This past Sunday the Easter Bunny appeared alongside the president and his wife at the White House to celebrate the day. He thought it would be a fun time for all. Then Donald Trump began to speak. Here, for the first time, is the Easter Bunny’s story—in his own words …
I’ve been doing this shit for the last 60 years, and it always sucks.
“Stand next to the president,” they tell me. “Wave to the kids,” they tell me. “Smile,” they tell me. “Hand out eggs,” the tell me. For fuck’s sake, it’d be nice if—maybe just one time—someone asked my name. Or about my day. Anything.
But, no. I’m the Easter Bunny, and I’m supposed to do as I’m told. Stand and wave and smile and hand out eggs.
Well, fuck that.
This year, I approached the president and grabbed him by the shoulders. He stared into my eyes. I stared back. His chin wobbled. His hair waved. I saw a sparkle. It wasn’t love, I don’t think. But, at long last, I found myself before a man who understood me. Who understood the Easter Bunny.
That, I could tell.
“Let’s freak these bitches out,” I said.
“What do you mean?” Donald Trump asked.
“I’m tired of boring Easter nonsense,” I said. “It’s ’bout time we used the day to talk about military spending. Hells, let’s let everyone know the economy is better than ever! Let’s blow this thing up like two mofos rolling down Crenshaw.”
“What about the holiness of the day?” he asked. “You know, Christ has risen and …”
I stopped him cold.
“I’m the Easter Bunny,” I said. “Would I lead you astray?”