This Easter Sunday is the 33rd anniversary of what the late Sen. Ted Kennedy would soon be describing as his family’s “traditional Easter weekend” in Palm Beach.

And indeed it was traditional, in the Kennedy meaning of the phrase, which is to say rape accusations, cruelty and epic drunkenness, not to mention entitlement and depravity of the sort that characterized the entire squalid life of Sen. Ted Kennedy.

But before recounting Ted Kennedy’s lost Easter weekend, consider that his fondest dream, our worst nightmare, is finally on the verge of being realized.

I refer, of course, to the fundamental transformation of America into a Third World hellhole.

Indeed, here in Fat Boy’s home state, it’s probably already too late to turn it around. There are too many illegals, too many flophouses, too many working-class Americans fleeing in horror and disgust at what the Democrats have wrought.

Until 1965, the U.S. was a relatively tranquil, First World nation where almost everyone worked and spoke the same language. Everything was under control.

Then Ted Kennedy sponsored something called the Immigration Reform Act of 1965, and nothing has ever been the same since.

Here is what Teddy said about his sinister scheme to import millions of foreign freeloaders into the U.S.

“Our cities,” he lied, “will not be flooded with a million immigrants annually.”

No, it’s more like five million.

“The ethnic mix of this country will not be upset,” he continued lying about his bill. “It will not relax the standards of admission.”

The Lyin’, er, Lion of the Senate then said that the immigrants would not be coming from “the most deprived areas of Asia and Africa.”

Are you sure about that, Senator?

Too bad he can’t ask his old constituents who live near the Holiday Inn in Marlborough, or the Comfort Inn in Rockland, or the Clarion Hotel in Taunton or…

This accelerating catastrophe is not all on Ted Kennedy, but it started with his insane 1965 immigration bill.

At this point, can we stipulate that Easter Sunday is supposed to be not just a holiday, but also a holy day? But not so much for the Kennedys, apparently.

As you may recall, his nephew, William Kennedy Smith, was charged with raping a young single mother at the family’s North End mansion in the early-morning hours of Easter Saturday 1991.

Ted et al. had spent Good Friday tying one on, all day long. It all came out in the pre-trial depositions of the help at the mansion.

Before noon, the senior senator enjoyed a few daiquiris, then switched to wine with lunch. Mid-afternoon it was back to booze — Scotch, perhaps? Before dinner, more daiquiris, followed by “three or four” more bottles of wine at dinner.

One of the staff was asked under oath to describe Teddy’s demeanor at dinner.

“Very talkative,” she said.

Ted himself was asked later if he continued drinking after dinner.

“I may have,” he said. “I don’t have a clear recollection.”

It was, after all, a traditional Easter weekend for the Kennedys.

He then awakened his nephew, Willie Smith, and his son Patches, the 24-year-old state rep, who were already sleeping it off.

They drove into town to Au Bar, where Ted switched back to Chivas on the rocks. They picked up some young women and headed back to the mansion, where the alleged rape took place.

Ted’s crapulous demeanor after 20+ drinks was later described by the woman Patches had hit on. His date was alternately described as an “heiress” or a “waitress,” depending on your tabloid of choice.

“He was kinda wobbling,” she said. “Ted had a really weird look on his face. He was just there, without pants. I freaked out. I said, ‘I gotta go. This is getting really weird.’”

Easter Weekend with the Kennedys.

By Easter Sunday it was clear Willie was going to be charged with something. Ted and his son Patches, not long out of rehab for his cocaine addiction, headed off to the High Mass at St. Edward.

But it was packed, SRO, so father and son had a better idea. Continuing their weekend-long bat, they stumbled around the corner to a popular gin mill on Royal Poinciana.

On the holiest day on the Christian calendar, they began running their bar tab at 10:48 a.m. Hey, it was afternoon somewhere. Their credit-card charges were later introduced as evidence at their kinsman’s rape trial in West Palm.

Ted started with a little hair of the dog — a bullshot, vodka and beef consommé, with a splash of Worcestershire sauce. Then he switched to screwdrivers — everybody needs their Vitamin C, after all.

Patches, the recovering addict, opted for a Long Island iced tea. Under oath the bartender recalled those ingredients — “vodka, gin, rum, tequila, triple sec, sour mix and a splash of Coke.”

Another customer overheard snatches of the Kennedys’ conversation:

“Well, she’s going to say it was rape…”

Ted paid the bill at 11:40 and he and Patches headed back to the mansion, where they had lamb and… champagne. Another family tradition. The local cops came by later and asked where Willie and the senator was. The help lied and said they’d already fled.

Then the Kennedys had dinner.

“That was the night they opened some champagne,” the staffer recalled. “And it was a little celebration because it was Easter and —”

No member of the family had been accused of raping anybody for almost 36 hours.

After the traditional Easter weekend, Willie was arrested and suddenly jokes about America’s First Family were acceptable in state-run media. David Letterman ran Top 10 lists about what was Overheard at Kennedy Family Weekends.

“Has anyone seen Uncle Ted’s pants?”

“Hooray — here comes the Chivas truck!”

Ted finally addressed the scandal six weeks later, at an outdoor press conference at MIT. It’s the only time I’ve ever seen someone walk into an open-air foyer and suddenly the great outdoors reeked of booze. He needed a haircut and his suit was about three sizes too small.

Fat Boy began screaming:

“I WAS NOT TOLD EVER, EVER WAS TOLD —” hands shaking, he calmed down as he continued, “—that the Palm Beach Police wanted to speak to me about an alleged incident of Willie Smith raping some girl —”

Some girl.

In the end, Willie was acquitted. Ted went right on being Ted to the very end. But he’s been sober now almost 15 years — he died in August 2009.

On this Easter Sunday, consider Ted Kennedy and what he’s done to all of us Americans who work for a living, on behalf of the “migrants.”

Teddy never worked a day in his worthless life, and now most of the new undocumented Democrats he’s responsible for allowing in determined to follow in his footsteps.

Professional courtesy, I guess you could call Ted’s dream.

Order Howie’s books, “Kennedy Babylon: Vols. 1 and 2,” at howiecarrshow.com.