There’s fuc*k all on Rockall   57°35’48”N 13°41’19”W
Contact The Rockall Times Dramatic pictures of our 2003 assault on Rockall
  Monday 21st March 2005  Society   Powered by Yeast Logic
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Revealed: The true meaning of Easter

And it's not wholly Holy
by Roger Sutcliffe

Easter. The most holy time in the religious calendar; the time when The Almighty's desire for constant applause reaches its annual peak; a season when literally tens of people across the country flock to their local place of worship, rejoicing once more in the perpetual tussle for pole position in the immortality stakes.

Meanwhile, the rest of us plunge mouth-first and drooling into the true meaning of the spring festival: sexual intercourse with animals. Fancy a little friction with a ferret this year? No? A spot of fluid-swapping with a piggy little porker? Hmm. Well then, perhaps you're up for something a little more ambitious! How about a couple of energetic rounds with none other than... The Easter Bunny himself?

Yes, you read it here first! The Rockall Times can reveal that not only is His Elusive Choccyness more than "a tad miffed" at the present deplorable state of religious observance, he is also, more importantly, gagging for it. "I go back further than any of these other cun*ts", he said, ripping the foil from his fifteenth chocolate egg of the morning. His Eggness, it seems, is pretty upset at the way the original Bestiality Spring Shag-Fest was usurped, first by the pagans and then by the current crop of swivel-eyed religionists. "I was here first," he went on, "fuc*king rumpy-pumpy day and night, it was. But not now. Oh no. No-one wants a fat old bunny anymore."

I watched as the great overweight slob shifted on his massive buttocks. He seemed not to care or even to notice as, slack-jawed, a gooey strand of chocolate-laced saliva dribbled over his once pristine fluffy-white triple chin. Speaking with a mouth so crammed I felt the need to take cover, he sloshed on: "It'sch a fhuc*kin liberty. All I fhuc*kin want isch a fhuc*kin fhuc*k."

Happily, however, our discussions ended abruptly a short while later, when no fewer than six communicants who had apparently heard the calling, decided to "come on board" for the bunny hop. Each came armed with enough sticky brown stuff to satisfy the most craven of cravings. It seemed that the Floppy-Eared One's long dry period of bestial abstinence was about to come to a spectacular end. As I closed the door on the ring of fur, I felt my heart fill with gladness: the real meaning, the true spirit of the season is alive and licking, and in a bunny near you.

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