Leave it to Auntie Anger to crap all over holidays: I don’t care. My grandma can baste her Easter ham with tears while my brother-in-law delivers an entire impromptu sermon about how atheists like Auntie Anger will burn in the Lake of Fire while standing upon a mound of broken Easter eggs, severed chocolate bunny heads, and overcooked asparagus casserole; I still don’t care.
Nothing reeks of hypocrisy like an old pagan Spring fertility festival dressed in pasty pastel colors by pastier people; white people with a two-thousand year old agenda to obliterate all that is natural, fun, and spontaneous in the world. I hate Christian holidays because they are an exercise in denial of all that is fun about rituals. Instead of dancing naked in the sunlight, the Christian mandate is that all should spend Easter morning among the tubby and flatulent in a square building deemed holy for no apparent reason except perhaps that it is tax-exempt and has a cross sticking out of the roof. Enter the blatantly obvious pagan symbolism of bunnies and eggs–running scared, the faithful buy jelly beans, manufactured innocence, and annoying fake plastic grass that will quickly end up in a landfill. Of course they say it’s in reverence for their undead god: it’s awfully convenient to be able to stick one of Christ’s life events to a miscellaneous pagan festival like pin the tail on the donkey. The first Spring festival is just like any other Christian holiday: an epic waste-producing orgy of fat people stuffing their faces with feedlot-tortured pig flesh (because they can’t get properly stuffed any other way, if you catch my meaning) under the odious banner of Christ’s tribulations.
That’s why I have finally gone AWOL on Easter. Yes, believe it or not, Auntie Anger drives home to her loving family; she has neither killed nor eaten them. But I just can’t with Easter. The first irritation of Easter is that it falls upon a different Sunday every year: the morons could not just pick a date and stick with it. Easter is beholden to a Lenten calendar invented by half-wit medieval monks who probably drooled and barked at the moon when they weren’t assaulting the nuns because there were no pre-schools to raid. The second and more important irritation of Easter is the fact that I have a life. I don’t need yet another Holy Hallmark holiday to subject myself to bad food while I suffer through the false piety of my relatives and neither do you. You have my official permission to opt out.