Fuck me dead.
(he he he, that’ll go down well with my new p0rn status, hey Mountainmama? )
The tiny terrorist was with me shopping today.
And they were putting out the Easter Eggs. On a stinking hot January day.
The kid was begging for one. Well, 1. you can’t eat dairy and those sad-excuse-for-chocolate eggs only have one ingredient derived from nature and that is dried cow lactation and B. Christmas was like a freaking week ago!
On New Years Eve, when I was stocking up on my shit-load-of-junk-cause-I-am-alone-on-my-anniversary-AND-New-Years and wine I saw these:
And the florist is flogging Valentines Day shit.
This is insane.
Who in their right mind would buy Easter Eggs at this time of year? When the bastards would melt to a gooey mess before you even reached the car, let alone the river of freaking chocolate it would turn into before the car air conditioner kicks in.
And where would you keep them for Three. Freaking. Months. Dickhead?
And the true insanity? The thing that actually makes me want to scream because of the madness of it all?
The Christmas decorations are still up in the streets.
So while you are munching down on your overpriced, fake chocolate, you can look at all the purdy lights and Santa’s.
As I said before.
Fuck me dead. The world is going to hell in an Easter basket. Might go to the shops and see if I can find me a Halloween costume for the ride.