He Died for Your Dinner

On Easter Eve, my friends and I were at a bar for a 90 Proof concert. While talking about the impending holiday, Allison stated what would make her happy: "I just want to eat a shitload of ham and sit in a hot tub." Coincidentally, she shouted it just as a loud song came to an end, meaning practically the whole bar heard her intentions. It was hilarious, and certainly no one could disagree with the idea.

Thankfully, the Garza clan had offered to host an Easter feast, featuring both pulled pork and ham. And a hot tub to boot. It was amazing. I wanted to make a dish to share, but my cooking abilities leave something to be desired, so I opted to bring a couple dozen hard-boiled eggs and some dye instead. Last year I had such a fun time coloring eggs (we made slutty eggs, anti-Semitic eggs, and I even accidentally tried to dye an egg in my rum and coke) that I knew it would go over well again.

Look at those beauties:

We didn't have any crayons, so we improvised by writing on the eggs with wax from a candle. I had difficulty mastering that technique however, resulting in this laughable mistake:

"Jesus Chris" That will be the first and middle name of my future child.

After eating both pork and ham, I also wanted to pay homage to pigs, so I drew a pig being crucified and captioned it with "He died for your dinner."

Wait, was does the pig look like, Allison?

Ah, yes. Thanks.

We not only dyed eggs, but we hid them! I enjoy that seven people in their mid-twenties are still game to have an Easter egg hunt. You're never too old to celebrate Jesus (that's Jesus Chris to you, sir!) with a pagan ritual.

(Thanks to RJ for hosting and providing these photos.)