Peeps are my rock. My foundation. This makes Easter the most significant day of the year. For you Easter may be just about bunnies and decorative hats, but for me Easter is almost a religious thing.
BTW, I’m not fanatical in my religion. I’m not like those cultish blaspheming schismoids who believe that Peeps come from Cadbury Eggs. That’s ridiculous. Peeps are immaculately conceived.
This Easter was supposed to be the greatest of all Easters. This is the year I had made my holy pilgrimage to seek the origins of those magic marshmallow treats. But…
Wow! Easter Island isn’t at all what I expected it to be. I thought it would be like CandyLand of the Gods. Turns out it’s an island (which I expected) without trees (which I did not expect) some really really big stone heads (which nobody would expect, because it’s just weird--I thought I had a big head, I always say it’s big enough for someone with at least twice my IQ, but these things are enormous) and, worst shock of all, ask around and no one will tell you where to find Peep Eden. They keep it a secret. Not a Peep.
To make matters worse, our group was stuck with a tour guide, named Ricardo, who was a complete, rude asshole. He was also just plain stupid: I mean, the guy could hardly even speak English. He’s from Chile, fer-chrissakes. North America, South America, whatever, it’s all America and he should learn to speak American gosh-darnit!!
I got nothing against Chile, mind you. I luh-huh-huh-huh-huh-huh-ove Chile. It’s my second favorite food (behind Peeps)—I don’t care if it’s with meat, without meat, chunky, hot, mild, marshmallowy… I love Chile. I was planning a pilgrimage next year to Chile, but this tour guide is such a jerk that I may cancel that trip.
I’m really starting to question my faiths.
Here’s a little taste of the tour, so you can see what a douchebag we had to put up with.
Guide: The ancient inhabitants of this land were known as The Rapanui, they once numbered over 10,000.
Me: Hold it right there, Rick, but that’s just BS. I happen to know that the inhabitants are called “The Peeple.” Also, there’s no way in hell 10,000 Peeple ever lived here. So no more bullshit, OK?
Guide: Some say as many as 17,000 at it’s height.
Me: Bull-Shit! Just look around, there’s hardly any food growing, hardly any trees, there’s no way 10,000 could live off this land.
Guide: Most experts say that the Rapanui deforested their land, causing their own population collapse.
Me: Oh my god, you’re one of those hippy environmentalists, aren’t you. Next thing you know you’ll start talking about climate change.
Guide: Yes, climate change in the 18th century probably exacerbated the deforestation. They simply used up their resources faster than they could be replenished. I believe the day came where a Rapanui individual, desperate for fuel, knowingly and willfully cut down their last mature tree.
Me: No way. Peeple weren’t so stupid as to use up their own food and fuel supplies faster then they could be replaced.
Guide: Tell me, sir, how did you get from your home to Easter Island?
Me: I flew. Took a few flights, actually, it was quite a hassle. I should have been upgraded.
Guide: Those planes used a lot of fuel. How quickly are you replacing the oil that was drilled to make all that fuel?
Me: I don’t replace the fuel. The oil companies do that. Duh!
Thankfully, we broke then for a box lunch the tour agency had provided. But pretty soon the guide was all up in my ass again:
Me: Excuse me. Could I have a real knife instead of this plastic stuff you gave us?
Guide: Good for you, sir, using reusable silverware instead of disposable, oil-based plastic. You have learned something, sir.
Me: Hell yeah, I’ve learned something. I tried to chisel off some pieces of that big stone head, to bring home as souvenirs, but these plastic knives don’t cut through shit.
Guide: grrrble grrblle grrrble (his English got so bad at this point that I couldn’t make sense of any of it)
So that’s my Easter vacation. A bit disappointing, eh? It just goes to show that people are the same wherever you go: there’s always some asshole trying to ruin things for the rest of us.
Actually, although I hate to admit it, the guide did have a point about maybe, possibly, the oil running out. Just in case he’s right (and I’m not saying he his) you should all get on a flight to Easter Island now, while you can, pronto, before the oil’s all gone. Those heads are ginormously big, you have to see them for yourself to believe them, and (thanks to the jerk guide) I wasn’t able to bring any pieces back to show you!
Bring a chisel.
Hopefully I’ll have a better time on my next vacation in a few months in Puerto Vallarta, where I plan to celebrate the 4th of July (although for some weird reason they call it “Sinko Day My Oh!”)