Peep Show

Seems that reguardless of whether the chipmunk saw his shadow or not, spring is here.
Spring means Easter.
Easter means draggin out the grossest, marshmallow, sugar-coated nonsense confectioners could come up with...

Peeps.

Hate 'em.

Which means, by the end of the weekend, I should have every shape and color of these little bastards litterin up my house like Twinkie wrappers at the Rosie O'Donnel estate.

Alright. I get it. Ha Ha. I hate 'em and you keep sending me more. You got me.
Even this picture was sent to me.
I call it an e-peep.

Research has taught me that people do eat them. Fresh, stale, barbecued, fricazeed, or whatever. Even frozen. I guess that would be a peepsicle. There's even some sort of wack job fan club. Ooooh, i can hardly wait for the next peep rally and all the merriment that ensues from gathering all these idiots together.

Since I ain't eatin these things, there's only three uses I can come up with for the plethera of peepy stuff I am about to receive.
1. Sacrafices in some sort of satanic ritual.
2. Food fights.
3. Dropping them, millions at a time, from a Stealth Bomber over Iraq. (Which may be the fastest and cheapest way to end the war! Who has the will to resist us when there's peeps rainin down like hellfire?)

Anyway, I gotta go clear my in-box of all these e-peeps.
But one thing's still buggin me.

Is it a chicken?

humor-blogs.com/ is full of chickens!