So I was driving and noticed some signs by the side of the road. One said “THE EASTER BUNNY” and the next said “DON’T RISE FROM THE DEAD.” Fascinated, I slowed to read the signs sprinkled over this church’s yard. The signs urged me to come to Easter Sunday services rather than indulge in candy and plush bunnies. I am so kicking myself for not snapping a picture of the signs, especially because someone snagged the signs later, so it just read “THE EASTER BUNNY.”
Dear readers, it is not my wish to offend any religious folks, but how can I resist such obvious fodder? How can I NOT write about the Easter Bunny rising from the dead now that I’ve seen those signs?
So Happy Easter. Dave called this “inadvertently religious, while still blasphemous.”
—————
One moment, Gustav the Bunny was rotting peacefully in the ground, conscious of nothing. The next, he was clawing at the dirt, uttering little rabbit squeaks roughly translated as “Help! OMG! Brains!”
The Bunny Had Risen, and it was Easter Morning.
Gustav discovered that on top of stinking to high heaven (he worried that God would strike him down for this offense, then realized that it didn’t matter, as he was already dead), he had two new unusual talents:
a) Mysteriously increased intelligence
b) His ears had become dispensers for brightly colored boiled eggs
Terrified, he stumbled through the cemetery and into the adjoining church, dropping eggs everywhere. People screamed, leaping to their feet and upsetting hymnals. A handful of brave eight-year-olds ignored his musty demeanor and scattered after the eggs, diving under pews and knocking over collection plates. The more practical children in the group pocketed both eggs and donations.
Poor Gustav! All he wanted was to go back to the grave, or perhaps to consume tasty rabbit brains. He gagged at the thought of the humans’ tough gray matter, instead relishing the tender tiny morsels of bunny brains. Then he shook his head, ears flapping and eggs flying. What was the matter with him! Rabbit brains indeed! The church was a nightmare of screams and polyester pantsuits.
“It’s from the devil!” moaned the pastor’s wife.
“Oh my Lord, it’s a zombie bunny!” shouted the youth choir director, his soaring tenor nicely contrasting with the chorus of shrieking twelve-year-olds.
“It’s gonna eat our brains!” wailed a Sunday school teacher.
“The Easter Bunny did not rise from the dead!” hollered the pastor, pounding his pulpit. “It is a symbol of sinful heathen fertility! You are all … um …having a shared hallucination!”
Silent, the crowd stared at Gustav, unwilling to associate his mangled zombie body with anything remotely like fertility. Gustav himself had zero interest in being fertile. The thought of eating bunny brains was much more appealing.
“Start thinking about Jesus now, and banish this unsightly apparition!” ordered the pastor. Annoyed at this insult (unsightly? The nerve of that man!), Gustav twitched an ear and lobbed an egg at him. At precisely this moment, the crowd’s determined focus on Jesus caused the Messiah to appear.
“What’s going on?” demanded Jesus in an unearthly beautiful voice.
“It’s … it’s Easter, my lord,” stammered the Pastor.
“Oh.” Jesus scratched his beard. “It’s that time already, is it? Being divine and all, I sometimes forget that my flock likes to celebrate anniversaries. To a Divine Being like myself, time is irrelevant. But why all the screaming? I didn’t think Easter was a screaming sort of holiday.”
Unable to speak due to their supreme awe at being in Jesus’ presence, the congregation could only point at poor Gustav, who cowered in a corner.
Jesus groaned and ran his hand through his hair, which was, of course, perfectly glossy and thick. “Satan!” he called. “Is this some kind of joke?”
“YES,” boomed a voice from the ground. “AND I AM AMUSED.”
The crowd huddled together, overwhelmed with awe and fear. Gustav wondered if the mysterious creepy voice came from a rabbit. A rabbit with brains. Brains that he could easily crush and extract using–
“A zombie rabbit, Satan? Seriously?” Jesus sighed.
“YES.” The smell of sulfur rose from beneath the pulpit. “JUST BECAUSE YOU HAVE NO SENSE OF HUMOR IS NO REASON TO CRITICIZE MY CLEVER ESCAPADE.”
“You’re Satan. You don’t have escapades,” Jesus advised. “Now I’m going to send this poor bunny back to the grave and remove his unnatural intelligence.” With a snap of his fingers, Gustav was once again unaware and inanimate, the awful craving for bunny brains extinguished. And because he was dead, he didn’t see the aftermath in the church, which included Jesus unboiling the eggs and refusing to sign autographs.
Undeterred, most of the children went home to eat chocolate Easter Eggs and Peeps. The pastor, never one to allow deviations in his grip on reality, soon convinced the congregation that it was all a shared hallucination brought on by religious ecstasy.
Satan simmered quietly in his fiery lair of pain and damnation. Jesus was always spoiling his fun! But he soon straightened and smiled. Christmas was not far off and this time, he had elves of his own.
