Five-hundred million eggs have been recalled by various egg farmers across America due to salmonella contamination. How anything that comes out of a glorious hen's butthole could be anything but farm-ripe and delicious is best left up to the Egg Gestapo of the Obama Regime. More concerning to me is the lack of outcry over this eggpocalypse. God created these millions of eggs, pouring life out of the divine apertures of these birds in an unventilated, maximum-density egg farm. That we can so callously judge and throw away the lives of these unborn egg babies is disgusting.
Rally, reactionaries! We cannot allow these eggs to be smashed in a dump like so many Holocausts happening right now in our midst. There is a future for these egg babies. Don't let them tell you they are unfertilized because that's just what the eggbortionists want you to believe: that life doesn't start when it rolls out of a chicken and down that ramp and into the wash sluice bound for light check and weighing prior to packaging.
We can place the egg babies into our bodies and allow them to hatch. It's the least we owe them. Plunge the ovoids into our various holes or we can make new ones with scissors, gestating them like insect larvae, feeding them our subcutaneous warmth and love and being very careful when opening doors and only playing flag football. Singing during this period and teaching them parables about Christ can carry through into adulthood. It takes a chicken exactly some months to hatch, so we will no longer be able to go to the bathroom or speak, because our mouths will be hatcheries as well.
Wear sweatshirts and tie your sleeves and fill your sleeves with more eggs. Dozens at least. Caress them with your hands and fold your arms against your body so the warmth will penetrate to the egg babies within. Buy pants with inseams many inches too long and roll them up and fill the cuffs with straw and more eggs. NO DANCING. Can you imagine that in California people put these on tortillas? Ugh, our sweet egg babies, bound for the dump.
When they hatch and pry and pip out of our meat nests we will lick off all the pus and scabs until they are fluffy lil' babes and lift up great, yellow cuddlefuls of the cusses. At this moment our egg babies will be born and we will be egg mommies finally after all of these years of trying we have our egg babies. They just wanted to throw them out, but there they are, filling up our Easter baskets, chirping, pecking at our hairs because they think they're snacks, skittery little toes all over us. Each egg baby is precious and unique and wonderful like a snowflake.
Pace out a circle 100 feet in diameter. Walk this circle again and again until your footpath is worn in the ground. You can start herding your egg babies into the circle and make it deeper and deeper being very careful where you put the dirt. This is what THEY don't want you to do, because they don't care about our precious babies. But now that we are all of us Egg Mommies and we have saved our DEBs (Dearest Egg Babies) we can feed them our millet and grains. Carry a roll of them in a pouch around your neck. Be sure to let your egg babies climb on you (it feels so good nothing is better than being under a cuddle heap of a thousand egg babies).
If any egg babies die that is okay, you can make up for it by mortification of the flesh and by making a shrine to all of your egg babies who perish. As your DEBs begin to grow they will want to set out on their own. NO! They are YOUR babies and they don't belong to anyone else. Take pictures of them and put them up on your website. Call your website www.theseareMYeggbabiesnotYOURS.egg (if it's not available you snoozed and losed) and tell the story of how the USA FDA wanted to destroy life and flush it down the dumper, but you adopted and gave your body to allow 500 million egg babies to be born, filling the woods and the trees with their little yellow bodies. Cheeping in the night. Youtubes of your DEBs falling out of drawers and cabinets, piled upon every floor, filling the tub and sink, and shitters full (of eggy babies) every surface commited 100% to the right rearin' of DEBs.
And when it's done and every pouch in your flesh has been exhausted your DEBs will build a chapel to you, and the wisest of them will speak your eulogy in the language you have taught them by filling up your commemorative Sarah Barracuda Tureens. You will listen to their hymn knowing you did everything you could. Little Umberto is going off to Bob Jones University. Bernard is joining the National Guard. Shannon is having egg babies of her own now. As you filled your body up with eggs you filled your life up with so much warmth and meaning. You've been a good egg mommy and you can thank God for Salmonella.
Now, inexplicably, season three is looming over us like some sort of dome. Season one's plot asked whether or not the town could get out from under the dome. Apparently the answer was "no". Season two asked "I guess we're really stuck, huh?" and the answer was "yup".
With an average of 40 IPAs added every day, it can be difficult to taste them all
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