I crack it open, and there is a plastic buttplug inside. Inside the plug is Mario, in three pieces. I put him together while contemplating my life, and what life must be like in three pieces inside a plastic capsule, in a chocolate egg, in foil, in a box.
The exterior of the chocolate is waxy and vile. When I put a chunk of it into my mouth I find the wax gives way to a "food" that is both gritty and thin, like a fine sandpaper scratching the enamel coating off my teeth. When I get through it to the white layer underneath, my entire body convulses in agony. It tastes like plastic, most obviously because it surrounded plastic until only moments ago. One time when I was younger I had the bright idea to use a lighter and melt a twenty-ounce plastic bottle of Mountain Dew, and part of it liquefied and fell onto my hand and burnt me, and it hurt so fucking bad but mostly the smell, this smell of burning flesh and skin rot, putrid chemicals, invaded my body, my brain, I will never forget it. It comes back to me now, as I absorb the hefty egg into my taste shaft, disgusting. I begin to gag, the painful memories return. Swallowing it is like swallowing the sweat wicked up by a locker room towel at the Hershey corporate gym.
I would rather be murdered to death than eat this again. I put the capsule back in the part of the egg. I put the egg back in the box. I put the box somewhere nobody will ever think to look for it, back on the shelf at the grocery store for a young child to discover. It will be a special treat from me. He will call me father, despite our having never met. I will know he is mine.