Jizzy Pearl ranting about Easter eggs & raping men!
Jizzy Pearl shops at Wal Mart.
It was recently brought to my attention that this weekend was a holiday—
“What holiday?” I asked.
Easter? Is that still considered a holiday? My suspicions were later confirmed at the local Wal-mart, rows and rows of aisles offering the latest in foil-wrapped eggs and chocolate hares. Freakish commercial crap all celebrating the supposed rising of Christ and me thinking what does all this have to do with PEEPS?
As a child I had no mystic Gnostic insight into the true meaning of Easter, or Ishtar as it was known in ancient times. I was raised Roman Catholic, went to Catholic school for years, forced to memorize the 12 stations of the cross (and was soundly beaten by a nun when I couldn’t remember the 9th station.)
“He fell a THIRD TIME YOU STUPID FUCK! THIRD TIME THIRD TIME!”
Like all children I colored Ishtar eggs and bit the ears off chocolate rabbits, they could have been chocolate rabbis I didn’t care. I looked at Ishtar through a child’s greedy eyes, a 2nd Halloween. Candy, chocolate, then later on, ham. Then upset stomach, vomiting, diabetes erectile dysfunction and eventually death. Praise Him praise Him…
Turns out these things, eggs, rabbits, ham, all these things have their origin in ancient myth. It seems there was this God named Tammuz, whose mother was Semiramis, or Isis. Stop me if you’ve heard this one before. Or if you’ve seen Zeitgeist the movie. Turns out a lot of so-called Christian holidays were originally
Pagan holidays, or were co-opted from pagan holidays. In Rome December 25th was called the Birthday of the Unconquered Sun, Sol Invictus. Mithras. And then, as an afterthought, Jesus. I know what you’re thinking–
“BLASPHEMER! BURN HIM! BURN HIM!” And you’re right I will burn…but not today. A few hundred years ago however I would have had my toenails ripped off for spouting such nonsense. St. Augustine said that any relationship between pagan holidays and Christian holidays was the work of the Devil and should be dismissed. Yeah, it figures you would say that.
December 25th was the culmination of a week-long celebration called the Saturnalia after the god Saturn where mobs of women roamed the streets raping and attacking men. Sort of like Girls gone Wild Gone Wild. It kinda sounds cool but apparently during this sexual frenzy they often ripped the men apart, tore them limb from limb after fucking them. This ritual has its modern equivalent in the bachelorette party. Roman men would literally barricade themselves in their houses to protect themselves from these marauding hordes of she-wolves. All men desire a good blow-job but please, no teeth…
What does this have to do with PEEPS you may ask? Easter is the celebration of the Sunday following the first full moon after the Spring Equinox, Spring, new life. Its all about fertility People, eggs, rabbits, get it? Rabbits get it on so you should too, invigorate the soil for the Spring planting. Dance around the May Pole, or should I say the BIG COCK Pole. Witches don’t fly brooms, those are BIG DICKS they’re straddling. Tammuz the sun-god was killed by a wild boar, that’s why we eat ham on Sunday. I looked all this shit up on the Internet so it must be true because EVERYTHING is true on the Internet. Wars were fought over this religious nonsense, questions over who begat who were settled not in a university library but on the battlefield. And lastly what does this have to do with PEEPS? Or Dokken vs. Winger? Or American Idol?
Moses walked the lonely desert of Sinai and could find no leaves to wipe his Ass, therefore we shouldn’t wipe our asses for a week. To commemorate his pain.
Why do we eat bitter herbs? ‘Cause we could find no Mrs. Dash. What are the 12 Stations of the Cross? Does it fucking matter?
Color your eggs and eat your bunnies, bite the ears off first ‘cause that’s what Tammuz would do. Semiramis Isis Lady Gaga Mother Shipton Diet Lipton who am I to shit on your holiday, get together with family and turn off that accursed Idiot Box and slap the Playstation out of the hands of your zombie-fied children and force them to SPEAK, force them to interact with their fellow humans instead of zip-filing their made-up emotions into a Tweet, practice the art of conversation around the Pig-table, pass the ham hold the Spam and have a drink on me…
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