PEEPS

Peeps are socialist.

The name "Peeps" is merely an Easter euphony to animate the holiday's endless rows of baleful, straight-staring, Communist, shoulder-to-shoulder chick-shaped candy. Peeps are a plot, especially the 15-pack.

As a food, Peeps are an assault to the senses. You will not find their colors in nature. The yellow and blue are plain Crayola; the white is like looking at the sun. The purple—the Peeps' peeps call it "lavender,” an insult to everything Liberace ever stood for.

Unlike real candy (or, even, food), Peeps do not smell and they do not taste.

Oh, Peeps are sweet all right, so sweet they set the teeth to singing. Peeps are sweeter than a spoonful of white sugar. That's because Peeps are a sort of foam made of sugar, corn syrup and gelatin, then speckled with more sugar. Peeps are a burp wrapped in sandpaper.

The word Peeps ought to be added to the “seven words you can't say on television.” Like most of the sassy seven, it's a couple of consonants bookending vowels. Also, “peep,” the verb, is kind of naughty.

For all their failure as a food, however, I have found some helpful, even fun, uses for Peeps.

Fresh Peeps make good heel lifts in hand-me-down shoes that are too big. I have dispatched an unwanted gerbil by placing a purple Peep in its exercise wheel.

If Easter is a sunny day, you might take your child outside with some Peeps and have fun burning holes in them with magnifying glasses. I suggest beginning with the two Peep “eyes.” The winner is the one who melts through the Peep first.

Or, place four hard, stale Peeps on the compass points—this will take some time, as Peeps are exceedingly slow to dry—and they decoratively support a plateful of proper candy.

Like, say, jelly beans.