Every year, around this time, exciting red and blue and green packages appear on the shelves at my local Albertson’s. And every year, around this time, I buy one of those shiny foil-covered boxes, remove one of the contents, and eagerly eat it.

And every year, around this time, I spit the contents of the box out of my mouth and say, “Motherf*cker! Gross!”

That’s right. I’m talking about Cadbury eggs.

I don’t know how it is that I manage to forget every year how disturbing these little candies are. Maybe it’s the bright primary colors, designed to disable my higher brain functions and replace them with a craving for pretty candy.

Candy eggs. What a hellish concept that truly is. Candy eggs. The unfertilized offspring of a chicken, only made out of chocolate and sugar.

Sugar yolk. Yolk that tastes like sugar. Sugar that looks like yolk. It is a fundamentally skewed concept. Yolk. Made out of sugar. Need I say more?

I need not, but I will anyway.

The Cadbury Egg is merely a symptom of a larger social distortion: The Easter holiday. Here is a holiday in which we celebrate the crucifixion and resurrection of a religious figure by hiding chicken eggs from children and encouraging them to eat baby chickens* whole.

Setting the religious/secular discrepancies aside, the holiday is bizarre. The concept is that a large, invisible bunny makes his rounds every year in order to stick a bunch of chicken eggs in bushes, or around your house.

Wait a minute… a bunny that hides eggs? Bunnies don’t even lay eggs. Where the hell is this rabbit getting all these eggs? Does the rabbit run a chicken farm? Does he sneak around rural Illinois, violating chickens and stealing their eggs? ‘Cause if so, I don’t want that damn bunny in my house. That bunny has some serious sociopathic tendencies.

I had a bunny once. And it hid stuff in corners, all right. But they weren’t painted up, and they sure didn’t taste like candy.

*made of puffed sugar