The Pope of West Roxbury
If I were Pope, the first thing I’d do is fight for normalized relations with the people who practice the Cult of the Easter Bunny. Although my own Catholic upbringing strongly emphasized Jesus over the Easter Bunny, I was an open-minded young lad and was able to appreciate how some people could drink in the stories of the mystical rabbit and his mysterious workings. Who was I to say that the baskets filled with chocolate lops and cottontails and little chocolate eggs that resembled hare scat weren’t actually filled by a rabbit? Honestly, could I be 100% certain that the absurd myths that were intoxicating believers in Bunnyism were completely impossible?
Oh, great, now I’ve gone and tipped my hand. For half a second I had you thinking that I was actually willing to lend legitimacy to the Easter Bunny, such that if I ever became Pope (which, when I was a really young child, was still a possibility) I’d be willing to spend large chunks of my free time lobbying political leaders to seek common ground between us in the mainstream and the deranged psychopaths who perpetrate this annual farce of Bunny worship.
Imagine what you have to get your head around to believe in the Easter Bunny: a large (one assumes, given all the booty delivered) rabbit hops around and somehow penetrates through the several layers of security around your home, (via, what, magic?), and then farts out little brown eggs into a basket.
And here’s what I find most troubling: you allow your children to consume the little brown pellets they find.
Don’t you see the ridiculousness of this?
Sometimes, I worry for you and your decision making skills.