Easter, you could be improved

When I was young and slightly more adorable than I am today, at Eastertime my mother would write little rhyming clues on pieces of paper, fold them carefully inside an Easter egg that would lead to another egg, which would lead to another egg, which is essentially the exact plot of the movie National Treasure. Generally there was less Jon Voight.

Ultimately my journey would lead me to the bathroom, where a basket of candy would be waiting for me. Not exactly the most sanitary discovery, but I devoured everything anyway, often choking up because in my haste I accidentally ingested about an acre of fake grass. It’s probably not a coincidence that when I eat a basket of candy now I do so while crying in the bathtub.

Despite these fond memories, there are some aspects of the holiday I take issue with.

Peeps: fluffy jerks

Peeps are marshmallow disasters masquerading as innocent wildlife snacks. The first and only time I bit into a Peep as a child all of my teeth fell out simultaneously.

This might not be true but I do question why anyone would give a child this to put in their mouth. Might as well give them a mouthful of honeybees.

I often imagine Peeps engaging in epic licorice stick death battles with Keebler elves. I usually picture this after eating far too many Keebler fudge stripe cookies.

It’s widely known that Peeps:

Watch you while you’re sleeping

Actively campaign for gingivitis

Don’t care whether it’s your birthday

Tell the lame “ghost story” about the guy with the hook

Think Daniel Day-Lewis is overrated.

Ask ladies to dinner, order the most expensive meal on the menu and expect her to pick up the check

Still think it’s cool to have a MySpace account.

Take up two or more parking spaces with their car

Love telling you how much better the book was vs. the movie you just saw

Hate your new haircut

Colored eggs: restricting creativity and slightly racist

The term “colored eggs” always makes me feel uncomfortable. Sure, if your grandpa says it you can let it go, but anyone under the age of 60 and it just sounds hateful. I prefer “Eggs of Color.”

I always THOUGHT Eggs of Color were a lot of fun. Starting out white, they are a blank canvas with which to express yourself. Unless, apparently, you wish to step outside of the box and do something OTHER than poka dots and zig-zags and instead take two and decorate them like a portion of a woman’s anatomy while at your mother-in-law’s house. All of a sudden you’re “inappropriate” and “what would Jesus say?” Jesus would say, “Way to express yourself, buckaroo.” It’s a fact. Look it up.

Easter Bunny (idea): praying to amorous Teutonic rabbit God

According to Research, the Easter bunny is based on the Teutonic deity Eostra, the goddess of spring and fertility. Her symbol was the rabbit because of the animal’s high reproduction rate.

Frankly, I don’t think fertility needs God worshipping. Judging by the vegetable-eating contests held in my garden during the summer, rabbits do quite well on their own. The same could be said for humans. I mean, have you seen us lately? We’re doing pretty well in the “fertility” department.

But I’m generally in favor of randomness, though, so I approve. If only the Supreme Court would listen to my petition to get a gavel-laying platypus the official mascot of the 4th of July.

Easter Bunny (real, full-sized at the mall): child motivator

If your goal is to terrorize children and expose them to post-traumatic stress syndrome at an early age, giving your child over to a six-foot unblinking upright mute rabbit is an excellent way to ensure the prospect of future Easters will cause a nervous tic. The good news is, if they refuse to pick up their toys you can always threaten to go see him again.

Bonus: when they’re crying with terror in their room the basket of chocolate treats is undefended.

Hollow chocolate bunnies: scam candy that makes you empty inside

Biting into a chocolate bunny you didn’t know was hollow is like paying top dollar for excellent seats at a Broadway production of Misrables, taking your seat and when the curtain goes up it’s a couple of first graders attempting to play Jean Valjean and Javert by making fart noises with their armpits.

When I bite into one of these scam treats I feel exactly how those people felt who were victimized by Bernie Madoff. It’s high time these manufacturers were held accountable for their actions. It’s a space for chocolate, not the last remnants of the hopes and dreams of children that spill out bite after disappointing bite.

Pastel colors: narcissistic and making me question my sexuality

Stop it. Just stop it, pastel. I could be on one of my fierce masculine tirades FOR A GOOD REASON (like I’m out of bugles to put on my fingers) and somebody could show me a pastel periwinkle swatch and it would instantly calm me down against my wishes. Pastel, you’re the Kenny G of the color spectrum and that is NOT a compliment.

Look, for 11 months I live my life like I want but when Easter rolls around HERE YOU COME rolling up like you’re a long-lost father I haven’t seen in 30 years wanting to take me to a baseball game. Where were you? You think you can just show up here and act like you’ve been part of the family the whole time?

Guess what, pastel; I’M NOT FALLING FOR IT.

I don’t know who said you could own Easter but I’m looking into the matter. This isn’t over.

Kelly Van De Walle is the senior creative & marketing writer for Briscoe14 Communications (www.briscoe14.com). He can be reached at vandkel@hotmail.com or in his Peep-destroying laboratory of doom. Follow Kelly on Twitter @pancake_bunny because he’s desperate for attention.