Five sparkling, huddled, wing-locked sugar fowl lined up for the slaughter.

There’s a systematic and humane way of masticating Easter enjoyables. Based on Psychological Peep Profiling it’s widely accepted that if you eat any part, piece, or peep-y plumpness preemptively to the noggin…you probably have sadistic tendencies. There wouldn’t be a need for evaluation or hesitation to consuming the puffed peepers if they just left off those little chocolate eyes. Two incredibly simplistic splats of soul windows and guilt enters the situation. So, it seems perfectly reasonable and well within human nature to rid the source as soon as possible. Then, you can sample the sugary sweetness with relative ease as you rip each treat one by one from the sticky bonds of their box pals. The last one to go will see the other four go before her.

Well, I’ve successfully talked myself out of some peep calories for the season, sorry to pull you into that, but I wasn’t going down alone. My appetite veering back-story and calculated peep process-ies are less about justification or contrition and more about my utter lack of will power. I simply can’t look at temptation and ignore it – so, I make up ways to slow myself down. For further evidence I direct you to the complexity of my Cadbury consumption.

Thank goodness they start me off with a miserable piece of foil that always tears and sticks in the little ridges of the chocolate ravines – that at least serves as a pause for conscious intent. I’d probably eat a lot less M&Ms if I had to unwrap them individually too. Next needed in the Downing of Unbelievable Morsels of Basket Bounty – a process for short called D.U.M.B.B – is a spoon. That’s right, I make like a Lilliputian and crack my Cadbury egg at the little end and chip away the first sample of chocolatey shell: consume. Then, I can scrape away more little shavings to widen the spoon access: consume. Soon, the spoon can enter the land of cream and bliss- that viscous sugar equivalent to yolk and whites. Once the spoon has reached the limit of it’s inner egg reach I usually make the foolish mistake of trying to lick out the center. This always results in a pool of spit collecting inside and dribbling out in a very unappetizing manner and the edges of the chocolate shell getting soupy and mushy which makes the next step exceedingly difficult.

Using the spoon’s thin edge, I locate the mold seam and pry the two halves of the ellipsis, revealing the rest of the sugary spoils: consume. Left with the sinfully yummy chocolate carcass, I let them melt individually, slowly, cloyingly in my maw till the experience is over. I hide the evidence of that primary bit of aluminum by rolling and mashing it as small as possible and tucking it away in my front pocket – usually to be washed repeatedly in the laundry. This idiotic egg dismantling served its purpose wonderfully until they foiled my plans (ha ha) with mini. Cadbury. eggs. I only had to try once to spoon my way through those nickle sized confectionery chick buds before I gave up and popped them down the hatch with sweet, simple satisfaction, sans sugar surgery. It IS a holiday after all.

So, floggers, here’s an complimentary Easter doodle for your veiwing pleasure, and a wish for your Feaster to be happy, healthy and lizard free.

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