And now, a seasonal tale of madness and redemption, and a stolen internet photo...
The Vengeful Egg
The Easter Bunny finished another successful holiday. He could barely walk because his paws were so sore from hiding over 400 million eggs in one weekend. “I’m so dogamuffin tired,” he said, deciding to take a nap. But the moment he fell asleep, he entered a dream of an Easter egg with a mean face that was coming to get him. The egg was so mad that its face glowed hot and it floated above a vibrating battle-axe. The Easter Bunny woke up in a fright. He looked around, and he looked under his bed, but there was no egg with a mad face. But every time he went back to sleep, there was the egg, always coming closer, growing angrier and hotter.
He decided to go see his friend, Damon, who was an old mountain man living in Idaho—pretty far away from Easter Island, but the Easter Bunny had a special network of tunnels that made long-distance travel a snap. When he got there, Damon was sitting on a pile of potatoes eating a smoking black donut that he’d just cooked over a fire.
“Hi, Damon!” said the Easter Bunny. “What are your plans for all those potatoes?”
“Eh?” said Damon. “This is the plan—I sit on ‘em.”
“Oh, well, I suppose there are a lot of potatoes in Idaho…”
“Yep,” said Damon, “so many I just pile ‘em up, use ‘em for furniture. ‘Cept for the fattest ones, which I put a little sugar on and roast into donuts.” Damon was weird, but he maintained a healthy constitution and surprisingly good teeth.
The Easter Bunny told Damon about his scary egg nightmares, hoping that Damon would have some advice, because crazy old people who live in odd places have been known to have Yoda-like wisdom, or at least wrinkly faces and lots of stories.
“I’ve had that dream,” Damon said. “I think it means….”
“Okay, I’m waiting,” said the Easter Bunny.
“… that you are scared of eggs.”
“I don’t think that’s what it means, Damon.”
“Well, why ASK ME, then? If you’re so smart, go figure it out yourself.” Damon was a little grumpy.
“Could you just try again? Think harder this time.”
“Hmmm.” After about three minutes, Damon said, “I guess you’re just sick of eggs. Why don’t you hide potatoes instead? At least if a potato stays hidden, it might grow in the dirt and make more potatoes, instead of just getting rotten like a lost egg.”
The Easter Bunny had to sit down because this was quite an idea to swallow. Finally he said, “Damon, find me a nice, lightweight, ergonomic potato that I can handle with these old paws, and get me 400 million of them, and you’ve got yourself a deal.”
“That’s a lot of potatoes, high roller! Where do you think we are, Idaho?”
“Yes, Damon. You’ve never even left Idaho as far as I know.”
“I did once, but I hated everything that wasn’t in Idaho.” Damon looked mad.
“We’re also going to need those potatoes in pastel colors,” said the bunny.
Damon looked mad again, but he declared that Idaho’s potato-producing powers knew no limits, and if the world needed potatoes in pastel colors, THEN BY JOVE, IDAHO WOULD GROW THEM! So don’t be surprised if next Easter is all about potatoes.
The Vengeful Egg
The Easter Bunny finished another successful holiday. He could barely walk because his paws were so sore from hiding over 400 million eggs in one weekend. “I’m so dogamuffin tired,” he said, deciding to take a nap. But the moment he fell asleep, he entered a dream of an Easter egg with a mean face that was coming to get him. The egg was so mad that its face glowed hot and it floated above a vibrating battle-axe. The Easter Bunny woke up in a fright. He looked around, and he looked under his bed, but there was no egg with a mad face. But every time he went back to sleep, there was the egg, always coming closer, growing angrier and hotter.
He decided to go see his friend, Damon, who was an old mountain man living in Idaho—pretty far away from Easter Island, but the Easter Bunny had a special network of tunnels that made long-distance travel a snap. When he got there, Damon was sitting on a pile of potatoes eating a smoking black donut that he’d just cooked over a fire.
“Hi, Damon!” said the Easter Bunny. “What are your plans for all those potatoes?”
“Eh?” said Damon. “This is the plan—I sit on ‘em.”
“Oh, well, I suppose there are a lot of potatoes in Idaho…”
“Yep,” said Damon, “so many I just pile ‘em up, use ‘em for furniture. ‘Cept for the fattest ones, which I put a little sugar on and roast into donuts.” Damon was weird, but he maintained a healthy constitution and surprisingly good teeth.
The Easter Bunny told Damon about his scary egg nightmares, hoping that Damon would have some advice, because crazy old people who live in odd places have been known to have Yoda-like wisdom, or at least wrinkly faces and lots of stories.
“I’ve had that dream,” Damon said. “I think it means….”
“Okay, I’m waiting,” said the Easter Bunny.
“… that you are scared of eggs.”
“I don’t think that’s what it means, Damon.”
“Well, why ASK ME, then? If you’re so smart, go figure it out yourself.” Damon was a little grumpy.
“Could you just try again? Think harder this time.”
“Hmmm.” After about three minutes, Damon said, “I guess you’re just sick of eggs. Why don’t you hide potatoes instead? At least if a potato stays hidden, it might grow in the dirt and make more potatoes, instead of just getting rotten like a lost egg.”
The Easter Bunny had to sit down because this was quite an idea to swallow. Finally he said, “Damon, find me a nice, lightweight, ergonomic potato that I can handle with these old paws, and get me 400 million of them, and you’ve got yourself a deal.”
“That’s a lot of potatoes, high roller! Where do you think we are, Idaho?”
“Yes, Damon. You’ve never even left Idaho as far as I know.”
“I did once, but I hated everything that wasn’t in Idaho.” Damon looked mad.
“We’re also going to need those potatoes in pastel colors,” said the bunny.
Damon looked mad again, but he declared that Idaho’s potato-producing powers knew no limits, and if the world needed potatoes in pastel colors, THEN BY JOVE, IDAHO WOULD GROW THEM! So don’t be surprised if next Easter is all about potatoes.
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