It’s not Friday.

I keep thinking it’s Friday. It isn’t. It’s Thursday. I’ve been out shopping, and it’s no fun. People are everywhere, panic buying eggs. Alien eggs, dog’s eggs, even human eggs being tossed into trolleys by red-faced mentals.

Easter weekend is upon us all again like some sort of oval apocalypse. It’s called Christmas 2: Christmasser in New Zealand.

Well, it isn’t, but the fact remains that Easter is a celebration of when eggs were created. Of course, the phenomenon of the egg started in 1979 with the creation of the facehugger egg in ALIEN, and since then, the world has celebrated the egg.

You can’t make an omelette without smashing eggs, and you can’t make an egg without reverse-engineering an omelette. All sorts of paradoxes, but one thing still remains, the world is going yolking mental for eggs.

All around the world, gigantic John Hurt dummies are loaded onto floats, replete with alien eggs. The children of the city gather to pull a huge rope, which sets off the mechanism, launching the facehugger into the actor’s face.

It’s Easter. Your eggs are rotten to the core.


About neilstilwell

Abseiling into trouble, a sewer rat staring at the stars. Disgusting. You can assist my search for the one ring by buying a Kindle version of this diary from here. It has some other stuff in it, and a dreadful cover.
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