#yellow tail

One: Vidalia knew both his parents and you can’t tell me she’s not at least his godmother.

Two: Steven already gets along with Sour Cream and Onion.

A lil silly crack story

Two eggs lie in bed. One bearing mustachio in curlers sleeps while the other has hairnet over a pair of caterpillar thick eye bros shifts. Both tucked into a twin-size bed like two bugs in a rug.

The eyebrow one rolls over, his heated gaze penetrating even the deepest of sleep. “Eggbert?”

Eggbert pops out his mustache curlers, “yeah Jefferegg?”

“I know what we’re gonna do today.” Jefferegg smiles to Eggbert’s annoyance. His mustache twitches angrily at the early hour.

“Eggcellent.” Eggbert grumbles, falling back to sleep in Jefferegg’s arms.

*Several Hours Later*

Fields of grain wave in the wind. Grasshoppers reap the grain with their mighty scythes. Aside from smelling quite ripe, Eggbert struggles to find anything wrong with this serene scene. Eggbert casts his companion an unimpressed look. “I got up at an even number for this?”

“Wait for it.” Eggbert says with a conspiratorial grin, setting the poor mustachioed egg on edge.

The two waited on the edge of the road. The chatter of the crickets their only company while a human wind rolls over the hills. Condensation gathers on Eggbert’s shell. He attempts to wipe it away but his hankerchief quickly gets soaked.

Meanwhile, his companion sits, hands perched on his knees, ready for the chaos to unfold.

Compared to the last field, this one doesn’t take long at all. thunder claps in the endless blue sky. Out of it, appears a ginormous foot and leg. Not just any but a fleshy one that looks like a shaved rat. Its heel digs into the dry earth, bringing more grain to its demise. The grasshoppers chirp angrily, slicing at the demon creature’s skin. Milky white blood seeps between its wounds.

“Gogogo!” Jefferegg shouts, eyes a sparkling with excitement Eggbert only sees when disaster strikes.

“Alright alright.” Jefferegg lets Eggbert shove him down the hill. They roll far faster than grasshoppers can leap away. Easily reaching the foot just as electrostatic cling sends Jefferegg’s whole mustache on edge.

“DO IT! NOW!” Though Jefferegg doubts that Eggbert can hear him. Eggberet paints with reckless abandonment a crude rendering of himself penetrating the foot with a metal spike with the added bonus of a grasshopper defecating on said symbolic foot.

By the time the foot disappears bac into the sky, leaving a raining cloud of dirt, another dirt appears across the field.

“You’re turn! Your turn!” Eggbert shouts behind him as he runs off again.

Jefferegg trails behind at quick trot. His suspenders keep getting covered in wheat and bugs. Jefferegg tries to brush them off only to be grabbed in the face. “Brother Egg. This is your chance.”

“To do what?”

“Make your mark like Sibling Egg said. The Holy Yolk Commands It!” He forces Jefferegg to look at the disgusting abomination of an appendage.

“Make your mark. Make your mark!” Jefferegg charts grow louder and louder.

Jefferegg shoves him away. “Why isn’t your mark enough? You know I can’t draw.”

Eggburt’s eyes grow watery. “Brother Egg!”

“Don’t you start—”

“I thought—”

“NO!”

“—you-you’d scramble with me. Am I not good enough to scramble with?”

“You know very well that’s beside the point. You’re capable of doing this well enough on your own….”

At this point, Eggbert’s eyes flooded with tears, cascading down their cheeks. The sniffles turning in to choked sobs.

“No, no. you would—oh, no, Jeffers. This is hardly necessary, let me get that.” Jefferegg pulls out a clean handkerchief dabbing away the tears. Eggbert’s hands remain defiantly at his sides while he stares ahead at the foot. Tears still coming. “You’re being unreasonable.”

“But-but it’s your soul.”

“Casting out the Flesh won’t do me any good. You worry about you; I’ll worry about myself.” Eggbert does his best to clean Jefferegg up. Though, the stiffness doesn’t leaf nor the quiver that entered Jefferegg’s usually bouncy frame.

The mustachioed egg sighs, “Perhaps one time.”

Jefferegg’s eyes sparkle like a thousands grains of sugar. “Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!” Pulling him into a big hug. “You won’t regret it, I promise.”

“It’s just a mark.” Jefferegg mumbles. His shell turning a shade that should only be seen on a rare steak.

By the time the eggrrior reached said crime against nature, it had pulled the surrounding five feet of grain into the pit. Unlike the last one which remained still once making contact, this one has the disconcerting habit of turning its heel. Taking out a quil and parchment, Jefferegg writes a brief list of grievances ending with a “Murder will be afoot if you set foot on Hopper’s farm again.” Setting the paper between the useless digits.

“Make your mark, not tickle it.”

“Fine! Have it your way.” Jefferegg takes a nearby nail and hammers the paper into the foot with his shoe with a mighty THWACK!

All of a sudden, the foot shoots into the sky, crashing down, shooting up before finally leaving the wretched land for good. The force of it sends Jefferegg flying back into Eggbert. The two tumbling into a mound of dirt, staring at the sky as dirt continues to rain down like a spring thunder storm.

“I don’t think the foot liked that.”

Jefferegg corrects his mustache. “Then perhaps it’ll think twice next time.”

“What did you write?” Jefferegg helps Eggbert to his feet. “A treatise of war.”

Eggbert gasps, “Jeffers! Think of what Sunny Side Up would do? Would he threaten them?”

“Perhaps they’ll think twice before putting their filthy appendages there they don’t belong.”

Eggbert shakes their head. “Then who will we mark then?” He raises a bushy brow.

Jefferegg sighs, “We’re eggs, we’ll think of something.”

“So?”

Jefferegg takes his quill and scratches out a circle n hiss cheek. “Tada! I’ve made my mark.” He puts away his quill, “Can we go or is there another stampede today?”

“So you’re saying..” A predatory look engulfs Eggbert.

“It was a demonstration, not an invitation.” Jefferegg gives Eggbert a wide birth.

The egg cackles, “you wish,” before diving at him with a paint brush.

Years ago ‘fish in a can’ or tinned fish meant tuna and sardines. This centuries-old way to preserve and eat fish is part of daily life in Spain, Portugal and other parts of the world. Fish in a can is enhanced with a variety of spices and oils to complement their natural essence of the sea flavor. There are several varieties of fish in a can, waiting to be opened and served at room temperature…

Yellow Tail Cabernet Sauvignon

Its on the cheaper end but for the money a decent wine