This egg is not real.

Even though I'm not a fan, I figure most of you enjoy these. So use it as a visual as you eat your Peeps and dream of better treats. Happy Easter, all!

If you don't read this, I'll know.

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The bird is a gift. Treasure her.

Business in the front, rodent in the back.

In pre-school, I had an arch nemesis.

I can't for the life of me recall his name, so we'll go with Scooter. Scooter had a rat-tail.

If you don't know what that is, it's a hair"style". It's pretty much a mullet that is twisted together into a fancy little pigtail that sticks straight out the back of the victim's head. The tip points down to Hell, an extra outstretched arm pointing to its creator.

If it's any evidence, Anakin Skywalker had one in his bachelor years and shortly became Darth Vader.

Scooter was also, because of his intense caveman properties, the "school biter". Picture a living can-opener who has a thirst for blood and paste. Not together. He was classy.

Scooter's tusks would go to town on anyone who gave him any funny business. Scooter was serious, you guys.

Then came the day he approached me. He wanted my swing real bad. I had just conquered it and there was no way I was giving it up so I put on my "I'll frickin' tell" face. Not saying a word - he didn't know many - he advanced on me, jaw unhinged.

Realizing I was about to be eaten - or lose my swing - I did the only thing I could think to do. I ducked his strike and chewed on his arm.

His face twisted up into a mixture of rage, confusion and shame. His wee arms flailed. His feet pawed the ground. He twitched a little. I just swung on my prize silently - yet triumphantly - as I watched the progression from hard-featured little boy to baboon. It did not take long.

From that moment on, Scooter was demoralized to what he really was - just some weird kid with a pseudo-mullet.

This next bit I would be positive was Scooter's clever retaliation, if not for the use of clever in this sentence.

Weeks later, Scooter claimed to have learned a new word. We didn't believe him, but all we had to do was drink sippy cups and flirt with the ladies, so we gathered around him.

He jumped up on a table and began ascertaining that if a movie is ever based on this story, it will be rated R.

This alarmingly unethical behavior was what us kidz wuz all about - so I hopped on the table, bellowing the very same word. In fact, the only ones who didn't join us were the select few who already knew the word was bad.

Teacher: Ms. Wells?

Mom: Hi! Is everything okay?

Teacher: Yes, well, you see..Trey learned a new word.

Mom: Oh no, it's fine - he just can't say SIT right yet.

Teacher: That's all well and good, but this word starts with F.

Mom: I see.

After a stern talking-to from my parents, I decided that cursing resulted in people like Scooter.

I never said that word again until 7th grade - for fear of growing a very small, but very prominent, rat tail.

Life, uh...finds a way.

At a much younger age, I had a good friend named Will. He was a cool guy, but he was kind of - to put it lightly - a pansy.

Will was just one of our four-, sometimes six-membered group. We were made up thusly:

Will
Sometimes Will's brother Joey
Angelo
Sometimes Angelo's brother James
Lloyd
T-Bone (They called me this because I was awesome)

Now, being young boys, our filters were not yet fully developed so we often did mean things to each other just to assert our primitive male dominance. Sometimes it went too far. But if you cried, you turned into a girl.

Guess who is still a boy?

Anyway, these frequently hurtful antics (which I would never take part in now, and I hope the same goes for them) included; things being stolen, randomly deciding to gang up on one of the others, fabricated laws of physics, purposefully excluding the younger brothers and then laughing too loudly from our big boy corner, etc.

Before I continue, I just want to clear up that my nickname wasn't T-Bone and that I wish it had been.

Around this time a movie called The Lost World: Jurassic Park came out. Inspired by the events of this film, I came up with a fantastical scheme that was sure to produce a girl or two.

Working alone, I had to set everything in motion. The prank was completely absurd, so it wasn't applicable to just anyone. I needed a pansy.

Again, I must stress that I am not this devious now. This story has been told quite a lot by my family because of the sheer audacity of my plot, so I decided to put it in my own words - hopefully to the enjoyment of you lovely, understanding people.

Will's younger brother, Joey, was almost comedically tougher than him. I decided to use him, too, figuring that a reputation of taking down the toughest kid in the group would earn me the long-awaited T-Bone title. I politely invited them both over for Lego's and popsicles. They had no idea.

As we sat quietly, slurping our dripping treats and creating our sticky little cities, my mind was racing faster than my Buzz-Lightyear light-up sneakers. I began the first step of my glorious inception.

I leaned in close and uttered the carefully chosen words of subtlety.

Me: You guys. I can see the future.

Joey sniffed. Will gaped, until he saw that his little brother was nonchalant, then he pretended to blow it off. On the surface, I'd failed. But I knew I had planted the seed. I smiled.

A few hours later, they had to go home. I offered to walk with them.

Once we'd hit the road, I stopped them both and sat in the middle of the road. I pulled out some old dice I'd found in the house.

Me: Remember how I said I could see the future?

Upon bringing it up again, Will seemed convinced. Joey just watched me patiently. I continued.

Me: These are future-seeing dice. You guys. If these land on five, dinosaurs are coming back. Big ones. The ones who eat only people. Connivores.

And that was that. The meat of my grandiose brainchild. I tried to look grave as I stared back at the brothers.

They didn't react so I began shaking the dice dramatically. This resulted in some discomfort from their end. Good.

I let fly the tools of destruction and was shortly alarmed to see that they'd landed on twelve.

This next part truthfully happened, we were this young and gullible.

I looked up and put on my best faux horror face. I pointed behind them.

Me: AHH!

As they turned, I quickly modified the results of my reading to correctly display dinosaurdeathtime. When they turned back around, I shrugged it off and then became overly aware of the dice.

I pointed.
I gasped.
I winced.

As soon as I had both of them doing the same, I loped back towards the house so they wouldn't see me laughing.

My tale was so horrifying - duh - that they followed me back inside. My mom, surprised to see our trembling guests, asked if everything was okay. They informed her that dinosaurs were back. After a heavy glare at me, she sat them both down and explained why they were wrong.

Mom: Have you ever SEEN a dinosaur?

Joey: I guess not.

Will's look of terror disallowed him to speak.

After a few minutes, Joey calmly realized he'd been had. He beckoned for Will to come home with him. Will's eyes shifted from Joey, to the door, to my mom, to what I assume was the comfort of my bedroom. He eventually opted to follow Joey.

I slid out the back door and prepped for my final strike against the Brothers Ironic. I positioned myself behind  a storage shed right next to my house. The boys would have to pass my camp to reach their house. I was ready.

Once I saw them exit the front door, I could hardly contain my giggles. To me, this was the most brilliant thing I'd ever come up with. I lifted my arms and waited for them to reach the perfect spot - just far enough from both safe havens that they may actually explode from over-stimulation.

As soon as they'd hit the mark, I began to slam my clenched fists against the thin metal shed, roaring madly - barely containing intense guffaws. I'm still not sure why I found this so funny. I'm sure it had more to do with how clever I thought I must be and less with human suffering. Man, I hope so.

The two boys split up perfectly. Joey bolted for his own home, while Will marched grimly - sure he would be eaten - towards my own abode. After a few more bangs of the shed and just another T-Rex screech, he evolved into a steady canter.

Several (probably painful) minutes later, my mom exited the house with a very paranoid Will in tow. They walked around the corner and out of sight.

And that is the story of me being the biggest jerk ever.

If you're still not convinced, he and Lloyd ended up stealing my bike a few days later.

Mutillidae sounds like Mutilate.

My grandparents live on a massive hill. When I was a kid, that junk was basically a theme park. They had dogs to ride around on (they LOVED IT), a massive precipice looking over the rest of the town which I always planned to roll down, Reading Rainbow on EVERY TV, candy, and they even let me drive their golf cart through the woods. Also there were probably fireworks upon entrance.

The creators of this nirvana were none other than Didi and Pawpaw.

Their Names:
I couldn't say Dianne at a young age but still wanted to call her what I heard everyone else calling her, so Gramma - or whatever you normal people use - was out of the question.

I think the origin of Pawpaw's name is similar to most other boys' in the south. It's easy for babies to say and it makes one visualize a tough grandpa with an even tougher grandson. And they're gonna build a birdhouse together. For falcons.

One day, whilst meticulously eating Lucky Charms and playing with my totally awesome Hotwheels, I noticed a loud grinding noise from outside.

I hopped up to look through a small window and gaped at a tractor that was dumping huge mounds of dirt onto the grass. It only took seconds for the whole scenario to transform into "a nice man in a grown-up toy is giving me a playground". And since Pawpaw was directing the man in the tractor,  that was all I needed for a permission grant.

I grabbed my favorite toy trucks and made sure to pick up a few tiny toy soldiers - small enough to be run over - and bolted through the house to reach the dirt.

By the time I'd gotten there, the tractor was gone. I don't see how that happened, but I probably got distracted by a cool bug on the way.

Pawpaw grinned at me, which only proved that the dirt was a giant toy for me to play with. Before he left he told me something about being safe - whatever. That dirt was practically glowing with merriment, I didn't have time to take heed.

I plopped down in my new kingdom and surveyed all that was good. I began to play, mostly pounding the trucks into walls of dirt. And that's when I saw the coolest bug ever.

It was a prodigious ant, who crawled very slowly and was covered in bright red fur. That's right folks. It was furry.

It might as well have been a target. My wielded truck made a U-turn and made its way towards the newly dubbed Monster-Who-Will-Eat-Your-Babies. I had to save them.

Narrating at the appropriate moments, I reached the point where I was to run over the beast, but in a hasty decision, decided to draw out the execution by swerving to miss.

I made another turn and faced my prey, who was continuing its trek across the desert - unphased.

At about this time you're thinking "Oh no, that poor minuscule ant." But I'm here to tell you that you should never worry about these monsters.

I promptly smacked my little toy against the sumo-wrestler. Nothing happened. The ant trekked on, and if anything my truck was the one scarred, both physically and emotionally.

I stared down at the ant, trying to figure out what it's problem was. It should have complied to my death offer.

At that very moment, a caterpillar approached the dirt pile. Being very supportive of a real life bug that actually evolves like a Pokemon, I had no interest in hurting the little guy. But that didn't mean he still couldn't star in my play.

I plucked him from his obvious confusion and placed him gently in the bed of my truck - I had found my protagonist!

With that business handled, I scanned the playing field for my bad guy. He was nowhere to be found.

Readers, I'm going to let you in on some dramatic irony. I could not find the leviathan because he was on my arm. Okay, now let the scary commence!

I gave up too quickly on the search, and focused my attention on my truck driver. I debated whether or not he should get into a terrible crash, live, and become a super hero when something struck me. It was a flush of warm on my left arm. As I turned to see what it was, it escalated to pain. Horrible please-cut-it-off pain.

I turned to see the creature I had once loved and employed in one of my very first productions had taken a bite out of my arm.

I instinctively whipped my arm and flung him into who-knows-where, and began shrieking like a banshee.

Pawpaw came tearing around the house, his face pale white. When he saw me crumpled on the ground clutching my arm and bawling like a baby with no immediate danger in sight, the color returned to his face. He tentatively asked what happened to which I replied stupidly;

"I got bit by a ant."

He was not happy with me.

If you have never seen these ants, you are very lucky. I can't do it justice with a drawing and also the horror of the real thing may adequately wring out all of your sympathy for my ordeal.

And, in looking up the picture, I found out what blitzkrieged my arm all those years ago. It's a freaking WINGLESS WASP.

Mutillidae are a family of wasps whose wingless females resemble ants. Their common name velvet ant refers to their dense hair which may be red, black, white, silver, blue, or gold. Their bright colours serve as aposematic signals. They are known for their extremely painful sting, facetiously said to be strong enough to kill a cow, hence the common name cow killer or cow ant is applied to some species - Wikipedia

All in all, I may have deserved the sting - but whatever. It should have been a measly ant bite.

I basically got rick-rolled by nature.