Get off my lawn! (White House Easter Edition)

There’s a war on Easter Eggs. Sound crazy? Nobody asked you, but allow me to turn the Culture War alarm-knob to 11.

First, in England, the Cadbury chocolate makers decided to drop the word “Easter” from the title of its annual egg hunt, opting for the more British-sounding “Undigestible Choco-Slag Hunt.“ True, Cadbury plasters the word “Easter” all over almost every square inch (approximately 0.3 Celsius) of the remaining advertising space, but they left it out of the actual egg hunt title. That means war. Second, rumors are now circulating that the time-honored tradition of the White House Easter Egg Roll is in jeopardy, primarily because Jared Kushner is not available to head preparations.

For the purposes of a conspiracy, that’s really all the evidence we need.

“That’s it?” you may say. “Two frivolous, completely unrelated stories form the basis of your claim for this “War on Easter Eggs?” Allow me to respond with “get out of my article. How did you even get in here?” I don’t come to your work and tell you how to be stupid, don’t come in my work and tell me how to write.

I’ll leave the Cadbury front to our allies overseas. I’m more concerned with the deeper implications of the apparent chaos around the White House Easter Egg Roll. To the media, the fiasco is just the imbecilic dropping of a tradition that stretches back over 100 years. But I fear something much more calculated is afoot.

We have to be honest: Donald Trump is 70 years old. What octogenarian seriously wants hundreds of kids on his lawn? The closest he comes to wanting an egg roll would come from the carry-out menu at Sing Lee’s. The idea of throngs of happy, screaming children trampling all over the immaculate grass of the South Lawn probably fills his KFC-clogged heart with ice. He must be sitting up there like the Grinch that stole Easter, his fingers nervously drumming, thinking “I’ve got to keep the Easter Egg Roll from coming!” Or rather, his poor dog Max Kushner will have to nervously do the drumming, since the President, busy as he is, delegated it to him so he could be free to make complex decisions on how to handle that wicked bend on the Par 5 down at Mar-a-Lago. What better way to do this than to feign total incompetence, then promise to do better in the future. Actually, this conspiracy also applies to Syria.

You may be tempted to counter with “That’s hardly a case against the President. All you’ve got is a tenuous association between a flaky media story and a lot of moronic supposition.” Allow me to counter-counter with this: if you don’t leave, I’m calling the cops.

Where were we? Oh yeah, so the plan is to bungle the Egg Roll. Maybe there won’t be any eggs at all. Maybe just a few sad, hastily painted pastel-colored golf balls Chris Christie had to pull out of the Mar-a-Lago water hazards when he was being hazed as part of the Veepstakes. When the kids realize what’s going on, and they assemble in front of the White House, tears welling in their eyes, Trump can look at them and shrug. “Susan Rice,” he’ll say, “stole the eggs.”

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