And in celebration of the work-shy carpenter being reanimated in ressurrection to have his hole fingered by Thomas (who is somewhat doubtful about the whole Fingering Jesus thing), I shall be cracking open crème egg craniums and feasting on the fondant 'brains' within.
As you do!
Alas, Norfolk is bereft of tombs with diminutive entry points the size of crème eggs, let alone the aforementioned crème eggs being heavy enough to impede the exit of a shambling saviour lurching forth, as they will easily roll aside.
Unless, of course, the yummy fondant filling is weighted at the base, like a weeble wobbling bit never falling down! Then, as they try to rise from the crypt, they'd push the stone/egg aside, but it would instantly right itself. Returning to it's upright position and giving any undead menace a good biff in the face, tumbling them back into their tomb and savign our brains from being et.
Take it away Rebecca Black!
Fried Eggs!
Fried Eggs!
Sausage, Bacon and fried eggs!
Everybody wants a fryup at the weekend, weekend
Boiled Eggs!
Boiled Eggs!
Painted faces on boiled eggs!
Oh fuck you Becky Black¹ and just give me a load of chocolate eggy goodness!
¹ BUT NOT IN THE ORIGINAL PAGAN ÉOSTRE FERTILITY RITE SHAGGAGE SENSE, BEFORE THEM CHRISTIANS TRIED TO SMOTHER IT WITH 'EASTER' - THE FESTIVAL OF REAMINATORY UNDEAD MURDERED MENACE, WHERE CHRISTIANS DON'T EAT YOUR BRAINS, THEY JUST REMOVE THEM IN SOME SORT OF CULTISH BRAINWASHING.
