The Price of Eggs
March 25th 2008 19:29
A Egg.
Boy adults have some stupid arguments. Especially if they’re married. To one another.
They always argue over the secondary issues. Because the primary ones are too hard to deal with?
Or they’re in denial? And want to educate others on how to get out of denial? While remaining in denial?
Seriously, humans are stuffed in the head.
Dad and mum hardly ever argued about their differences, or the real issues. Like how they were both stupid to marry each other. And have me?
They argued over eggs.
The price of eggs. And the way to go about cooking eggs.
Men and women are always at crossed purposes.
Sometimes they’re so dumb, they’re both arguing the same point without even realising it. It’s like watching two debating teams that have both been given the same point to prove, but neither of them realise. And they both want to win, so as soon as the other team get up and say the same thing in different words, they lose the plot and just start talking over the top of them, and telling them how stupid they are. To make the same point as they just did in different words?
People are seriously stuffed in the head. It’s the pride of life.
It’s okay for a man to like his eggs one way and a woman to like them another. Before you get married?
I don’t know why people say they love someone just the way they are and then spend the rest of their lives trying to change that person once they get married.
At least I prevented a few bad marriages and stupid arguments by killing so many people. I hope I put a few marriage counsellors out of a job. They never seem to do any good anyway. They just earn a wage like psychiatrists and psychologists by telling other people how to fix their lives up, over a period of forty sessions, when one would do if they told people the truth. They’re so dumb they don’t realise they’re not qualified to deal with a human soul or marriage. And what they’re doing is not only idiotic, but it’s ignorant to the max. In one breath they’ll say a priest isn’t qualified to speak on marriage because he’s not married. And they’re single marriage counsellors? And if you tell them marriage is a sacrament, and it’s a priest’s job to teach on marriage? They go all pagan on you. Even when you’re a heathen and infidel yourself.
Anyway, eggs.
One day mum brought the shopping home. And she’d bought eggs. And potatoes (or spuds) and steaks. Because dad only ever ate one meal at night. The same meal every night of his life. Steak, chips and eggs. And they all had to be cooked just right. And mum had better have bought salt and pepper to drown them in.
People are fussy with eggs. Dad was fussy with eggs, chips and steak.
Cook an egg for someone the wrong way? They’ll screw up their face. Or not eat it. Or crack a tantrum and cook one for themselves the right way? Or use the occasion to educate you about nutrition? And how a true Vegan would get a restraining order against all animals so they didn’t come within 200 metres of them, and infect them?
If I’d had my wits about me a bit more when I started my killing spree, I would have targeted Vegans. And force fed them vitamised steak. Through a drip. Injected it into their veins. Fattened them up for the kill. And made them look semi-anaemic? But put duct tape over their mouths so I didn’t have to listen to their rubbish?
I don’t like fussy eaters. Or Vegans. If you haven’t guessed that yet. Everyone should get some human flesh into them. And kill animals with their bare hands and eat them. Or just bite live chooks heads off and get a bit of nutritional blood into them?
I’m not fussy. Male flesh. Female flesh. Young. Old. I miss human flesh. I’d better not kill and eat another prisoner. I’ll end up getting 325 years?
Mum wanted to talk about the price of the eggs. Actually she wanted to talk about herself and her experience as a checkout chick, and how it qualified her to buy eggs, because she knew which ones were on special and which ones weren’t and how supermarkets operated, and the best time to go to a supermarket to get the specials, and how if something is cheap, it’s better.
Kids take everything in. Even when they’re only four. Especially if they’re super intelligent like I was.
Dad wanted to talk about the quality of the eggs, and how the reason he worked hard was so he could afford non-cheap eggs.
So instead of saying, We shouldn’t have got married. We’re too different. They argued about eggs.
If mum cooked the eggs for dad’s dinner, dad would cut into the eggs to test them before taking a bite. Mum would sour up. No thanks for cooking was how she saw it. Dad would remind her, “You know I don’t like my eggs runny.”
Mum would get up and cut into his steak. Dad would say, “What are you doing?” Mum would say, “I’m checking to see that your steak isn’t runny.”
Dad would explode. He’d throw the plate clear across the room and it would smash against the wall. And cheap, runny egg yolk and cheap runny egg white would drip down the wall with bits of cheap broken crockery all through it. And land on the steak and chips on the floor.
Dad would cook his own tea after that. Mum would go to bed. To get some practice for spending the whole day in bed the following day. Practice makes perfect?
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