NICE BASKET!

I hate Easter.  It's dumb.


I was discussing it with my slusband (straight lady husband), Muffy Bolding, yesterday via text messages -- because we are, after all, teenaged girls -- and we share many of the same reasons for our unbridled hatred of everything Easter...

THE COLOR SCHEME: Except for a very brief oh-so-confusing period in the '80s, pastels are not for me.  They are merely watered-down versions of the bold jewel-tones I so adore: Ruby red, onyx black and my all-time favorite, turquoise blue.  Pastels are for cat-loving women with frizzy, gray-streaked hair who mix up their own douche solutions, collect hideous Thomas Kinkade "art" and have at least one Cathy comic hanging on their Activia-filled fridge by a sassy magnet that says something like, "I Shaved My Legs For THIS!?"

THE CANDY: While I will admit that Easter candy has come a long way since I was a kid (Reese's Peanut Butter cups and/or Mounds in the shape of an egg), the "classics" are just plain disgusting. Peeps are the foulest (fowlest?) candy on the planet.  The only thing worse than the taste -- a combination of toxic old-school insecticide and a sweet perfume a chubby 'tween might wear -- is the consistency.  It's like eating slightly soggy styrofoam.  Fuck you, Peeps.  Along with Jay Leno and Lady Gaga, you are the biggest scam ever foisted upon the American public.  And lest we forget cheap gritty jelly beans that come in mere colors (red, yellow and orange) instead of actual flavors (cherry, lemon and orange), and waxy hollow chocolate-adjacent bunnies.  If I'm craving something waxy and hollow I'll watch a recent Madonna interview on YouTube, okay?

And don't even get me started on those Cadbury Cream Eggs, the oozing viscous filling of which resembles something a bunch of horny British schoolboys might shoot onto a biscuit while playing the time-honoured and traditional COMING of age game, Ookie Cookie.  Sick fucks.  I say spend less time jacking off on crackers and more time brushing your Susan Boyle teeth!

THE ACTIVITIES: Decorating eggs is just retarded.  And whomever thought hiding hardboiled eggs in the late April sun was a good idea should frankly be crucified.  Growing up in Scottsdale, Arizona ("But it's a DRY heat!") I remember how every Easter my mom would hide those eggs in the backyard and around our split-level house -- never bothering to count them or keep track of where she hid them.  And, of course, every year we would leave one or two or THREE undiscovered.

Talk about The Resurrection!  That sulphuric rotten egg stench would "rise from the dead" and my mom would glare at us kids like it was our fault.  First, when the smell was a subtle stink, she would give us that "Did you fart, you horrible little bastards that I never should have had!?" look.  And then when the house started to reek like Jeffrey Dahmer's apartment, it became clear this was more than just methane gas escaping from the tiny buttholes of three little kids.  Then she gave us that look as if to ask, "Why didn't you find all those eggs I hid 6 weeks ago, you horrible little bastards that I never should have had!?"

THE TRUE MEANING OF THE HOLIDAY: Is total bullshit.  Like most of modern Christianity, it is warped and bastardized Paganism.

So, to recap, I hate Easter.  This, my friends, is the only basket I want...