The War on Easter: A Veteran's Tale

(Note: Hopefully this goes without saying, but the following is a work of satire.)

Those were heady days.  I had served admirably in the Christmas War of 2012.  The beards of five mall Santas decorated the walls of my man cave.  Sadly, two of them were fake.  My stealthy ability to use garland to choke anyone who uttered "Merry Christmas" got noticed by the brass.  Not only did I receive two Medals of Marx, they even gave me December 25 off.  On a grand scale, the enemy's attempt to extend Christmas by opening stores on Thanksgiving had backfired, destroying that holiday as well.  Now it was all just forty days of Secular Humanist Capitalist Consumption Season.  Life was good.

Our mission was far from complete, however.  In early February the O-bot chip implanted in my brain activated, signalling that I had a new message from Dear Leader.  My services would again be needed.  He appeared in my mind's eye wearing a dark brown hooded robe, as was his custom.  "Loyal followers," he intoned, "I must call you to action once more.  Immediately following February Platonic Friendship Day, those who would destroy our way of life will begin preparation for a holiday called Easter.  As a Muslim Atheist, I'm not aware of the specifics of this celebration.  However, my bros in Friends of Hamas tell me that stores will be soon be filled with rabbits, eggs, and barely edible things called "Peeps" that are somehow vaguely associated with the religion of the enemy.  We cannot allow this!  Rabbits don't have eggs!  And I will have no references to the Anglo-Saxon goddess Eostre in the land of the New Black Panther Muslim Brotherhood!  Agenda 21 dictates that Easter must be eradicated!"

"Yes, my lord," I obediently replied.  Detailed instructions for my role in this struggle followed.  I was the captain of an elite task force known as the Soetoro Squad.  Our mission was to infiltrate school districts and ensure that any references to "Easter" were replaced with "Spring."  Thus "spring recess" and "spring egg hunts" were held from Alaska to Alabama.  The mind-control powers bestowed on us by the Great One made this task particularly easy.  We would zoom in riding our black helicopters, work our magic, and quickly be dispatched to the next location.

Eventually, though, we began to meet resistance.  Organizations such as O'Reilly's Rebels and the Dukes of Doocy caught on to our ingenious scheme.  Not content with broadcasting their filth from the Iron Throne atop Rockefeller Plaza, they mounted an armed insurgency.  The War on Easter had begun.

The enemy.  Bring it.

Fortunately, the Great One had naturally anticipated violence, and thus had ordered the Department of Homeland Security to buy up all the ammo on the market, leaving the rebels only the stockpiles they already had on hand.  This was only ten times the amount the army had, and thus it became a war of attrition.  Skirmishes between the O-Bots and the "Bunnies," as we came to call them, flared up all over the country.  Slowly but surely we drove the enemy back.  Prisoners were sent to FEMA's shiny new concentration camps, where they were reeducated into proper Secular Progressive Socialists.  The front receded deeper and deeper into Holy Texas, until it became clear the final battle would take place at a mighty bastion called Independence, commanded by a figure shrouded in mystery, known only as The Beck.

I was there.  The Battle of Independence raged for three full days.  I led my squad in a daring raid to take out Doocy, one of The Beck's top lieutenants.  By that time, ammo was running short for the Bunnies, so they were getting creative with their tactics.  Several gruesome casualties on my squad resulted.  Krugman ate it when an egg land mine exploded under him, sending deficit-funded shrapnel into his luscious beard.  Biden got caught in a web of some sort of fake grass and we had to leave him behind; after the fortress fell he was found bound and gagged in a room with Paul Ryan, Marco Rubio, and a bottle of water.  I shudder at the torture he endured.

I was left alone to confront Doocy, whom I found going over the latest transcript he had been handed from the Throne and audibly complaining it didn't make him sound smarmy enough.  We shared a homeland, Doocy and I, and I was eager to wipe that shit-eating smirk off his face once and for all.  I caught him off guard, and he attempted to woo me with the same charm he used to manipulate millions of Bunny underlings.

"Hey, man, all we wanna do is wish each other Happy Easter," he pleaded.

My rage at hearing the E-word knew no bounds.  I knew the time for talk was over.  Being a liberal, I had of course never fired my gun.  I put my finger on the mechanism I felt pretty sure was the trigger and pulled it.  Doocy's head exploded in a shower of blood so epic I felt as empowered as Tarantino's Django.

I looked at what was left of the corpse.  "Happy Spring, you freedom-loving asshole."

The Great One ultimately defeated The Beck in an epic duel atop Mount Galt.  The War on Easter was over, with the righteous forces of Secular Humanism once again victorious.  The holiday once known as Easter is now called the Spring Anti-Fertility Observance.  Gay Scout leaders hand out plastic eggs filled with condoms and birth control pills to all the little boys and girls.  Once again, everything is right with the One World.

I love the smile on Dear Leader's face just as the knife goes into that rabbit's back.  Booyah!