All Hail The Reester Bunny: A Poster Miracle

Posted: April 2, 2013 in Humor
Tags: , , , ,

“Reester bunnies.”

The girl behind the Walgreens cash register stared back at me blankly.

“Reester bunnies!” I said again. Slightly louder and slower this time.

“EASTER bunnies?” Came the reply.

“Yeah, but like the kickass Reese’s version of the Easter bunny.”

“Oh. I dunno. We have the Reese’s eggs if you want those.”

I didn’t want the Reese’s eggs. By this point I had been to 4 convenience stores. Rite Aid, CVS, another Rite Aid, and now Wallgreens. None of them had what I was searching for. Not one of the cashiers or clerks I had talked to even knew what Reester bunnies were. This one seemed to be no different than all the rest.

“You’re no different than all the rest.” I said, shaking my head sadly. I blinked several times, sighed, and dejectedly marched over to the candy aisle to collect some half-priced Palmer chocolate coins and smooshed Peeps. This was shaping up to be another disappointing Poster.

For the last several years, my favorite holiday has been The Day After Easter, or “Poster”. Short for Post-Easter. This is the day when all the leftover Easter candy in stores is sold at an enormous discount to clear inventory and open up shelf space for the next seasonal candies. It is a holiday created and celebrated by gluttonous cheapskates. The cashier at Wallgreens had a gluttonous look about her, which gave me hope that she would understand. But it was not to be.

Every year, I jump out of bed on Poster morning with a smile on my face and a pep in my step. For breakfast, I usually eat whatever candy is left over from the day before. I’ll polish off 4 or 5 handfuls of pastel-colored M&M’s, at least 4 Cadbury Cream Eggs, and some jelly beans for dessert.

Breakfast of Diabetes Champions

Breakfast of Diabetes Champions

After breakfast I like to sit down and not move for about an hour. Then, after my stomach has combined all those wonderful foods into an energy-filled sugar bolus, I stand up, tie the elastic drawstring on my Poster Pants, and head out to buy the tastiest, cheapest candy I can find. I love all the candies. Lindt chocolate bunnies, Brach’s malted milk eggs, even the little generic chocolate eggs covered in multicolored foil that never taste quite right. But my favorite candy, and also the hardest to find, is the Reester Bunny.


Through Him we are reborn… as fat people

For 3 consecutive Posters, I had failed to find any Reester bunnies no matter how many stores I visited. I would spend hours scouring the candy aisles of every business in town to no avail. But this year, I felt confident that I could track down a treasure trove of the delicious rabbits. I had been praying to the Candy Gods for months now, and They are nothing if not benevolent and generous. But here I was, in the candy aisle at Wallgreens, with no Reester Bunnies to be found.

As I tossed the chocolate coins and smooshed Peeps into my Poster Bag, a thought occurred to me:

“Stores have extra stuff in ‘the back.’ At least, that’s where employees go when they tell me they’re checking for extra stuff. Maybe there are some extra Reester bunnies in the back. There HAVE to be! Maybe there’s even a secret stash for Poster fanatics like me! Or maybe the cashier knows about Poster and is hoarding all the Reester bunnies for herself. ” Either way, I would need to schmooze her since I think she was put off by our conversation earlier.

I dragged my bag of half-price candy up to the register and leaned against the counter. I needed to connect with this cashier; show her that we had similar interests so she would be more likely to help me. I had recently read somewhere that girls like it when you compliment them on specific things about themselves. I needed to think of something that was specific to her, but also showed commonality between us. I should have done this before walking to the cash register, because now that I was right in front of her, I panicked slightly. So, trying to appear cool and collected, I nodded to her and complimented her on her most noticeable feature.

“You know, you have a gluttonous look about you.”

"That's right. Gluttonous."

“That’s right. Gluttonous.”

After being sternly asked to leave by the store’s manager (who assured me several times that there were no Reester Bunnies in the entire store), I sat down on the curb in front of the Wallgreens and cursed the Candy Gods, who had failed me yet again. Why? Why would they do this to me, their most faithful worshiper? Hadn’t they put me through enough already? How many more trials would I have to face before being deemed worthy of Their glorious bounty? All these questions raced through my brain as I stood up and emptied my Poster Bag into the trunk of my car. The trunk was nearly filled now, but with what? Whopper eggs? Pretzel M&M’s? A crazy Jesus Peep nailed to a chocolate cross?

This should not be a thing.

Jesus Peep: Check

All fine candies, to be sure, but they were nothing compared to the greatness of the Reester Bunny. The Reester Bunny that I had prayed so hard for over a course of several long, candyless months. I stared blankly at the contents of my trunk for several moments, then I felt a rage building inside of me. First my face flushed, then I clenched both fists and began to tremble with anger. The only thing I felt for this candy was contempt. I no longer wanted any of it.

A couple and their young son stopped to look at me. I heard the son ask, “Mommy, why is that man’s car full of candy? And why is he shaking like that?”

Without turning to look at them I shouted ,”Because the Candy Gods have forsaken me!”

I turned, walked over to the little boy, kneeled down, and said again, directly to him this time,”Because the Candy Gods have forsaken me.”

“I am a defeated man. I can no longer in good conscience serve Them.” The mother and father looked at me in horror.

“Holy shit, buddy, maybe we should get you some help,” said the father, pulling his son away from me. But I knew that once the Candy Gods have forsaken you, you are beyond help. I didn’t respond to him.

“I think he’s on drugs,” the mother said. I opened my eyes as wide as possible to show them that I wasn’t on drugs.

“I’m not on drugs!” I said. “But I do have an entire trunkful of candy that you can have for free.”


“I’m not on drugs. Here, have some candy.”

After several minutes of debate the couple agreed to take my trunkful of candy, as long as I promised to leave them alone afterwards. So, I shoveled all the candy out of my trunk. I had offered to drive it over to their house for them, but the father said to just leave it in a pile in the parking lot and they would come back and get it later. It’s just as well, because I heard sirens approaching as I drove away, and I didn’t feel like explaining my outburst to any authority figures. When I arrived back at my house, my girlfriend’s car was in the driveway.

As I got out of my car, I decided not to tell her about what happened. I knew she wouldn’t want to hear about my bad day, since last year she made me promise that I wouldn’t “freak out about candy” anymore or she’d leave me. She just doesn’t understand Poster. Part of me thinks she never will.

I walked through the front door, dropped my empty Poster Bag on the floor, and walked across the living room to the couch where my girlfriend was watching “How I Met Your Mother.”

“Hey, what are you doing home so early?” She asked.

“Nothing. Nothing happened today.” I could tell she knew something was amiss.

“Ummm. OK… is something wrong?’

“No.” A baldfaced lie.

“Well,” she said. “I think there’s something on the kitchen table that might cheer you up, Forrest Grump.”

I didn’t feel like laughing at her hilarious pun, but I was intrigued by what she had said. So I stepped into the kitchen and lo and behold, there was a pack of Reester Bunnies sitting on the table. The Candy Gods must have seen my selfless act of giving all my Poster candy to that skittish family outside of Wallgreens. That was my final test! Instead of just thinking about myself, I had brightened someone else’s day by sharing my candy.This was my reward for spreading Poster cheer! I slowly sank to my knees and wept tears of joy. The Candy Gods hadn’t forsaken me after all! They had seen my good deed and rewarded me for it. My life had meaning once more.

My girlfriend must have heard my sobbing because she came into the kitchen.

“What is wrong with you?” She asked. “Jesus, I thought we talked about this.”

I was too overcome with joy to respond to her.

“And please, don’t bother thanking me, either.”

I didn’t thank her. I knew who to thank. And They were in Candy Heaven, smiling down on me.

It was a Poster Miracle.

The End

  1. Dan says:

    This was unbelievable.

  2. Katie says:

    “You’re no different than all the rest.” I said, shaking my head sadly.

  3. Dawn says:

    Thank you for introducing me to the Reester Bunny. I never knew…

  4. BC says:

    My wife, or rather my Reester-a-holic sponsor, portions out my Reester Bunnies like a pre-visit Ebenezer. She buys the tiny ones on Poster day, only one bag, and only recently, well yesterday, had she emptied the bag into my sweaty shaking hands. I’m keeping the bag until it smells only like the plastic. On the plus side I’m at my high school playing weight due to her Reester rationing. I’ll take a Reester Egg in a pinch, or even a less than original Cup, but Reester bunnies fill a gap in my soul.

    Just found your blog, I’m a .5 Livingston with no ligament injury meniscus bucket tear. It was nifty, half folded up onto the other half. Popped it back in place on the field, no scream. Wasn’t until college and a martial arts lesson that I screwed it up again. No scream, but Sensei was impressed, I completed the move, planted my weight, and folded. That made for a good surgery, and the doc managed to fold the meniscus back into place after only 2 hours. 10 years later, a puppy takes me out. I mean I was stinking playing with my puppy and crack-pop, mini-scream, wife goes pale, dog licks face, .5 Livingston on my own livingroom floor. Doc couldn’t fix it this time and took 70%. Seriously, the puppy did more damage than football or weapons practice. Where is the pride in that?

    Keep up the humor, I’ll keep reading.

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