Who gives a sweet hot damn about the Easter Bunny?

I was perusing the internetz today and came across this little gem: an Easter Egg hunt was cancelled in Colorado due to “helicopter parents.” I was intrigued but not surprised and here’s why – you guys all know I work in the mall and that the store is located directly above the mall’s center where, you guessed it, magical beings such as Santa and the Easter Bunny come to play and bestow the children of the Roseville area with their fantastical greatness.

I’m OK with Santa, they always get a good one who looks like he is worth every penny they pay him. The Easter Bunny on the other hand, well he just drives me bug fucking crazy. I don’t think there is any way to make an Easter Bunny costume not creepy as all get out. The head is always too big for the body, the pastel colors are all wrong (this year he is orange and blue, blargh) and he has those demon eyes that look into my pitiful human soul. He makes me feel dirty. Like I’m walking around naked. Or like I forgot to put in a tampon.

And what really gets me is that every year, without fail, these “helicopter moms” come in with their chocolate covered children, and while they are shopping for candles, the kid is complaining about how long it is taking and saying things like, “I don’t want to see the Easter Bunny. He scares me. I want to go home. My stomach hurts. Why don’t you show me affection cold, cold, witch mother?” To which the mother replies, “We’re seeing the Easter Bunny whether you like it or not.”

WHY? What is so important about the goddamn Easter Bunny? Is it your mother-in-law? Does she demand pictures of her grandchild(ren) with the mythical beast? If so, why doesn’t she take the little bastards herself? Is it your husband? Or are you just so determined to make your kid happy that you are willing to make them miserable to do it?

There is the alternate version in which the child that will stop at nothing to see The Bunny. While his mother shops for candles, he tugs at her tube top dress that she wears as an everyday dress when it’s really a bathing suit cover up that you can clearly see all of her underwear and stretch marks through (nothing is wrong with stretch marks by the way, this is an insult I reserve only for terrible people. I gots stretch marks too, yo. Juicy bitches always gots some stretch marks). He cries, pouts on the floor, tries to wipe his chocolate covered hands on my white work shirt, and is eventually victorious when his mother finally caves and they depart to a world of sugar infused magic. Again, WHY? I know this is played out, but when I was little enough to be stoked about the Easter Bunny, I would never have acted like such an asshole for fear of punishment, i.e. not getting to see said bunny.

In fact, my grandparents only took me to see Santa once or twice. They quit going because bitches up in the mall be crazy. They never took me to see the Easter Bunny because, and this is what I am really trying to say here, WHO GIVES A SHIT ABOUT MEETING THE EASTER BUNNY? I didn’t give a shit and do you know why? My grandparents made sure to tell me that Mall Santa and Mall Easter Bunny and Mall Whoever were just fakes assigned to appease the public and get them to buy stuff. I wasn’t supposed to meet either one of them – they were too magic for my little mortal brain to even comprehend were I to meet them in person. I would watch Christmas movies and when the little kid met Santa, I would laugh and say something like, “Fools! One cannot just meet Santa!” My grandparents would laugh and agree.


If you want some straight up real magic fit for Easter, you need to read this book: Rumo and his Miraculous Adventures by Walter Moers. This book is filled with the misadventures of a magical little dude called Rumo. Rumo is a special creature called a Wolperting. Way more magical than the Easter Bunny. He gets shit done, too.


  1. I wholeheartedly agree with this book referral, and also toughening kids for life. I’ll never care if anyone laughs or pokes fun at me, I’ll just laugh too if it’s funny. Thanks Grandpa.

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