Easter was fast approaching, and visions of Peep deviltry danced in a particular author’s head as she lay snug in her bed.
“I told you, I’ve had enough of your Peep stories.” Jim Kirk suddenly appeared in a corner of the bedroom.
The author was too busy admiring the view to hear his words. (Kirk’s shirt had gotten ripped somewhere in the space-time continuum, naturally.)
Kirk astutely changed tactics. “I’ll give you something else to write about, babe, if you promise never to mention Peeps again.”
Oh, so unfair! So tempting! So irresistible!
But alas, the author was only dreaming.