This is my peep. Although my peep looks almost exactly like the edible peeps, he is not. My peep is a stuffed toy. I got my peep from Mike last summer. On my birthday, he walked up to me lovingly cradling three stuffed peeps, a yellow, a purple, and a blue. He told me to choose one, and that the chosen peep was to be my birthday gift.
Perhaps I was swayed by Mike's reverential handling of the peeps, but I am surprisingly fond of my peep. All year it has been sitting on top of my television. I pick him up from time to time and admire his fine craftsmanship. He is such a perfect replica of a peep, only better, because he is not made of gross "marshmallow." I don't have to eat this peep, I only have to love him.
In college we had a terrible peeps related incident. Someone in our house licked the bottom of several dozen peeps and then stuck them to another housemate's bedroom door. It was funny, but it made a big mess (not to mention the flagrant wasting of perfectly good peeps). Tempers flared, negotiators were required, and the prank escalated into an "incident".
It is an awesome situation when grown men are seriously discussing their feelings in regards to any incident involving peeps.
The Peeps Incident (reenactment):
In the end, I believe the The Peeps Incident brought us all closer together.