It's 3:11 and I can't sleep thanks to the miracle of life. My dad, feeling his biological clock ticking for the fourth time has decided to birth chickens again. This is how the process works. You get a bunch of fertilized eggs from the coop, this time, forty, put them in an incubator, monitor the temperature and wait for nature to work its magic. The downside is that incubators are cold mercless machines, cold merciless machines incapable of love. This lack of love is responsible for killing off many an egg. Out of the batch of 40 eggs, only 16 of them developed into fetuses, or whatever you call half formed chicks. The rest: breakfast.
Have you ever made eggs and toast and had a little bit of blood in your egg? Imagine doing that, but cracking the egg and having a dead psuedo chicken come out. IT's the best of both worlds, really. You get the runny flavour of an egg plus the delicious texture of a chicken. Advantage of these chickens: small bones! You just bite into their small bodies with a satisfying crunch. Also: the eyes aren't fully formed, so you don't have to pull them out. Bonus: chickenbrains! Oh yeah!
But I digress. Just like most men, the little pecker is up bright and early. Right now I can hear it's amazing struggle trying to break it's way out of the egg. Its kempf has been going on since 10 last night and I wouldn't be suprised it it continues until 10 this morning. But my sleep, like Andy Serkis' cock ring, is precious and I need it as a porn star needs it. Why can't chickens be scientologists? For the love that is all thetan, why?
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2 comments:
Dude... eeeewww.
knives? are you serious?
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