eah, I know, it’s been a while. What’s that? No, no, I didn’t have the flu. I broke my hand actually. Well, I didn’t break my hand. But it was broken, had to have surgery and everything.

‘Twas the night before Easter and all through the house my room mates were passed out. I was lolling drunkenly on my couch after a night of college-kid hyjinx, minding my own goddamn business when there came a knock on the door. Laboriously I stood, peeved at being roused, and opened the front door. It was the Easter Bunny. White furry ears and pink button nose. Basket full of colored eggs and bushy cotton tail. Yeah, that’s the one. He brushed me aside and came into the living room. What the fuck?

“Yeah, seriously,” I said, “what the fuck?”

“I’m the Easter Bunny.”

“I don’t care if you’re fucking Lion-O, leader of the goddamn Thundercats. Get the fuck out of my house.” But he wouldn’t go.

“Don’t you believe in Jesus Christ?” Too drunk for theological repartee with mythical rodents.

“What the hell do lavishly-decorated, unfertilized chicken fetuses have to do with Jebus?”

“They help us to remember and rejoice in His rebirth and triumphant victory over Xur’s armada using the holy light of Death Blossom.”

“Alex Rogan defeated Xur’s armada, fucker. That was a movie.”

“Are you calling The Son of God a liar, fuck ass?”

“Sure. Whatever. Just take your cunt-fuck eggs and go…”

...And that’s when, with a Xena-like battle cry, the Easter Bunny lunged at me, eyes flashing pink with beastial fury. Not even my ninja training could protect me from his vicious Lop-Eared Bunny-Paw Technique. A right to the jaw. Left to the gut and knee to the groin. I hit the floor crying.

But I wasn’t going down easy. I did what long hours in the practical self defense class at the YWCA had taught me: screamed shrilly and curled into a ball.

The bunny laughed maliciously, over-joyed to see his foe topple so easily. Ah, but it was a ruse. As the beguiled bunny turned to distribute eggs about the room I rose and unleashed a can of whoop ass.

But the can was a bit stale: Screaming to disorient and confuse my target, I scratched and pulled hair and sissy slapped away. For a moment my unorthodox tactics prevailed. And then the Easter Bunny stopped laughing.

“Haven’t had enough, eh, heathen?” He smashed a pretty pink egg into my head. Blood all down my face. Can’t see. Fuck. Bunny moving like greased white lightning.

Before I know it, I’m down, laying in a pool of blood and shattered Easter eggs.

“Learn to stay down, bitch,” the bunny ground his heal into my hand. I could hear joints popping, bones snapping. Ha ha ha. He laughed at my tears, my pleas for help and then mercy.

Upending what remained in his wicker basket onto my battered body the Easter bunny uttered his parting words, “This shit wouldn’t happen if you would just let Jesus into your heart. Happy Easter, mother fucker.”




Copyright © 2003