My Letter to the Easter Bunny

Dear Easter Bunny,
That time has come around, you creepy fuck. That's right, you furry pervert- it's Grady Richards, here to deem you unworthy once again. Though I send you virtually the same letter every year, I have yet to hear back from you. It is peculiar, but I'm not put out by it. I only assume that there isn't a surplus of postage stamps available on the grassy hill you call home. And, since you have no fingers (freak!) it would be hard to respond, in the first place.


What the fuck are you, anyway? Okay, I understand that the Christians stole the Spring Festival from the pagans. That's why you're a rabbit who carries around a basket of eggs. Eggs are a symbol of fertilily, while rabbits are universally known for shagging. But I can't pretend that a six foot two pink bunny that smells like shoe polish, sweat, and Old Milwaukee is going to do a whole lot of the hibbidy-dibbidy, if you know what I mean. Seriously, are you supposed to have sex with other rabbits? Because if I opened up a Hallmark Card and saw, inside of it, a photograph of you sexually degrading a real rabbit, I would probably blow out a ten pound spew of projectile vomit. Or, since sheer mechanics of bestality are mind-numbing whilst wearing an anatomically inaccurate suit, are you supposed to get dry-humped by a prison inmate, or something? Because, honestly, I don't see many other types of people taking a look at you and thinking, "you know, I'd like to felate that guy!" Even prison inmates- the most universally hard-up and depraved perverts aside from priests and mailmen- would likely resist the urge to mate with you, for fear that the children would be horribly scarred by witnessing the event.


And speaking of children, haven't you learned yet that Santa Claus has the shopping mall turf pegged to a T? For rizzle, my nizzle. You certainly are good at scaring the shit out of half-wit Johnnys and Sallys. But as far as inspiring hope and morality into the next generation, you might as well dangle a baby from a hotel balcony, you creep. If an unintelligent child takes a look at you, it would think, "Oh, fuck it's a gigantic, furry monster that smells like Uncle Frank!" You frighten the stupid kids. More intellectual children gaze upon you and think, "That poor bunny. Nobody's shagging him! And while I feel bad for him, I'm certainly not going to shag him. What kind of mistakes did you make, to become what you are, Shopping Mall Easter Bunny? No amount of chocolate bribes can intice me to give you a pity-fuck. You need to learn to make better decisions."
It's true. I witnessed a child use these exact terms, just last year. You probably thought I hadn't heard... or that I might forget. But let me tell you, Easter Bunny: your life is a testament to the futility of symbolism. And you're probably the only fucker in the world that is more pathetic than me.

As I mentioned before, you are just a misguided metaphor for the Spring Festival. It sucks to be you; to have gotten such a short end of such a degrading stick. After all, there are many other non-religious holidays which have much better scapegoats than you. And as far as religious holidays go, Santa's got your number. How could you stand up against a fat old man in a bathrobe who stands out in the cold and watches kids sleeping, then promises them toys in exchange for being "good little shits." As a matter of fact, even child-molesters have more game and excell further in the art of the pick-up (or 'snatch') than you. Shame on you for trying to beat such odds.


But it's Easter. And Easter is about forgiveness... (well, I don't know- what do YOU get out of it?) and so I have decided that, rather than degrading you like I do every year, I might as well show you some kind of a kindness. And what is kinder than being in my thoughts? To prove to you that you are, indeed, in my thoughts, I have taken the time to write you a loving, freeverse poem:


"You are the Easter Bunny,
sad, disabled, little man.
No one wants to shag you
because you are a freak.
What do you have to do
with Jesus rolling back a stone?
You are a disgrace and failure
you should probably kill yourself."

There it is, E.B. I sincerely hope you like it.

Go Choke,
- Grady Richards

P.S. When I eat chocolate bunnies, I eat the ears last, so that they can hear their own pathetic screams when no one comes to stop me from devouring them.