Meet Shecky.

This ladies and gentlemen is Shecky...

I don't like Shecky.

It's not because his large bulbous eyes remind me of childhood nightmares as they protrude profusely from his skull. It's not because his droopy, lazy stare reminds me of the hopped up junky that corners me every time I'm downtown to ask me for change. It's not because he's a turtle, in fact I love turtles.

No I don't like Shecky because he is an Easter turtle. A slimy, salmonella ridden usurper to the throne that belongs to the one true figure of Easter, I speak of course of the Easter Bunny.

For so long he has been the undisputed king of Easter, not only the king of Easter but almost a godly figure in Easter lore. Coming to the homes of good little children he hides treats of chocolate eggs; truly blessed chocolate eggs that come from his holy body. Once hidden the children seek out these eggs and upon finding them, they devour them and except the blessings of the Bunny. Then parents go out and buy knock off mystical bunny eggs for the children who were too slow to find any during the sacred Egg Hunt.

But how ladies and gentlemen are those children supposed to do this if we allow Shecky to don the ears and take the Bunny's throne? Where the hell will the eggs come from? Everyone knows that turtles don't lay eggs, it's obvious that they reproduce asexually, I can't tell one turtle apart from another so they obviously must.

Shecky's anatomical inadequacies aside, what do we do when every other animal on the planet wants to play Easter? Who's next? The Easter Wombat? I sure hope not, because wombats are ugly, really, really ugly. It is a very slippery slope, one that could lead to the focus of this most sacred holiday moving off of our beloved Easter Bunny and unto this green little devil known as Shecky.

So as the faithful subjects of the Bunny that we are we must take out our wallets, go to his aid and say,

"No more! Sit down Chinchilla, you don't get a holiday. Unless it involves wonderfully soft coats."