Easter Candy Review: Peep Porn and Turd-Flavored Jelly Beans

Every now and again, the Muse will call in hung over sick, leaving me unattended. After I received her call early this morning, I found I couldn’t write a damnable thing.  I loaded the Lil’ Worrells in the truck and took off to buy shit I don’t need groceries, as I often do when I need a creative laxative. Lil’ K. and Lil’ P. immediately noted the ginormous candy bunnies, so we ended up having a rabbit viewing on the Easter aisle.  After drowning in a sea of Peeps and egg shaped crap, I had a virtual brain hurricane. I would eat an assload of candy sample a few Easter candy brands and try my hand as a food reviewer. Upon our arrival at home, the Lil’ Worrells and I immediately began unpacking some sugar.

Chocolate Bunnies

My first victim in the bag was the tiny chocolate bunny I bought for us to sample. I feckin’ hate chocolate rabbits because they generally possess the consistency of molded cement. I caved and bought one because I knew I couldn’t write about Easter candy without a damned rabbit. It only cost fifty cents, so what the hell?

We had been transfixed by the gargantuan size of some of the candy Easter rabbits we saw at the store.

“Mama, is that thing made out of just chocolate?” Lil’ K. asked, pointing to a package containing a bunny no less than three feet tall. I could have owned it for $7.98.  

“Yep,” I told her, examining the boxed diabetes. I imagined the poor kids breaking off their teeth trying to gnaw through the ears on this animal. When I read the nutrition label on the thing and found that the entire rabbit had 2,500 calories, I decided to buy stock in a statin-making pharmaceutical company immediately upon my return home.   

I opened the slimming 150 calorie bunny I bought. Lil’ K., who only eats raw broccoli, chicken nuggets, Oreos, and shredded cheese, took one bite out of my cheap rabbit’s ears and handed it back to me.

“Too yucky,” she said. I took a bite, as well, and threw the rest away. It tasted like tree bark.

“I hope the Easter bunny doesn’t bring me a chocolate bunny,” said Lil’ K.  

Duly noted.

Peeps

We got into the Peeps next.  Lil’ K., sniffed one, took a nibble and promptly spat it out.

“Too sticky,” she said.

I stuck a little piece in Lil’ P.’s mouth. He eats anything that doesn’t move, but favors leaves, sticks, and the three-day old puffed snacks he finds languishing in the folds of his high chair.

“MMMMMMM,” he said, at first. A strange look crossed his face.

“PPPHHHHHH?” he inquired, as the Peep piece began to take over the roof of his mouth.

To me, Peeps are characters, not food. I like to play with, rather than eat, these gooey little bastards. I bit the heads off two and left their mushy bodies on the counter. Peepicide! Oh, the gore! I created a scene for the premier of an upcoming series I will call “Peep Scene Investigation” (PSI). I had the fleeting realization that the Muse probably wishes she hadn’t shot so much whiskey last night and had reported to work as scheduled.

Cadbury Cream Eggs

Killing Peeps takes a toll on one’s spirit, and I looked to my long-time favorite Cadbury Cream Eggs for rejuvenation. I inhaled one of these chocolate ovals of pure SEX. Luckily, Lil’ K. refused to sample an egg and Lil’ P. was still trying to figure out how to eat his Peep.

As the white stuff from the egg’s center dripped down my hand, I started playing with the Peeps again. I considered a photo story about Peeps engaged in various coital positions. Peep Porn! I only photographed the Peeps cuddling, though, because I don’t want an X-rating on this blog.  Mr. Jenn later expressed his disappointment in me.

“If you would write about sex, you would sell more,” he always says. “Porn is where it’s at.”

Notice there are several Peeps together: it’s a Peep Cuddle Party—a Peepsome!

Jelly Beans

Before moving on to the jelly beans, I rewrapped the chicks carefully, because who wants stiff Peeps?

I remembered the disappointment that washed over me this morning as I pawed through the packages of jelly beans on the shelves. Wally Mart had run slam out of black jelly beans. Luckily, I had stocked up earlier in the week, but still. I have discriminating tastes when it comes to jelly beans. I had to settle for some glittery generic brand beans and these teeny-assed ovals poorly disguised as the more expensive brand. I ate a few tiny beans, and I swear one of them was turd-flavored. I haven’t been in the habit of eating poop, but if crap had a flavor, this jelly bean would be it. Blech!

I proceeded to open the glitter beans, pondering what in the hell this company inserted into these beans to make them sparkle. As I picked through the predominantly purple pack, I found that there was not one black jelly bean in the bunch. I began to think that a letter to the jelly bean factory could be in order. Black jellybeans lend spice to a handful of grape, blue raspberry, and those mysteriously odd white flavored beans. Caucasian jelly beans taste like ass, if you ask me. I wondered if adding bling to a white bean would improve the flavor. I popped one and promptly spit it out. You can dress up a white bean, but you’d just better leave its ass in the package. NASTY!

By this time, I was ready to puke from my candy binge sampling. Lil’ K. and Lil’ P. had busied themselves chasing each other around the house and screaming at the tops of their respective lungs.   I got out some pillows and blankets in preparation for the sugar high crash. Since the Muse isn’t around cracking her whip, I think a nap is in order for the three of us. Stay out of the candy, and have a literary day.