It’s seems as though it’s that special time of the year again, my darling. It’s that time of year that I unwrap you from your foil-y confines and consumes you. It’s a time of great joy for many, as they celebrate the resurrection of their lord and savior. But for me, it’s a celebration of death – your death.
This year, I’m going to do something a little bit different. I’m going to start with your face. Yes, your cute, innocent visage will be the first part of you to get gnawed down in to pulp by my teeth, only to then be boiled in to waste by my stomach acids. I will feel no remorse as I do all of this. Why should I? You were made specifically for this reason. I bought you at CVS with the intention of eating you as you stare at me the entire time, crying, silently screaming, pleading for help – help that will never come.
After I bite through your skull, feeling your skull fragments melt on my tongue, I will look in to your head; I will look in to your body. I will try to find your soul. Instead, I will find a small portion of your yellow and light blue scarf, which chipped off and fell down your neck as I bit in to you. Yeah…you’re gonna have a scarf all up inside of you. Gross.
You see, you’re a disease. Well, actually, you aren’t so much a disease as much as you cause a disease — Diabetes. And also heart disease. So maybe calling you a disease was a little harsh. But still, I’m going to kill you for playing such a big role in the spread of diabetes. Is it ironic that I will eat you to death, thus allowing you to heighten my chances of getting diabetes? I guess it is, seeing as I never thought of that until I typed it just now. So I guess now I have a new reason to eat you: I will stress-eat you to death as I worry about getting diabetes by eating you. It’s a vicious cycle of bunnies, eating, and blood sugar-related illnesses, but it’s one I’m committed to.
Some say I’m crazy for taking bites out of your ass and them ramming Cadbury Cream Eggs in your newly created asshole, and then eating all of that in one bite; as if I had just eaten your ass and your unborn baby, even though bunnies don’t lay eggs. And you know what? I’m pretty sure they’re right. That shit is crazy. But it’s Easter, and I’m 483 pounds. I grew up shoving KFC chicken strips up the ass of my Taco Bell burritos. I have a pattern of psychopathic food consumption.
This Sunday, Chocolate Easter Bunny, I will tear apart your flesh and devour your very essence. I will rip away at your body with my teeth. I will pluck out our eyes and save them for last, mostly because they’re weird and crispy, like a flavorless Altoid. I will eat every inch of you and drown your screams in milk.
Come Sunday, you will die.
But I will spare your friends, the Peeps; for they are f*cking disgusting.