When I was a young lad I believed in strange things. I believed that a large man who lives with elves that are probably his slaves puts on a red suit once a year and goes around the whole freakin world to deliver presents and liably has teleportation powers to be able to accomplish this feat, kind of like Nightcrawler from the X-Men. I believed that there was an immortal lady with the power to decipher exactly where and when a child is who just lost a tooth. And then there was the Easter Bunny.

What a dick I was. I'll admit that Santa and the Easter Bunny were moderately clever deceptions, but a f*cking TOOTH FAIRY??? I'm surprised I didn't believe in a poop fairy, who gives potty trained children a dollar every time they squeeze one off.

Eh, I didn't get to the point. What I was gonna say was that one day I decided to ask my mommy if the Easter bunny was real. Usually she danced around the question, saying stuff like "Um, he is real, but you see, sometimes the Easter bunny can't make it around the whole world and give kids their baskets, so moms and dads have to do it instead." Ah, yes, mother dear was a wise one. She knew that this explanation not only delayed the squelching of my childhood beliefs, but also would make it okay if I ever caught my parents hiding baskets in the living room on Easter Eve. If one night I happened to leave my room to go to the bathroom and caught them in the act, I wouldn't fret. I'd simply think "Hmm, it must be one of those years" and continue the urination process.

When I was 10 I asked, and got a straight answer. "No, the Easter bunny isn't real." Plunk. This horribly blunt answer from my mother caused my heart to sink like a dense turd. All these years I was a believer in what others told me was fake, but I had been steadfast in my beliefs. None of that mattered now, because it was all gone. The day after Easter I visited my friend's house, and he told me that the Easter bunny gave him Battle Trolls. He was excited, but I depressingly muttered, "yeah, the Easter bunny."

This year, the good 'ol E.B. got me Gushers, peanut butter cups (so fukin' yummy), a notepad, a magazine, and Renu contact solution. I tell ya, he gets cleverer every year.