If you've never heard of marshmallow peeps, here's a short guide to peeps
Production credits: Grateful acknowledgment is made to the now-defunct
Lord of the Peeps site, who pioneered Peep Theater, and to the internet for providing these images. You people
THE FOLLOWING PRESENTATION CONTAINS GRAPHIC IMAGES OF SHOCKING PEEP-ON-PEEP VIOLENCE. VIEWER
DISCRETION IS ADVISED.
When we are born, we are inspected by Elvis impersonators.
The deformed are discarded, fit only for cocoa, or children's cereals.
Only the soft may call themselves Spartans. Only the soft. Only the pillowy.
We march. To battle, we march.
The Persians are exotic, many-hued, with toxic skin and beaks sharp as brass.
From across the wine-dark candy aisle they come, in square see-through plastic ships.
When they arrive, they find a Spartan-style greeting.
Xerxes' emissary sneers. "Is that all you got?"
"Bring it on, Sunshine," says Leonidas.
Blood-red dawn arrives. And with it, wave upon wave of Persians.
Toothpick rings against toothpick. The first day is ours.
Meanwhile, in his tent, Xerxes hangs with his...uh...peeps, enjoying some wholesomely mutant fun.
Day 2 begins. The Persians send monstrous beasts against our 300, but to no avail.
But we are betrayed. Woe! The treacherous hunch-tail has shown the Persians the secret path
into the Easter basket. The 300 are surrounded. The choice: s'mores, or death.
After a quick consensus-building meeting and group hug, the Spartans pick Door #2: Death.
Leonidas is the first to go.
The rest follow in short order, felled by a rain of deadly cocktail shafts.
Go tell the marshmallows, passerby,
That you've got a hankering for sweet potato pie.
Only one looks back. Dilios, whose ear was nibbled during battle. Luckily, the gods saw fit to
grace him with a spare.
If you have enjoyed this presentation, why not stop by our gift shop and purchase an official "300"