costumes were, apparently, a thing back in the day. These rabbits look like the Mall Santa's evil psychopath colleague. The leporid of nightmares. Which makes me very glad that my parents decided to leave the country for a while when I was two years old, and it explains why some Americans are twisted beyond belief. Y'all had childhood experiences that left you scarred for life. Beyond the food, I mean.
Enjoy your hardboiled eggs today, you damned freaks.
Cancer causing food colours and all.

Yesterday I realized that if English people had been exposed to the same developments in American Christian society, they could have developed a baked bean pie with quartered hard-boiled eggs in it as "festive" food for Easter. The long-suffering Jesus pie.


Imagine a picture of an infant on a zombie rabbit's lap right here.


In any case, I'm off work today, and all the putrid old men who normally hang around in the back room every Sunday will have to find somewhere else to soil their incontinence pants while belly-aching about liberals and transgendered non-football playing black people.
As Republicans do. So today will be a trial for their nearest and dearest.

Perhaps they'll wander the shores of the slough with their stogies, angrily huffing, and get lost in the reeds. Months from now we will find their corpses, and either instantly recognize them because they look precisely like old Bob in real life, only much more so, or they'll be so changed -- their spirit animal will be evident, that being a metallic droid space alien with horns and fangs -- that little children will run away screaming.


The perfumed magazine inserts they used for deodorant will come in handy.
There should be a tonne of them in their mail boxes.
Embalm them. Embalm them good.




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