A single egg can provide so much pleasure

Hi, my name is Mandingo Manning and I’m an egg enthusiast.  Eggs are actually kind of weird if you think about it, ‘cos they’re just globes of goo that have fallen out of a hen’s arse.  It’s not like you’ll ever see a farmer’s wife squatting down over her cobblestone path, selling whatever just so happens to drop from her hindquarters.  Just imagine the mess she’d make if she ever forgot to take off her tights.

If there’s one thing that gets my goat, it’s the use of battery hen farms.  Every, single hen should be given land.  Shitloads of land, in fact.  If cows can have entire fields to themselves, then so can hens.  The only thing a cow ever lays, is a sloppy, splatty poo-pat.  When I get home from work, I like to sit down in my chair and relax.  I’ll take me trousers off, spread my legs and just let my bits dangle off the edge of the seat.  Of course, I have to make sure that things don’t caught up in the cushion zip.  I’ve still got the scars from last time.

Hens should be afforded these exact, same freedoms.  They need room to do their clucking, pecking, flapping and whatever else it is that hens like to do, when they’re not expelling those wonderful little bulbs out of their feathery behinds.

One question that everyone always asks me is, how do I like my eggs in the morning?  Well, the answer to that is quite complicated, as each type has their own pros and cons.  Fried eggs are like cheese & onion flavour crisps – quick, tasty, and you can be sure that everyone at the party will like them.  Your fingers will get greasy and smelly if you manhandle them, so keep a serviette handy.

Hard-boiled eggs are the purest type, and I tend to compare them to a nudist in a nudist camp.  Everything is more or less the same shape as before, but there’s no outer shell covering up all that yummy, scrummy flesh.  And believe me, once that shell comes off, there’s no holding me back.  Sometimes, I’m like a wild beast and will finish my business within a minute or so.  It takes a lot out of me, and it’ll be a good half-hour before I’m ready for another go.

If you held a gun to my head and made me choose, I would say that I like my eggs like I like my women: smeared all over my face.