Easter special... Christmas good.

A'ight friends, it's time for my Easter special! I did a to-do list on my Facebook last year, and I feel that it would be pointless to try to top that, so I'm going to recount the story of Easter. Also, I'm going to offer up some suggestions for Hollywood on how they can make their action/adventure film stand out. Without further ado, the Easter story, as told by Sarah.*

So, once upon a time, there was a man who (if paintings hung in countless funeral homes/retirement homes [note that they both are "homes"...] are to be believed) had blue eyes, white skin and teeth, and long, flowing blond hair. His name? Jesus. Jesus H. Christ. Occupation? Carpenter and sometime wine maker extraordinaire/fish monger/baker/medic. A real jack of all trades, that one. Pet peeves? Men who try to make a living in the house where God does his living. Anyways, this guy, J.C., pissed off some Romans with his speechifying and so they executed him. But they also turned it into a big ordeal. And they executed two other guys so J.C. would have some company. They were in the midst of a recession, like us nowadays, so the guys they would have hired to carry the crosses were laid off, thus requiring J.C. and company to carry said crosses themselves. They arrived at the site, and J.C. got to wear a crown. Not a Burger King crown, mind you. They didn't start making those until 56 A.D. J.C. got a crown of thorns... which is as nice a song title as "Crown of Love", though the meaning is changed somewhat. Back to the story. J.C. gets nailed (or tied) to the cross and is left up there. It's all very sad, and if you're Mel Gibson, bloody. If you're Keith Phipps, it's all bloody awful. Ahem! Back. To. The. Story. J.C. is hurting, but bad. He cries out to Papa, and then dies. The End. But not. He is placed in a tomb! He rests for three days! He returns, crows' feet and worry lines banished! He has found his connection in the great circle of life. Fast forward 2,010 years. Consider, if you will, a Peep. Small. Yellow. Marshmallowy. Disgustingly sweet. Annoyingly cute. What does this have to do with Easter? Well, after minutes of intense thought, here's my conclusion: not much. I could say that Peeps are shaped like rabbits, which like to procreate, which is what nature does in spring, and that it signifies rebirth and renewal, which is what Jesus did (rebirthed). But that's not funny. So here's my connection: Peeps are a requisite candy at Easter because: A) they are small, like the nails used to affix our zombie lord to his cross, B) they are yellow, because I'm sure Jesus pissed himself at some point (wouldn't you?), and I'm sure that even his urine contains enough holy properties to purify Ann Coulter's soul (and oooh the thought of sprinkling pee on that woman...), C) they are marshmallowy because you can pull, tear, pierce and poke a marshmallow, and it will not condemn you... (wha?), D) they are disgustingly sweet because... family time = bitternessand the sweetness provides contrast aaaaaaand E) they are annoyingly cute because deep down, we are all horrible creatures who secretly enjoy biting the head off first, and more so when the head is cute (sure, why not), so every time a Peep is mercilessly devoured, the need for Jesus' sacrifice is made clear. Sigh.

On a completely unrelated note, I went to a movie on Friday. It was enjoyable, if a little clichéd at times. I couldn't help but think of ways that action/adventure movies could be improved if Hollywood would just stray a leeeetle bit from the formula they so rigidly stick to as of now. The first thing I'm sick of seeing: during fight/training scenes between men and women, the combatants invariably end up in a quasi-sexual pose, normally either man on top or woman on top. They remain there, breathless, gazing into each others' eyes, to drive home the point that, yes, they are fighting, but they also lurve each other. Or they at least lust after each other. Point is, it's been done, and done, and done, and done. So I got to thinking that maybe, instead of having the characters stop with girl-on-top/guy-on-top pose, Hollywood could take a page (literally) out of the Kama Sutra and have the characters end in, say, "congress of a cow". Look it up. It's probably the most implausible position to have them stop in, but man would it be funny. At least to me. There's more to be added to this list of suggestions, but my tummy hurts from devouring Easter marshmallows, and I need to seek solace in the bottom of a bottle of Jack (again, wha?). MERRY EASTER!!!

*I don't know this story half as well as a girl who went to Catholic school should. I do know it as well as I care to, however, which is just as good.