In a perplexing story out of Marcy Graham’s kitchen, the Philadelphia resident is currently in a race against time to finish eating her plate of scrambled eggs before her brain can realize how soft, wet and disgusting they are.
“Eggs are a great source of protein,” says Marcy, while frantically shoveling a forkful into her mouth. “And these will really power me through my day if I can get them down before processing how fucking gnarly the whole egg-eating enterprise is.”
Experts confirm that eggs’ propensity for rapid cooling once they’ve been plated combined with the fact that they’re unfertilized ovum that come out of a chicken’s vagina makes eating them pretty goddamn rank if you let your brain really process it.
“I think I maybe need a little more hot sauce, “ says Marcy. “But of course that will make them even colder. Oh Jesus Christ, this bite has that mucousy white string that scrambled eggs sometimes get. Oh fuck.”
The clock is certainly ticking for Marcy to consume these two scrambled eggs with toast before her mind and body start to violently reject them on the grounds of their being abject as fuck.
“Why is the texture like this?” says Marcy, fighting back tears. “It’s like if Jell-O got strong but was also yellow.”
Unfortunately, Marcy’s senses of vision, taste, and feel seem to be communicating with her brain at neck-breaking speeds, and as a result she basically knows how revolting the pile of yellow chunks in front of her are.
“At this point, it’s a game of endurance,” Marcy says. “If I can swallow the next two bites without gagging, I’m home free.”
Sources predict Marcy will forget how disgusting eggs are by the next time she sees huevos rancheros on a brunch menu.
