I’m super sick, you guys. All flu-ey and shit. Anyway, I emerged from my bed/hovel to get some food, knowing that I’m not well enough to leave the house to buy any (even though I still have to go to work in a couple of hours), and managed to find three eggs. That’s all. Literally, there was nothing else edible for me to have, but three wonderful, beatiful, precious eggs.
You see where this is going already, don’t you? Only in a world as twisted as ours would such delights be offered up before being torn away.
So, *crack* goes the first egg into the mug, and this is going to be such a great omelette; and *crack* goes the second egg, and maybe life isn’t so bad, right? I looked at the third egg. Now, these are duck eggs, which are usually enormous. We have them because Becky’s mum has ducks and chickens. I looked at my so-far omelette. ‘That’s a lot of egg,’ I remarked, or would have if anyone had been around to hear me. ‘Will I need another one in there?’ my hypothetical musings continued. I weighed the egg in my hand; lighter than the rest, and slightly smaller too. ‘Was there something wrong with it?’ I pondered; again, not out loud, because I’m not crazy, you guys.
‘Oh, what the hell.’
With a final *crack*, my greediness was punished, and down into my delicious egg-mixing mug tumbled a rancid, liquidy, barely-developed duck-ish thing. The fluid went on my hand, and on the counter and in the mug and I swear to you now, by the tiny amount of smelling ability I had left in my blocked up nose, I could tell that were my senses at full capacity when that odour hit me, I’d probably have thrown up.
So there we go. Felix got greedy, and now he has no omelette; or any other food, for that matter.
I defy you, stars.