As many of you are aware, Easter graced us with its holiday presence last Sunday.
I joined the rest of America in the dyeing and consumption of hard-boiled eggs, honey-glazed ham and colored sugar delights known as Peeps.
I've got to give it up for my Peeps. I've got nothing but love for my Peeps.
Before I knew it, the sugar overload had launched me into a psychotropic dreamscape with gumdrop mountains and streets paved with chocolate frosting.
A scratchy voice beckoned me to the nearby pub on the corner of Yellow Yolk Avenue and Springtime Street. Without question, I entered the bar and found it nearly empty, except for one table surrounded by two chairs.
The first chair was empty while a 6-foot-tall furry bunny rabbit with a bottle of whiskey in one hand and a cigar in the other hand occupied the second chair.
I could tell he seemed peeved with something or someone, so I walked over to introduce myself and hopefully calm his attitude.
He told me he knew who I was, knew I wrote for the ASU Web Devil and wanted me to have exclusive rights to a one-time-only interview with the true Easter Bunny.
Being the always-ready journalist that I am, I reached into my back pocket to find a steno pad and pencil for note-taking. This is a transcript of that meeting.
J: So, what's the deal man? Why have you summoned me here?
EB: Well, this holiday crap has gone on long enough, and you are going to help me change it.
J: What do you mean? What's wrong with Easter?
EB: Oh nothing, as long as you're not me. I'm fed up with how I'm treated!
J: But you are a symbol of the Easter holiday! Candy companies shape their treats into bunny form. You are an international icon!
EB: Oh yeah? Then where's my cut? I've been doin' this thing for years now and I have yet to receive a paycheck for my services! I have modeled nude for countless candy corporations, and I haven't seen a dime! I mean, what about royalties? What about stock options? What about my needs? Oh man do I need a new agent.
J: Wow, slow down there Turbo. You're the Easter Bunny. Shouldn't the chocolaty smiles of countless happy children be payment enough? I mean, what possible use could a bunny rabbit have for money?
EB: Uh hello! I need the money to encourage my drinking and smoking problem! Sure, about a millennia ago I had almost convinced myself that the happiness of youngsters was all I needed. But eventually, those kids turned on me.
J: Turned on you? How?
EB: They became more about the candy and less about me. They don't care about me as long as I bring them their one-way tickets to Cavity Land. Now, don't be an idiot and get out a map to look that place up.
J: (As I discreetly shove my Rand McNally travel map back into my shirt pocket) Of course not ... I wouldn't dream of it. Ahem. Anyway, well, kids love candy. There is no way around it. What about the Easter egg hunt? They go out searching for eggs that you have supposedly hidden, right?
EB: Ah, I'm so glad you brought that up. The Easter egg hunt was never meant to be a game. One day, a small family paid a visit my home in Wilkes-Barre, Penn. They caught me in the midst of burying eggs all over my front yard when they arrived. While the parents and I chatted in the kitchen, their children were out front digging up all of my eggs! I was mortified!
J: Why? What's so wrong with those eggs?
EB: Don't you understand?! I'm allergic to egg yolk! I've always been. I hate eggs. And every time my hens laid an egg, I buried it to keep it out of my sight!
J: So, it was never meant as a holiday activity?
EB: No! Those kids had so much fun making my life a living hell that they told their friends and their friends told their friends, and so on, till the whole world was hiding eggs for the pure enjoyment of it all! I tell you Jimmy, there is only one group of people who can truly appreciate the Easter egg hunt.
J: What group is that?
EB: Those with Alzheimer's because they can bury their own eggs and not remember where they put 'em!
J: You're seriously sick in the head.
EB: Oh, calm down. You know that was funny.
J: Yeah, you're right. It was kind of - whoa, something strange is happening!
EB: What do you mean?
J: Everything is getting really wavy, and you are starting to disappear!
EB: Oh no! Your sugar high is wearing off! Quick, I've got to get one last thing off my furry chest.
J: Yeah?
EB: This goes out to all the posers dressing like me in the malls across America. First off, I'm not a pedophile like Santa. I don't like little kids on my lap! Second, I don't hop around like the rabbits of pet stores. I strut. And finally, stop making money on my behalf! Just like Eminem says, "You just might be the next best thing but not quite me!"
J: Whoa! Things are swirling!
EB: Don't forget to spell my name right! It's E-A ...
And with that, I was back at home, with a mission in mind. I would use my connections with ASU Student Media to dispel Easter myths for all those who care to read.
Jimmy Shoffman prefers partitioned paper plates. Reach him at james.shoffman@asu.edu.
