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I Will Dominate Yet ANOTHER Egg Hunt This Sunday…

Joey Boats

For those who have been following my blogs over the years, you know that there are two annual holiday blogs I write every year: One is about the annual Yankee Swap while the other concerns the annual Easter Egg hunt. Long story short, I dominate both of them because I’m a God damn athlete with a propensity for greatness.

For the record, I grew up in the 90s, or in other words, the pre-participation generation. Nowadays, kids get a medal or ribbon simply for blowing their nose correctly at practice, but let me tell you something: things weren’t always like that.

Back in my day, recreational activity was a run and gun business. Either you had a fastball or you didn’t. It was Darwinism at it’s finest. If you couldn’t hang, they didn’t put you in a less talented league to make you feel special; if you couldn’t hang, you just couldn’t hang, and that’s the mindset/culture I like to instill in the minds of our youth.

This Sunday will mark my 27th Easter, as well as my 27th consecutive Easter Egg Hunt win. Every year, I show up and crack skulls. Back when I was collecting Pokémon Cards and Hit Clips, local scouts would come far and wide to catch a glimpse of the kid experts would claim had “a nose for the egg.”

It didn’t matter what was in the eggs either; it was about the thrill of the hunt. The hunt is ultimately what drove me to greatness. I didn’t care if it was Reese’s, dollar bills, dog shit, or even Almond Joy in those ovals of plastic—I was going to spike that shit to the bottom of my basket with 2000 Vince Carter Dunk Contest-like authority.

Which brings me to the past few years. I have about 4-5 cousins (I think) and they’re all under the age of 10 (I think) and they all collectively SUCK at hunting eggs. They’re slow, they’re dumb, and come Sunday, they’re going to pay for it in spades.

My family always chastises me with stuff like “Joe, you’re on the latter end of your 20s, why not just let your cousins have fun for once and sit this Easter Egg hunt out?”

Well, let me ask you something: Do you think the troops just sat out World War II? You think they just said let Germany have their fun? No! They fucking sacked up, dug their cleats in, and fought. That’s EXACTLY what I’m doing. Same exact thing. No difference at all.

Simply put, if you put a lion in a cage with a gazelle, the lion kills the gazelle and no one bats an eye; contrarily, if you put me in an Easter egg hunt with a bunch of cucks, I dominate and EVERYONE has a problem with it. Point blank: If you don’t want me to curb stomp your son/daughter, don’t invite me to the party in the first place…

So yeah, this year, I plan to do the same. And for those wondering what makes me so great, it’s impossible to describe. It’s one of those “I’m just better than you” type of things but if I could lend any advice, I’d suggest you work on your quick twitch muscles. With Easter egg hunts, it’s all about the opening jump. Once the elder member of the family releases the hounds, you need to BURST out that gate and don’t be afraid to flare out the elbows a bit. If someone dies, they die…

– Joey Boats (@joey_boats)

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