God. damn. Cadbury.
Here we are, my favorite time of year. Easter. Easter means bunnies and sunshine and sweet giant Cadbury cream eggs.
I knew something was off a couple years ago when Danny got an egg and I was like, ‘where’s the rest of it?’ and he was like, ‘this is it.’ and I was all, ‘That teeny thing? No way.’
It was smaller, a lot smaller. What the fuck, Cadbury?
These eggs are meant to put me into a coma. If my stomach isn’t twisting and my ocular sockets aren’t bouncing then guess what? You haven’t done your job.
At first, I was the only one who noticed. Easter candy is like religion to me and the CCE is my Jesus. But, look, according to wikipedia it is true. And it looks like only the American version is smaller? That’s discrimination! The English get the regular size? Why? Those skinny bastards can’t even appreciate it. I hate you Cadbury.
I’m refusing to eat you this year (not really). I’ll just have to live with my loving memory of the time I watched Lord of the Flies and ate a four pack then barfed out the window. Only cherry vodka has ever created that wonderous experience of elated joy followed by horrible, excruciating waves of nausea.
Is that what you want Cadbury? You want me to return to drinking straight cherry vodka? Are you promoting drunk parenting? I guess you are with your piece of tiny ass egg.
Congratulations, Robin’s Eggs. You are my new Jesus, don’t screw it up.