As Bob braced himself for the third glorious egg, overwhelmed with emotion and a newfound sense of purpose as a mother hen, he felt a sudden, sharp smack on the back of his head.
Startled, he opened his eyes — only to find his furious wife standing over him, shouting:
“BOB, WAKE UP! YOU’RE SH*TTING THE BED!”
Confused and disoriented, Bob blinked, realizing he was not, in fact, on a sunny farmyard laying eggs in the grass — but in his own bed, drenched in sweat and embarrassment… and something far worse.
Turns out, the divine poultry transformation? Just a dream.
The overwhelming joy of egg-laying? Just his drunk brain and a bad mix of tequila and late-night street tacos.
Moral of the story?
If you’re going to drink like a rooster, make sure you’re not sleeping like a hen.
