No Peeps

Jenny is keeping us hoppin' with her Saturday Centus challenge on this lovely morning before Easter. As you can see, she has prompted us today with a picture in lieu of words. My relentlessly rhyming response follows. Just remember, it's all Matlock's fault. In fact, I take no responsibility whatsoever... ;)

∞§∞

You kids are getting out of hand.

How hard is it to understand?

I’m not the Easter Bunny. Geez.

No eggs, no peeps, no basket. Please!

This is velour I’m wearing here…

And you can blow it out your ear

if you don’t see, as plain as day,

that I’m a Playboy Bunny. Hey,

don’t smirk at me. Hugh likes my chest.

Okay, it’s different from the rest

but different strokes for different folks.

That doesn’t mean that I boil yolks

or color shells or scatter treats.

These hands (not paws!) don’t pass out sweets.

These feet don’t thump; these ears don’t hear.

They’re simply part of my headgear.

So Easter morning, don’t call me.

You’re barkin' up an empty tree.

Just take that little Easter pail

and hop on down the bunny trail.

∞§∞

And a very hoppy birthday to my beautiful Mom!

I won't tell you her age, but she's no spring chick...

(She did used to be an Easter bunny, though.)

~ not a Playboy one ~

;)