Today is Easter, a day to abuse and mistreat the defenseless egg. They’re victims of kidnapping, you know, snatched right out from under their mothers. And that’s only the start of the indignities.
The poor things are plunged into boiling water. They’re dipped and dyed and painted beyond all recognition. They’re shoved under bushes and into mailboxes, then hunted by sticky, grabby little hands and stuffed in a basket. The suffering doesn’t end until they’re chopped into pieces and called egg salad.
This is not a good day to be an egg. Or a chocolate bunny — heads and ears and assorted appendages are disappearing into mouths at an alarming rate. Peeps? I extend my deepest, most heartfelt condolences to you. Cadbury Eggs, also. Please, forgive me, but you’re just too damn tasty — all of you.
I wish I could resist your temptation, I really do, but I’m weak. And ashamed. I can’t fight back. Not as long as there’s an Egg McMuffin in the world. Yum-mm-mmm.
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