The words had come out of her mouth in pitch-perfect

The words had come out of her mouth in pitch-perfect bitchery. A frost settled across the breakfast table. He smiled, and closed his lap top. He picked up the scrambled

egg bowl and said "Oh, are you finished? Well then, allow me to retort." And then he calmly poured raw scrambled eggs all over her head. She shot up out of the chair and sputtered

"How can one have raw eggs?" Then we sang our egg-cooking school's song. "Sunnysiders stand together, we're the team that's out to fry. We'll cook the eggs no matter whether..."

Our merry anthem was interrupted rudely by a rowdy gang of motorcycle egg-hooligans led by Humpty Dumpty. He'd turned after the Great Fall. They'd put him back together, but wrong.

Humpty was but a shell of the egg he was before but somehow garnered respect among bikers & other roughnecks. An Egg of Anarchy, HumDum (as he became known) rode into towns across

the concrete playground, not wanting to get a single crack on his pure white eggshell. It was hard to make serious business with other eggs when HumDum was how all knew you.

HumDum decided however, that in order to enjoy life to his fullest potential he needed to take risks, even if it meant risking a crack on his eggshell to strike a deal. So he jumpe

d through the hoops, in the air, but he couldn't avoid dashing into the daschund. So you can imagine how he looked, with eggshells all around him and egg on his face.

The sausage dog eyed him reproachfully as he climbed slowly to his feet. "Well that didn't work," he muttered, as a glob of yolk fell from his right eyebrow.

It was an eggcorn of protean tears, linked by stuffings of failures. The dog barked feebly and rolled over into the mill, fresh gristle for the grill.