After several months of some borderline illegal (but, typically, highly illegal) preparation for the Easter weekend, we’re happy to report the Easter bunny concludes his official newsletter with us in style! Yes, it’s the Easter weekend and, my word, he’s been having a rough time of it. Enjoy your Easter, everyone!
The Easter Bunny Newsletter
Greetings! It’s Easter and we’ve had one almightily tumultuous time getting our shipment of Easter eggs out to stores. We had to cut a few corners along the way. After a chocolate shortage, we switched to mud as a substitute to meet our shipment quota. We’re hoping no one notices, otherwise it will merely add to our woes.
My word, we had many other calamities at our factory as well. Rather than celebrating our great achievements in getting all those chocolate/mud eggs to supermarkets across the land, my staff and I have to reflect on a destructive year of mistakes, government warnings, and declarations of intent to shut us down by the World Health Organisation (WHO). Pffffft! Here’s what happened.
Last night, prior to the chocolate egg stock going to the packaging area of our factory, we began a nightlong rave to celebrate our achievements. Unfortunately, at some stage during the drunken revelry, all of the packaging got stamped with potentially offensive language rather than the “Happy Easter!” messaging we’d previously planned.
The packaging now brands such alarming phrases as: “You’re already morbidly obese, don’t buy this you fatty!”, “**** THE POLICE!”, “If you buy this you’re a communist!”, and “Bang! Zoom! Straight to the moon!” There were also several more depraved versions which I can’t mention here as Professional Moron is a family blog.
Anyway, as these eggs reached stores the British press copped a load of this and immediately besieged our residence and began spreading wild rumours. Don’t believe their lies! Particularly the nonsense published in The Sun that I intend to use horse manure as a chocolate substitute in 2017. It’s too expensive, I’ll be turning to cow manure instead… at least I was, but I’ll explain more later.
The WHO Visit!
Yeah, so after that disastrous shipment The WHO turned up this morning for a visit with only a few hours warning! Things didn’t get off to a fantastic start here. I decided The WHO would appreciate some music upon arrival, so as its committee members began to arrive I began blasting My Generation from the best loudspeakers we have at the property, followed by the entirety of its seminal Tommy rock opera.
I thought its members would appreciate hearing the greatest hits, but as it turns out The WHO have nothing to do with The Who. This was enormously confusing and my staff, whom I’d excitedly prepped about the arrival of the famed rock band, were greatly disappointed and began hurling stray chocolate eggs at The WHO.
Inevitably, this caused some strife between us all. Not in the best mood, The WHO immediately began disseminating propaganda signs about my property. Apparently these signs have to stay put whilst it appeals to the High Court of Justice to have our factory closed down, cordoned off, and “removed from existence” – the words of The WHO. Bloody misery guts…
Rules & Regulations
Due to our “dangerous” use of chemicals (primarily bleach) to clean the factory, The WHO demanded we fit the following signs in and about the premises:
- Danger – Battery Acid
- Danger Hydrochloric Acid
- General Danger
- Electric Hazard
- Extreme Danger
- Danger: Wear Goggles and Rubber Gloves at All Times
- Warning: No Unauthorised Access
- Danger of Entrapment
- Danger of Death
- Laser Radiation
- Slippery Floor (we use fresh bleach to clean the building twice daily, you see, plus a lot of our staff members are in constant floods of tears due to chemical induced fits of colossal depression)
- Danger of Suffocation
- Watch for Falling Objects
- Strong Magnetic Field
- Non-Ionising Radiation
- Hazardous to the Environment
Abandoning My Duties
When the going gets tough, the tough get the hell out of here! Threatened with all manner of legal jargon I don’t understand (I did understand the “up to 100 years in solitary confinement” bit), I’m legging it. I’ve donned a brilliant disguise (a fake moustache, and I’ve dyed my hair orange) and will now be going by the name of Watership Up.
I’m fleeing with our resident janitor (a convict out on parole who accidentally fired his bazooka at The WHO believing them to be zombies) to Easter Island (ironic, I know) where I should be able to frolic merrily amongst the moai statues free from the threat of lawsuits.
I intend to steal the janitor’s wallet at some stage and scarper (I’ve told him we’re going to the Bahamas), as he is an unstable sort. As for your Easter eggs… some poor bugger will take up my job next year and you’ll get your fill. Good riddance to the lot of you, blaggards!