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Dick Bulger is spending Easter the way the Founding Fathers absolutely did not intend: shirt half-buttoned, sunglasses on indoors, chain-smoking in the Buick, and insisting the true resurrection miracle is that he found an unopened Michelob behind the passenger seat.
He started the morning by eating a gas-station egg salad sandwich he claims is “basically brunch,” then wandered onto the radio to wish everyone a “blessed and freedom-maximized Easter” while somehow turning the conversation into roast beef, government mind control, and why the Tobin Bridge still moves him emotionally.
By midafternoon he’s trying to explain to confused relatives that his Easter basket should contain Newports, onion rings, and a quart of mayonnaise, and by sunset he’s three beers deep, arguing that Jesus would have respected a man who napkins absolutely nothing.
