They are like a nightmare that never ends, one of those haunting memories from childhood, kinda like sitting on Uncle Stan’s lap to watch NASCAR, that still triggers my gag reflexes in a way unlike any hardcore booze bender of my adult life. Of course, I’m talking about Marshmallow Peeps. Yuck! You know, the yellow, pink and blue chick and bunny shaped treats that have been a part of the Easter scene since forever.
Easter is a religious holiday (OBVIOUSLY), but snuffing out it’s mascot, the Easter Bunny (DUH) really started a whole movement that has given way to the creation of cheap and gross candies, none of which are more vile than Peeps. I know, I know. Not everyone shares in my loathsome disdain for this confectionary ipecac. Why else would they be one of the top five best-selling Easter candies in the United States? Anyone? Well, it’s because most people are fucking idiots, that’s why. The same consumers who are chowing down on Peeps to celebrate the resurrection are undoubtedly the same sickos out there buying up all the toilet paper, wearing plastic bags over their heads to keep from getting sick and hoarding all sorts of weird junk just in case the latest health crisis really comes unhinged. Pop culture and all of its imbecilic oozing never ceases to amaze me. Not ever.
But a few days ago, I heard a rumor that Just Born, the Pennsylvania company behind Peeps, was shutting down production just weeks before Easter. It was apparently a precautionary measure aimed at preventing their employees from getting attacked by the demon bug that is presently beating the nation into submission. I’m not going to lie. At first, I was like, “Hell yeah!” If there is one positive effect from all of these lockdowns, shutdowns and social distancing, it’s that I was finally going to get through an Easter without seeing or smelling Marshmallow Peeps.
It was an Easter miracle, and a win-win situation. Just Born’s employees were still going to get paid during the closure. And I, perhaps the biggest Peeps-hating mofo to ever walk the Earth, was getting ready to witness the demise of a candy that has me ready to hurl every time I mistakenly walk into the Easter aisle in a CVS to buy liquor. But, here’s the thing, I’ve never been what the philosophers and poets of the world would consider a lucky man. So there had to be a catch.
And there was.
After doing a little research to confirm what sources were reporting, I quickly realized that, much like cockroaches in the event of a nuclear blast, those godforsaken Peeps weren’t going anywhere anytime soon. Not a chance. In fact, there are more of these vile confections already inventoried across the country to keep the great American slob fat and disgusting until the end of time. Just Born officials say their Peep-making machines can and do churn out somewhere in the neighborhood of 3,500 of those wretched candies each minute. That’s 4 million Peeps a day, every single day, all year long. They’ll be taking these fucking things to Mars when the time comes.
To that end, Americans consume around 600 million Peeps every stinking year. These gluttonous troglodytes, presumably the same people who ride Rascal scooters, shop at Walmart and wear shirts that say things like “Chicken: The Pet That Poops Breakfast,” have been known to eat these candies stale, frozen, and microwaved. The sickest of the breed is even using them as pizza toppings. I mean, come on, man. It’s getting tough to argue that we are living in a civilized nation, wouldn’t you say? Go ahead, serve me a Peep pizza and see what happens.
Listen, I suppose Peeps are just punishment for for all our sins or something… Production is set to resume in a matter of days. The company said in a statement that it just wanted to clear everyone out of the facility for a while to do some deep cleaning and sanitizing. There’s no end in sight for this dreaded Easter curse. Fortunately, however, the zombie animal known as the Easter Bunny is on lockdown this year just like the rest of the nation. If the NBA is cancelled, then damnit to hell, so is Easter. So, if you happen to see that cotton tailed prick out there in the yard dropping Peeps in the coming weeks, don’t be afraid to start shooting. In the immortal words of Elmer J. Fudd: “I’m hunting wabbits.” Damn right. Consider yourself warned, Easter Bunny. It’s your ass if I see so much as a single marshmallow chicken.