I recently introduced a friend to the American Easter tradition that is Peeps. I had a wave of inspiration, and thus composed the following, which share with you now.

Right. Those are Peeps. They’re a family tradition with my family. They are pure sugar fluffed up (and fluff up even more after a few seconds in the microwave )

More importantly for our purposes, though, they are a part of the great Bunny Empire (I’m completely making this up now, but humour me and sit back for a good story).

The Bunny Empire (aka BE) started when one Attila the Bun invaded the parts of the US that Americans hold most dear, the supermarkets. It was a shrewd tactical move, and as Sun Tzu (who wrote the Art of War a few thousand years ago) would say, ‘wage a war based on deception.’ Attila sure did that. Here we were, placid Americans enjoying the early morning services on Easter, and sharing a ham for supper that evening, when all of a sudden, faster than a German Blitzkrieg, we were inundated by bunnies from every aisle and shelf. They didn’t come over in ships with guns blazing on shore; they didn’t use guns at all. But they were there by the thousands, and they now controlled America for one day a year.

Bunny greeting cards, bunny television commercials, bunny slippers to wear with the bunny bath robe you had to buy for this special day. Chocolate bunnies, bunny cakes, and yes. . . Easter eggs. This was the great deception.

The choice to include not one, but two small furry creatures was what clenched the downfall of those peaceful Easter mornings. Baby chicks and bunnies, the downfall of us all. Why these two got into cahoots, no one is really sure. But there’s a story I’ve heard, and for your edification of American culture (or at least a funny view of it), I recount it below.

“The Bunny that Conquered Them All”

By Sam Evans

On the night before Easter, when all through the house, not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse.

The children were nestled all snug in their beds, with Attila the Bun running through their small heads.

With baskets full of goodies and eggs painted nice, Attila came bouncing. Once. Twice. Thrice.

The eggs were hidden in all sorts of places, some easy to find, some in tight spaces.

The baskets were then given, with the greatest of care, to each of the children, twas only fair.

The next morning when they awoke and jumped up out of bed, with their baskets in hand, around the house they sped.

In cupboards, in socks, in bowls and in vases, under plants and on plates, tied up in shoe laces.

They squealed with glee, as they searched all around, for the gifts that Attila had left to be found.

And thus Easter was lost, with its Christ on the cross, to be replaced by Attila, the new Easter boss.

I happened to spot Attila one year, it was the night afterwards, she’d had a few beers.

I hopped up to see her on the bar stool nearby, she laughed when she saw me, then gave a great sigh.

‘I remember the days,’ she said as she drank, ‘when this whole scam was just an idle bun’s prank.

‘For the other bunnies and I, God isn’t real. We just couldn’t see why people make a big deal.

‘We wanted to turn this one day of peace, into something that was ours, and atheist’s release.

‘So we conjured the eggs, the chocolate, the scam! We did away with the cross, the Jesus, the ham.

‘”That’s more like it!” we said, not without some glee, as American consumerism went on a spree.

‘So why the long face,’ I asked when she paused. ‘It seems you should be happy, with all you’ve caused.’

‘I was for a while,’ said Attila the Bun, ‘but now it’s just work, it’s no longer fun.

‘All these kids want more gifts, more chocolate, more eggs. I just can’t keep up with consumers these days.’

One ear flopped down, The Bun didn’t look sure. She set it back straight, and ordered one more.

‘There’s something more, you know,’ she paused for effect. ‘That Jesus, your friend, I’ve come to respect.

‘He had ideals and vision, passion and joy. All I’ve got is big ears and a swindling ploy.

‘I want to give Easter right back to the Jew,’ she said as she drank the entire pint through. ‘I’m done with it, finished. I have to use the loo.’

I pondered these words, as the Bun tottered away. I imagined the tabloids the very next day.

‘Attila the Bun gives Jesus his Due!’ ‘The Jew bounces back, the Bun is now through!’

‘Consumerism is Dead! Long Live Morality!’ ‘The Easter Bunny Finds Spirituality!’

But I have a hard time imagining the kids come next year. No baskets, no chocolate, no eggs, and no cheer.

But I think they will find, if they look in their souls, that they don’t need chocolate to console their woes.

What is it they need? It could be the Lord. But it could also be Mohammad or Buddha they look toward.

A better reason to be, than material wealth. Perhaps they’ll stop looking on the supermarket shelf.