Argument is meant to reveal the truth, not to create it.

There was this guy. And there were these chickens. Oh, and there were a bunch of rabbits.

So there was some kind of argument about something.

I think that it was over chocolate.

And eggs. T

This guy's dad wasn't happy.

It had something to do with fish as well. I’m pretty sure that it had something to do with loaves and fishes. Or chocolate fish eggs maybe.

Anyway, the rabbits eventually must have won and these chickens got nailed to this guy.

I think.

Anyway, his father wanted to prove a point.

Yeah, his dad wanted to prove a point and that’s why they nailed the chickens to him.

Because he sinned.

Or we sinned.

Or maybe the chickens sinned.

Or something.

The father sounds like a bit of an arse really. Nailed them to a cross I think.

Something like that. S

o we eat chocolate eggs delivered by rabbits in bonnets and there's nothing good on TV.

Comments

Carola said…

Hey Kris, what a story. Your own words?
My Sunday TOP Five:
1, 2, 3, 4, 5 eggs

Just joking. We don't make a celebration. The kids will get some eggs. More for the joy of hunting.

24 April 2011 at 18:52

Roddy said…

Chickens, rabbits? I thought they were disciples.
I think the argument was over who was in charge.
I believe that his old man stood around while the local louts gave him a hammering and somehow he finished up on the cross.
His old man got pissed and had a spac. attack and a few rooves fell in and a couple of walls fell down.
Why we eat chocolate and eggs I have no idea.
And yeah they had a barbie I think and because they ran out of food they ate loaves and fishes that someone turned up with. I think J.C. himself divided them amongst the stiffs that turned up. Or were they gatecrashers?
Anyway that is how I understand it.

24 April 2011 at 19:53

Kris McCracken said…

At the end of the day, Easter is a bit silly.

28 April 2011 at 10:26

Roddy said…

What! No Easter, no chocolate.

28 April 2011 at 17:47

Ah, Joe, you never knew the whole of it...

I still have the robot on the job. Here you can see the Tasmanian Museum and Art Gallery . And here is a poem: Soliloquy for One Dead Bruce Dawe Ah, no, Joe, you never knew the whole of it, the whistling which is only the wind in the chimney's smoking belly, the footsteps on the muddy path that are always somebody else's. I think of your limbs down there, softly becoming mineral, the life of grasses, and the old love of you thrusts the tears up into my eyes, with the family aware and looking everywhere else. Sometimes when summer is over the land, when the heat quickens the deaf timbers, and birds are thick in the plumbs again, my heart sickens, Joe, calling for the water of your voice and the gone agony of your nearness. I try hard to forget, saying: If God wills, it must be so, because of His goodness, because- but the grasshopper memory leaps in the long thicket, knowing no ease. Ah, Joe, you never knew the whole of it... I like Bruce Dawe. He just my be my favourite Austral...

There was nothing left. No reason, no conscience, no understanding; even the most rudimentary sense of life or death, good or evil, right or wrong.

Here is a self portrait. I’m calling it Portrait of a lady in a dirty window . Shocking, isn’t it? However, it is apt! Samhain , Nos Galan Gaeaf , Hop-tu-Naa , All Saints , All Hallows , Hallowmas , Hallowe'en or HALLOWEEN . It’s Theme Thursday and we’re talking about the festivals traditionally held at the end of the harvest season. Huh? No wonder Australians have trouble with the concept of HALLOWEEN. For the record, in my thirty-two L O N G years on the planet, I can’t say I’ve ever seen ghosts ‘n goblins, trick ‘n treaters or Michael Myers stalking Tasmania’s streets at the end of October. [That said, I did once see a woman as pale as a ghost turning tricks that looked like Michael Myers in late November one time.] Despite the best efforts of Hollywood, sitcoms, and innumerable companies; it seems Australians are impervious to the [ahem] charms of a corporatized variant of a celebration of the end of the "lighter half" of the year and beginning of the "darke...

Hold me now, oh hold me now, until this hour has gone around. And I'm gone on the rising tide, to face Van Dieman's Land

Theme Thursday again, and this one is rather easy. I am Tasmanian, you see, and aside from being all around general geniuses - as I have amply described previously - we are also very familiar with the concept of WATER. Tasmania is the ONLY island state of an ISLAND continent. That means, we're surrounded by WATER. That should help explain why I take so many photographs of water . Tasmania was for a long time the place where the British (an island race terrified of water) sent their poor people most vile and horrid criminals. The sort of folk who would face the stark choice of a death sentence , or transportation to the other end of the world. Their catalogue of crimes is horrifying : stealing bread assault stealing gentlemen's handkerchiefs drunken assault being poor affray ladies being overly friendly with gentlemen for money hitting people having a drink and a laugh public drunkenness being Irish Fenian terrorist activities being Catholic religious subversion. ...

This will hurt me...

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