Easter is also known as Pascha, which is interesting, because it means that Easter was named after the phonetical spelling of Caesar's wry accountant. Learning this has made me appreciate Easter a little more than I did yesterday, but I still don't understand why Toys 'R' Us put together a full-blown Easter section so early. This didn't keep me from blowing 20 bucks on crap from it, but then, we all send shout-outs to Jesus in our own way.
I was immediately thrilled to find the Cadbury "Clucking Bunny" doll shown above, based on the infamous rabbit from the Creme Egg commercials of yesteryear. After a further inspection and a better assessment of my role in the universe at large, I told myself to chill out, and that bunnies that cluck when you squeeze their feet aren't worth performing public touchdown dances in celebration of. Inside, though, I was beaming. Beaming for bunnies.
Selling for just 6.99 and complete with a gooey Cadbury Creme Egg, it's a pretty good deal. The percentage of your soul which rightfully insists that nobody actually needs a clucking rabbit is easily conquered by the low price, and I found myself not debating whether or not I should own one, but rather, how many clucking rabbits needed to come home with me. I had this theory that placing one bucking bunny in each of the rooms in our apartment would create the synergy I've been pining for ever since we decided to paint every wall a different color. Cooler heads prevailed, and I'm now the proud owner of just one Cadbury Clucking Bunny: Not a litter's worth.
For the same price, I also picked up a "Spud Bunny" -- Mr. Potato Head's latest adventure in selling the fuck out. Whatever machismo Mr. Potato Head had left was promptly destroyed when he agreed to don fluffy bunny slippers, and by the time you get to the atrocious ears and puffy tall, Mr. Potato Head is no longer someone I can turn to when I need a wingman or advice on sports betting.
Notwithstanding that, there's something to be said for any scenario that allows a person to truthfully proclaim that they spent their afternoon dressing a potato up as a rabbit.
That picture. Is BLURRY. Why am I only now noticing this? It's SO blurry! I hang my hat on a nigh-pristine record of non-blurry pics. I can't believe I'm going to degrade my grade with a blurry shot of a stupid Wonka "Egg Hunt" set. What a waste.
The blurry bag contains a dozen egg-shaped containers filled with individually wrapped Wonka candies, ranging from Nerds to SweeTarts. All of the eggs are colored within the typically pastel-ridden Easter palette, which I totally loathe. It isn't something I would've bought for myself on those merits, nor would the set seem to be something worth writing 50 words about...until you notice the key phrase. Wonka Egg Hunt...with a Golden Egg.
You might think that a sack full of candy-in-eggs would be pretty self-explanatory, but they actually went through the trouble of including instructions. On Easter Sunday, you're supposed to gather the children around and set them off on a wild egg hunt, replacing the sad and clichéd hard-boiled real things with this ragtag bunch of plastic ovals. Whichever kid finds the elusive Golden Egg is to be crowned Master of All Things Easter.
It's suggested that parents fill the Golden Egg with money or a special prize, and I really must agree with this, as the only thing I found in mine was the same lame package of two SweeTarts that's already inside half of the normal eggs. I'd be pretty upset if I was christened Master of All Things Easter and all I got out of it were two SweeTarts. This also begs the question of whether or not it's wise to turn the traditional holiday egg hunt into a high stakes competition, as you can bet that any participating child not christened Master of All Things Easter will respond with kick-filled tantrums.
Being a parent only to cats and a half-dead bonsai tree has its benefits, as I'm free to claim the Golden Egg for myself and use its innate magical powers for ends that serve me and me alone. I've yet to ascertain how it helps its keeper gain the ability of flight, nor have I figured out how to make it shoot deadly laser beams, but no doubt, that day will come. And then, all who have crossed me will pay.
Posted by Matt on 02/17/2008. E-mail me!
Chestnuts roasted by 
JLAJRC,
The “(woof,woof)” suggests that the narrator is him/herself a dog, which lends itself well to either canine slavery, cannibalism or prostitution. I like like the cannibalism option as it lends itself well to the “dog eat dog” idiom that generally dictates the course of common reality.
Not to be a dog-matist.
FM