Easter: Not As Cool As Christmas

I can respect the ancient tradition of a Spring festival, chock full of fertility rites and sexual innuendo. But then the Christians embraced the holiday and made it into some ridiculous ghost story about the Son of God coming back to life. How can parents possibly reassure little Johnny that zombies aren't real, while telling him that their savior rose from the dead? They should make it more believable by saying to Johnny that unless he's good during the year, Jesus will come back and feed on his flesh while he's sleeping.

So terrific; I get boiled eggs handed to me in a basket with fake, shiny, plastic, green grass that is almost as bad as tinsel: you find a strand of it three months later while you're sweeping. And why the Hell does Easter have to be on a Sunday? I always have Sundays off. The only difference with this Sunday is that I'm obligated to have dinner with my family.

Easter sucks.

MK Olsen Eats The Living

Of course I'm only joking. I doubt she eats anything at all, but if she did...total flesh eating zombie. Are you with me?!

Florida: Heaven's Waiting Room

Upon landing at Tampa International Airport my bladder threatened to release the flood gates, leaving me standing in my own little puddle of urine, unless I found the nearest restroom. After meandering through the security line, in which of course they made me take off my Puma's, I darted for the little girl's room. I looked at the bathroom floor, and then at my naked feet. Thoughts of Britney McSpears barefoot at truck stop restrooms flying through my head, I decided to ignore the pressure and throw on the sneaks.

Another line. Doing a covert pee-pee dance (You know the one...left foot, shuffle right foot, squeeze. Repeat.), and glancing around at my surroundings, I noticed a young woman in front of me, staring in horror at something behind me. I followed her gaze to the sink and vanity area where a woman stood hunched, applying a mask of make-up. She must have been at least eleventy years old. I didn't see anyone propping her up (think Weekend At Bernie's), and no strings were visibly attached to her, so naturally I rationalized that she was a flesh eating zombie. With other-worldly, reddish-orange faux hair.

I peed. Then got the Hell out of the airport. If Night of the Living Dead was about to go down, I wasn't going to be a part of it.