The question ‘which came first the chicken or the egg’ has befuddled mankind for centuries.
Philosophers such as Aristotle and Plato have pondered this mystery of circular cause and consequence without satisfaction. Darwin had argued that the chicken came first and lately Stephen Hawking has backed the egg. DNA testing on ancient fossils have failed to enlightened modern science and Christianity supports the ‘Big Bang’ creation miracle of the Old Testament, while Buddhism contends that the wheel of time leads to nowhere and in nowhere the chicken and egg are meaningless.
I am a simple man.
My education was extensive. My de-education even more so, because I have come to realize that anyone knowing all the answers hasn’t heard all the questions and I frequently reset the blankness of my mind through a binge of hard drinking.
This morning I awoke from a near-death stupor gifted more by oblivion than enlightenment.
It is Father’s Day.
My children are far away in Thailand. They are my reason for living along with beer, my wife Mem, the Boston sports teams, western movies, and pizza, but in truth they were always the most important part of me even before their conception, for a man’s semen is the river of life.
Without it women are merely women, so laying in my bed I came to the momentous conclusion that as a man I am the egg and the woman is the chicken, for all a woman does is sit on my egg to hatch the chick.
Of course I would never say that within hearing distance of a woman, because chickens have big ears and notoriously short tempers.