A while ago, a non-Jewish acquaintance told me, with more than a smidgeon of bragadoccio, that he liked matzoh.
“I really do!” he said, pausing for dramatic effect. “Oy! Sometimes I buy it even when it’s not Passover!”
He looked at me, eyes shining, as if I should be impressed by his huge of leap of faith.
“What a putz,” I thought. “What’s next? Is he going to get down on one knee and tell me he adores gefilte fish?”
In retaliation, I pulled a large foil-wrapped Easter bunny out of my LeSportSac, snapped its ears off, and crammed them into my mouth, not once taking my eyes off of his.
He dropped the matzoh and took to the streets, screaming.
Revenge is sweet!

Foiled again.
Gruesome, isn’t it?