The Story Of Vladimir Crinklesack & Cuddles (Aka: Erosmyth)
I once took a dump that looked like a question mark. I stared long and hard at it (the turd itself was long and hard, I figured it deserved consideration in kind), and saw the cosmic query before me. “What are you doing with yourself? Are you *really* happy with your relationships? Your career? Your *life*?
Three weeks later I had dumped a girlfriend who, as it turns out, had been cheating on me and quit my dead-end job at a Fortune 500 engineering firm to become a trite comedy writer. I couldn’t be happier.
It’s that kind of scatological soul-searching that brings us Eros Myth. Not content laboring under Christian dogma and casual leporiphobia that seems to pervade every other park, children’s party, even Hollywood (see: 1983’s ode to commercialism “A Christmas Story”), these two Easter bunnies years ago shed the shackles of candy eggs and fake plastic grass that you find in your underwear six months after the fact. They’re the hardest partying fluffy freaks you’ve never heard of.
And there’s definitely something wrong with them…