“I’ve got it!” A delirious-from-sleep-deprivation-and-jacked-up-on-yesterday’s-coffee intern ejaculates, and then throws the pitch. “An overgrown bipedal rabbit that brings children baskets full of plastic grass and artificially flavored sweets.” Whether the other businessmen in the room were drunk or equally raccoon-eyed remains moot. Nevertheless, thus the surest sign of spring, the Easter Bunny, was born. The American people must have thought it a fascinating concept - how many egg-laying bunnies are in the world, after all. But it only takes one.
It’s quite a market, inventing holiday personas so parents can prove their love to their children without showing any affection and can dump more money - money that could be used for ending malaria or curing cancer or some other noble conquest - into the ever-tanking economy. The up and coming fabrication involves a political party based character (elephants for the Republican households of America, donkeys for the Democratic, etc.) delivering malted milkshakes to patriotic children on election day. I’m holding out for a good ole Uncle Sam who shoots red, white, and blue popsicles through the windows on the Fourth of July. But I digress.
And naturally, the only way to perfect the Easter Bunny scheme? Eat it. Chocolate bunnies are as much a staple in an Easter basket as a few scraggly hairs are in a school lunch. Yet these chocolate bunnies are only consumed by the youngest of kids who, the poor dears, have not yet developed taste and will eat anything that does not move for more than five seconds. Try actually placing one against a taste bud. Mmm… smell the cardboard. Savor the chemically induced “chocolate,” and think of the lovely business conspiracy you’ve just been suckered into. Happy Easter, and bon appetite!