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Army of Sugar

 

The Culture Vulture used to look forward to Peeps Season (or,as some people refer to it: Easter). Once a year, those squishy yellow chicks made their appearance. For the select population of Peeps afficionados, it was an annual ritual of sugary bliss. And the days following the celebration of Jesus’ resurrection were even better. Peeps at  ten cents a box!

Somewhere along the path toward mass profits, the Peeps people figured out how to capitalize on a good idea. Instead of just manufacturing Peeps once a year, why not make Peeps year round? Except they’re not called Peeps at Christmas. They’re frosty white Santas. At Halloween, they’re orange pumpkins. Come Valentine’s Day, red hearts. Wow! Peeps all the time! What could be better?

Unfortunately, the availability of Peeps at all times has diminished my craving. I no longer need to stock up. I don’t salivate when I see them piled on the clearance rack at the supermarket. Peeps, like Britney Spears and Donald Trump, suffer from overexposure. My taste buds are a little disappointed. The thrill of seeing the first Peep on the shelf in March is no longer. My children’s children will never know that thrill. Peeps aren’t special anymore.

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