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Easter 2025: Three Voices
A Satire in Bad Taste
Here, Your Holiness, I baked you some Easter cookies. They're from my mother's favorite recipe. I hope you enjoy them.
Why, thank you my son, I'm sure I will. Mmm, delicious. Bless you, and a happy Easter.
Twelve Hours Later
As Sung Every Sunday in Evangelical Churches Across America
Donald Trump
kiss his rump
bend and turn
then he'll hump
Donald Trump
Donald Trump
my god
I'm a faithful Evangelical
Democrats are diabolical
it's so Evangelo-logical
Donald Trump
T R U M P
R U M P
U M P
M P
P
In the Lair of Orange Helob
Hey folks, remember the hex on Tr*mp?
News flash: it didn't work.
Dateline: Tr*mp I.
Various Wiccans and other magic-makers publicly hex Tr*mp, including regular coordinated workings.
The community publicly debates the ethics of hexing Tr*mp. Some come down on one side, some on the other.
The non-pagan media mostly snickers.
Some possible conclusions:
The hex on Tr*mp actually did work, buying us four Tr*mp-free years.
If so, apparently hexes, like canned goods, have a “use-by” date. Really, what good is a temporary solution?
Magic doesn't work.
Under the circumstances, I find this conclusion difficult to escape. Magic—at least, causative magic as literally conceived—simply doesn't work.
But then, I've never thought that it did. Thoughts aren't things. Magic is metaphor. In which case...
Tr*mp is a master magician who out-magicked all the opposition.
The Orange Helob gorged on all the energy the would-be hexers sent him, and now, bloated with power, spins his evil webs to capture yet more victims to suck dry and throw away, drained.
Dateline: Tr*mp II
“Satanists in Christian Clothing”
AP: Mar-a-Lago, Florida
In a press conference Wednesday, President-Elect Trump admitted to having literally sold his soul to the Devil in order to win re-election.
“I summoned Him up myself, conjured Him up, at Halloween, just before the Election,” he told reporters, “that's His birthday, you know. You should have seen me, it was wild! He showed up, too—in person, of course. Hey, when the Donald calls, even the Devil comes.”
He laughed. “How else do you think a worthless, incompetent piece of sh*t like me could possibly have got back into office?”
“Talk about the Art of the Deal,” he continued. “I traded something that you can't even see—you can't even see it, everybody knows that—you can't smell it or taste it or hear it or feel it, some people would say it doesn't even exist. I signed the contract, the pact with the Devil—He's my buddy, you know, my good buddy—traded nothing for something, nothing, and now I'm going to be the most powerful man in the world!”
When asked if the revelation—which puts to rest the swirling cloud of rumors that have dogged his campaign since the election—would damage his popularity with Evangelical voters, a key voting bloc in his reelection, Trump laughed.
"I feel like we're waiting for the results of an STD test," said a friend the other day.
I've been looking for the perfect metaphor to capture my sense of the harrowing ride we've been on here in America for the last while. So thank you, Keridwyn, for giving it to me.
How do you fell an evil ogre?
Seems like the Democrats may finally have figured it out.
If you haven't reread Jack and the Beanstalk lately, you probably should.
Somehow, in the current political climate, all those old monster-slaying tales shine with unexpected relevance.
How do you fell an evil ogre? You do what the stories all say you do.
