I’m always a little disconcerted by holiday products that are food in the form of sentient creatures.

When a child, I loved getting chocolate Easter bunnies, not because I believed in the resurrection, or because I loved bunnies (I don’t mind them, but I find cats preferable as pets) but because I love chocolate. But I was always put off a little by the fact that I had to eat a bunny. And a helpless bunny at that, one that, by virtue (if that’s the right word…) of being composed purely of sugar and cocoa and various fats, but no proteins or muscle tissue, was in no position to defend itself, and was entirely prostrate to my gustatory whims.

Now comes Christmas, and Patricia has put a chocolate Santa in my stocking. And not just any chocolate Santa, but knowing my weakness (hers is dark chocolate), a milk chocolate Santa.

So what do I do? It’s not bad enough that I eat it, but lest I consume the foil wrapping, thus making my teeth and fillings vulnerable to powerful local radio stations and the mind-control beams of the incompetent CIA (whose incompetence extends to the possibility of scrambling my brain, but probably not leaving it uncorrupted by their brain-death beams), I had to strip the foil down from it prior to consuming it and its precious life-giving constituents. Kind of like stripping down a cadaver before consuming it, lest one get the threads of the clothing of the helpless victim caught in one’s incisors.

(Ummmmm…….braaaiinnnsss)

Anyway, my choice was to put it out of its misery immediately, by biting off its head. Then, the rest of the body can lie painless and dormant as I consume the remainder over the next few days.

So, am I sick, or should I start a rock band?