I'm really hoping this is not a photo of my clients, egg-selent writers that they are.
Today's blog post was waylaid by an editorial project that I wanted to turn around quickly.
Back to business as usual tomorrow.
In the mean time, offer up an idea for the caption, or a guess on who sent this to me!
28 comments:
An egg-istentialist life: the yolk's on us.
Ah philosophy on hump-day as stated by eggheads and chicks.
Your unborn egg-sistentialists by the dozen, egg-uates to individuals, not society or religion, which are solely responsible for giving meaning to life and living, as it egg-ists both passionately and sincerely.
Peel, chop, add onion, celery and a generous dollop of Hellman’s.
Consume and ye shall be considered eggs-actly authentic.
Let's face it, we're all a little egg-centric.
The Jury of 12, with their 4 alternates voted 12-0 that the egg came before the chicken.
Two of them gone, cracked, never to return, leaving holes like missing teeth. Those left behind were in denial. They partied, philosophised, dreamed. All except Brian.
Brian knew he would be next.
(Brian is front row middle of course.)
My guess is that these egg-selent folks came from the egg-selent slitherina herself, Ms. Barbara Poelle.
After riding The Scramble, the world's scariest egg-coaster, we were out of our membranes.
Academics.
OK, I laughed.
They just heard the chicken came first...
Life didn't crack up to what we expected
Well, shoot. I was gonna do a roller coaster comment, but Tim Lowe beat me to it.
That’s it, Marvin. No more subway commute.
Play the exciting successor to Angry Birds: ANGRY EGGS!
Free 30 day trial for anyone promising to leave a review.
Please be kind; we're feeling a bit fragile.
I'd say it was me, but I know I didn't do this, oh that I wish I had!
Alternatively, I'd guess Claire Bobrow.
Ms Humpty looked at her new class. Time to show them she was a tough egg to crack.
You can't fry our asses, we're hard boiled eggs.
Every row an eggs-it row.
Eggbert hated his position in the school bus pecking order.
The hard-boiled detective in seat 3A scowled as two last minute passengers scrambled aboard. "Damn, another full flight."
Hee hee Hank! Actually, I love all of these :)
Here’s mine:
Writer tip #2348798: Plot scrambles happen when your characters can’t think out of the box.
I don't know which came first, but the chicken was earliest to leave.
Well, it kinda fried me when I read the entries and a couple good eggs already went the chicken-and-egg route. Looks like I poached your idea, but look on the sunny side--flattery, like bacon, is a tasty compliment. So, if you'll go over easy on me, I'll scramble up a new entry...
Mildred followed her mother's advice again and removed two eggs so she didn't keep them all in one basket, and then hurled them both at Francine's house for kissing Shannon on the playground.
egg haikus
"where's 7 and 8?"
"went out to breakfast." "No fair!"
"shut up, your turn's next"
I stopped by this morning, saw that picture, and thought, "Hey! I recognize those eggs." Then I laughed.
This is what happens when your son leaves you in charge of the children, eggs, and a Sharpie pen.
Thanks for the fun comments. Y'all are hilarious.
As Ramona and her children scribbled on their Easter eggs—they were going to break an egg-decorating record, or so the boys thought—she told them of the day her mother forgot to hard-boil hers.
Giggling, Hobart and Howie Jr. each picked up an egg. And tested them out.
*What fun Julie!!
Carton plummeting; passengers screaming, crying, maniacally laughing; C1 growled: he’d finally gotten a seat in an otherwise empty row, only to recognize the bad egg in A1, the rotten source of their flight’s predicament. C1 rolled down the aisle toward his nemesis, thought one last time of his wife Shelly, and wondered why nothing in his life was ever over, easy.
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