You just sat down for a nutritious breakfast with a fluffy scrambled egg when this chicken walks into your kitchen, stares into your soul, and says, “That’s my unborn child you’re about to eat.” Do you have what it takes to eat this scrambled egg while the chicken that laid it makes direct, unbroken eye contact with you?
- “Please don’t do this!” the chicken cries. “If you eat that egg I’ll be devastated! I deserve to bury my child!” A single tear rolls down its cheek. Will you let the chicken bury its child?
- A) Yes of course, this chicken deserves the right to bury its unborn child that I’ve scrambled with cheddar. I’ll put the egg in a Ziploc bag and give it to the chicken.
- B) Absolutely not! I worked for, saved for, and eventually scrambled this egg. This egg represents the American dream, and I’ll be damned if I let some chicken get in the way of that!
- C) While I agree that the chicken deserves a burial for its child, I am also very hungry, so I will compromise and give the chicken the cracked shell of the egg that I have discarded in the trash.
- Oh shit. The chicken is angry now. It’s threatening to run for mayor so it can rezone your neighborhood into a new “Arts and Crafts Zone”, which will encourage retirees in hand-quilted vests to come to your area and park on your lawn. What will you do?
- A) Oh man. I hate old people and love my lawn. I better give up this egg.
- B) First I’ll eat the egg, and then I’ll run for mayor against the chicken. If elected, I will rezone the chicken’s neighborhood into a fast food zone, and become a franchisee of Chick-Fil-A, which I will install in his backyard.
- C) I’ll eat the egg but also support the chicken in the election. If elected, I will help the chicken launch city-wide reform acts such as promoting veganism and installing crosswalks in chicken neighborhoods.
- The chicken just said that if you eat its child it will have to make up the loss by seducing your spouse and inserting itself into your family life, slowly replacing you, and eventually creating long-lasting, formative memories with your children. Does this change things?
- A) Of course! I love my family and I don’t want them to be adopted by this chicken. I won’t eat the egg.
- B) Not even a little bit. After that petting zoo incident I’ve had a sneaking suspicion that my spouse is chicken-curious, so I’ll be better off without them! Besides, not having a family will give me more time to work on my screenplay “Bigfoot and the Yeti: A Monstrous Romance.”
- C) I understand that the chicken wants a family, but I am hungry so I’m still going to eat this egg. However, I will compromise and set up a time sharing plan in which I get my children every other week plus Thursdays and birthdays, and the chicken gets them Christmas, Thanksgiving, and National Aviation Day (a chicken can dream).
- The chicken just said that it’s not getting the COVID vaccine because it’s “Not a sheep.” Does this change things?
- A) No. I mean, it’s weird for a chicken to be anti-vax but I guess I’ll still give him this egg?
- B) Hell yeah it changes things! Now I’m going to drive this egg to my local vaccination site, get that bad boy a Johnson & Johnson, and then drive back to my house and eat it even harder!
- C) I’ll compromise by still eating the egg but also sharing the chicken’s anti-vax memes on Facebook.
- The chicken just JUULed in your living room and blew a big cloud of smoke everywhere so now your couch permanently smells like artificial mango. How does this affect your decision?
- A) I mean, kind of a dick move, but I’ll still give him this egg I guess.
- B) Now I feel even more justified in eating this egg, since I know the chick would’ve grown up in a horrible environment.
- C) I scold the chicken on the dangers of nicotine use, then I bargain with him, agreeing that if he hires a professional cleaning service to get the mango smell out of my apartment then I will give him the remains of his child.
- Filled with grief, the chicken decides to abandon all worldly possessions and take up a form of ancient monasticism. The spirits of the universe embrace its poultry glory, and it floats into the air as an angelic choir exalts its holiness. Light shines down, highlighting its majestic feathers, and with the booming voice of a god, the chicken proclaims your guilt. “This breakfast is an abomination! All living things have a soul, except for cows and also bugs! You must rise above these worldly egg desires so that you may hatch into a higher plane of being!” Then the chicken, in a flash of holy light, disintegrates into a pile of ash. From the ash rises a new chicken, but this time it’s got an old-timey gangster accent, it’s wearing a newsboy cap, and it’s threatening you with a baseball bat. “You better give up that egg right now, see?” it says. What will you do?
- A) Holy shit. Was that chicken just blessed by God? What the hell? It can take the egg. I don’t want it anymore. I’m going to go take a long bath and drink some Trader Joe’s wine straight from the box.
- B) I refuse to be threatened by the wrath of god and a gangster chicken. I challenge the chicken to a duel, but at 9 paces I turn around and fire a round straight into its back. Is it cheating? Who cares! This is my kitchen. My rules.
- C) I’ll still eat the egg, but I’ll also join the chicken’s gang, that way I can rough up that neighbor down the street who told me that my Vocal Yoga was “distracting.”
Mostly A’s: You’re definitely not eating this egg. You simply couldn’t handle the pleading and threats. You’d give it to the chicken in a Ziploc bag and a “sorry I almost ate the scrambled fetus of your child” note.
Mostly B’s: You’re totally eating this egg. And you’ll like it too. You’ll return the chicken’s eye contact with even stronger eye contact, and when you’re done with the egg, you’ll slap the chicken, right across the face!
Mostly C’s: You’d go to eat the egg, but it would be cold by now, so you’d kinda think it’s just not worth it at this point, and you would give it to the chicken.