For me, the chocolaty shell and smooth fondant center of the creme egg is the only religion I need. But others have a more sinister form of candy worship. I'm talking, of course, about the most vile, unnatural, and evil harbinger that marks the coming of Spring.
How can I hate these adorable blobs of marshmallow, with their bright colors and sparkly sugar coating? How can I detest a treat that brings a smile to millions of children every year?
Just look at them. Look at their cold, dead eyes. There's a reason Peeps never go bad (the pack of them in my pantry has been there since we moved in. As in, it was already here. Yes. The peeps are waiting, biding their time...) when you leave them to their own nefarious devices. They are multiplying, plotting. Just imagine an egg trying to do that. Impossible.
But Peeps have eyes. They have little chubby bird bodies. They hate. Ask any person who has ever eaten one to describe the experience to you, and I bet they'll explain that it's a bit like chewing squishy sandpaper. Yet every year, more and more people buy package after package, only to throw the extras onto the back of a shelf when their bland graininess is rediscovered.
Much like Cthulhu--
|Great Old One, Destroyer of Minds|
I don't know what sort of arcane power these adorable, sugary little bastards have that parents keep buying them despite the fact that ninety percent never get eaten. I only know that I haven't fallen for whatever ruse they've got going. I see the signs, and there still may be time too--
|Oh, Dear God|