Having older siblings leads to being tortured in various ways. Growing up my brother and sister told me that one Easter morning they saw a 6-foot long bunny on the couch. Fully horizontal, this giant beast was apparently not giving off vibes of love and happiness but something more sinister as if out of a Stephen King novel. Ever since I heard that story Easter morning had an ominous feel to it. The hours leading up to the bright sunny dawn were especially dark. Was this something that ruined the holiday for me? Hell no, it added something interesting and supernatural to a holiday that I already knew was completely bullshit. Growing up without religion (thank goddesses), Easter was all about crappy chocolate in egg shapes. My mom gave it a hell of an effort for a few years when the idea of candy and colored eggs still held some sort of excitement for me. There was no church, there was no lessons about zombie Jesus, just a series of crappy eggs hidden behind the couch. Sitting here with my in-laws on this most fake of all holidays, the memory of the evil 6-foot Easter bunny slabbed out on the couch keeps me sane and happy in a snarky sort of way.