I’m a strong believer in fair warnings. That said if you’re a newer reader and of strong religious convictions this might not be the post for you. If you have a sense of humor about religious matters or simply like heresy and sacrilege then by all means read on.

Mal

Its not that I’m not a festive guy but when it comes to holidays most often I’d rather call out for Pizza, gulp down a few soda pops and stare mindlessly at sports on TV than anything else. Now I like a good party as much or more than the next guy, to me good parties don’t involve the need to push religion, go to church, or pray for anything other than my mercy. In which case prayer is probably ok since its to me and I get to enjoy your suffering. Ever doubt that god is a Sadist? Look around! A good holiday includes heavy drinking, something other than baked ham, a multitude of raucous parties to choose from, scantily clad women, and things that go boom, crash, or bang. And like a good party a good holiday has a nice palpable amount of sexual tension.

It might just be me but religiously themed holidays tend to miss that mark ever since the fall of Sodom and Gomorrah.

Which brings me to the topic of Easter and or Bunnies. The holiday I most recently survived as a pagan in the holy land of the mid west; a place where there only thing there is more of than banks is churches.

This holiday started like so many others. I woke up which all in all is usually a good start. A pot of Coffee and Two mindless movies (Old School and Back to School) before everyone else woke and off I went out to gather breakfast while the good god fearing folks were in church.

Then came the family obligations… it really is difficult being a pagan in a Christian world. Just a week before at a party some one pointed out a nice young lady in her mid to late 20′s and said she had known her since youth group. I told them that’s too bad I thought she might be a fun girl. They vehemently insisted that she was until they realized what I meant. They blushed, I grinned like the Devil.

Now I know there are all types of Bunnies. I had a fuzzy white one named Dana as a kid. There are longer eared, fluffy, short hair, Playboy, Easter, and my favorite – Bondage Bunnies. Now I like playboy bunnies but that’s not the topic at hand its the fact that yet again the day that celebrates Bunnies like no other was filled with chocolate and food and the never ending competition of who loves Jesus more the the Presbyterians, the Baptists, or the New evangelical types that stalk my neighborhood. Despite all these religions duking it out in God’s name there was not a single new bondage bunny for me to play with at any of the festivities that I attended.

It’s disappointing. It’s like wanting a new toy on Christmas and getting a fucking GAAP text (Generally Accepted Accounting Principals). Oh sure there was the requisite hot but totally nuts brunette there to tempt me, the generations of family gathering in celebration, violent ground acquisition games played as people pushed and shoved in the pursuit of a magical money bearing plastic egg. I choose not to participate for fear of trampling the young and elderly. Rather I watch from the sides standing near a blazing bonfire with my most frequent of addictions in hand – caffeine.

It was in fact a pretty good day. This city boy went to the country. I got to see chickens (hot sauce and deep fryers were not involved), talk about killing stuff, and gambling (which despite my many vices this is not one of them) and there were even chains involved. Usually when chains are involved I’m a happy boy but this time it was to pull a car out of the mud with a tractor. Lame American made cars in bondage isn’t even my idea of a good time.

If only some mythical creature would have left me a few new bondage bunnies all would have been perfect. Oh well now its time to gear up for the next big holiday the immaculate feast of things going stupid fast and intoxicated loose moralled spectators. It involves things might go bang, catch fire or blow up, The Indy 500. Sure its not Shibaricon but fast cars and drunk girls is never all bad in my world. Speaking of which I still need to pay Hammer for my tickets off to write him a check.

Finally a postlude

Before the “Jesus Saves” crowd freaks out AGAIN and starts spamming me (again) with liturgy based mumbo jumbo or intending to save my pagan godless soul I am not claiming to be god or a deity of any sort. I’m happy that you love the lord, that’s great keep loving him and being happy about it I’m not trying to stop you. I love a lot of things but I’m sure don’t want all the details so spare me yours OK? Yes I know I’m going to hell the nuns told me that in second grade.