Walking on eggshells.

On Saturday, Toby and I discovered Channel 1000. Recently, we cancelled our Netlflix subscription due to our not using it to its fullest and their getting into bed with Wal-Mart, a corporation I simply despise. So Channel 1000 was discovered just in the nick of time.

On Saturday, we watched one of the worst movies I have seen in quite some time, I heart Huckabees (I’m sorry but it’s true. I did not heart Huckabees. And I really wanted to heart it, too.) The movie only ran us $3.95 and we didn’t need to leave the house, so in the end I can’t really complain.

When Sunday rolled around and we realized that summer had finally arrived, we decided to call our afternoon jaunt short and opted for grocery shopping and movie watching instead. 110 dollars later, we were back at home sweating profusely in our air-conditionless apartment. I flipped through Channel 1000 while Toby slaved over the hot stove and made us an early dinner. For some reason, I settled on this movie.

About a half hour in, I paused the movie and Toby prepared two plates of food. While in kitchen I decided to hard-boil 4 eggs for the upcoming workweek. We’re dieting, you see, and hard-boiled eggs are a godsend during the mid-morning hunger pangs. Even though they make me gag a lot of the time, I still manage to cram them down my face, Cool Hand Luke style. I filled the pan with water and added four eggs. Then, I returned to the couch to watch people kill other people and finish my dinner.

Forty-five minutes later, I am seduced by an aroma of cupcakes or something wafting up from our neighbor’s apartment. They are often cooking yummy smelling food and now that we’re dieting the smells are impossible to ignore.

Do you smell that? Someone is making cupcakes or cake or something.

Ahhhhh yes, that smells good.

About twenty minutes after the cupcake comment, right as Lawrence started to saw off his right foot, there was a HUGE EXPLOSION in our kitchen. I was sure someone fired a gun into our kitchen window from the BQE especially since I caught sight of something foreign spray all over the walls of our kitchen.

What in the fuck was that?

I don’t know. Did someone just shoot at us?

That’s what it sounded like!

We both crept into the kitchen to see what went on.

OH MY GOD, THE EGGS!

They had exploded EVERYWHERE. The four brown eggs had spread their insides all over the ceiling, the floor, our oven light, the trash can, the cat food bowls, our laundry machine, the window sill, our sink, the vegetable basket. Egg guts were EVERYwhere. Brown shells dotted the floor. Scrambled egg yolks were clinging to the walls as if our bodies themselves had actually moved into a massive egg. Our apartment no longer smelled like cupcakes and yummy stuff. Instead, it smelled like hot eggs—gross, totally mistreated, ignored hot organic eggs.

Please note: The amount of time it takes four organic eggs to explode is just about the length of one feature film.

19 Comments

  1. Hahahahahahaha. I have forgotten about eggs on the stove many times before but I’ve never had them explode! Maybe that’s what eggs timers are for: to remind you.

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  2. Please tell me you took pictures of the massacre. Please!

    Channel 1000 will eventually bankrupt me, I’m sure of it. Have you discovered channell 1020 yet? Hehehehehehe.

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  3. Sherri, what is 1020? Oh dear god, tell me there aren’t more! I am sad to say that I didn’t take pictures. I think we were in too much shock. But I can make a bet with you that we’ll be finding egg guts till we move out. I’m sure of it. It really was everywhere.

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  4. Did they all asplode at once? Cool. You will find egg forever. We once, on the advice of our vet, gave a kitty pepto bismol because she had terrible diarhea. We’d (attempt) to squirt it in her mouth with a needle-less syringe. She would proceed to foam pink at the mouth and run arround the apartment shaking her head violently, spraying pink foam everywhere. We found tiny pink splatter marks for years. literally. At least that smelled better than eggs.

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  5. I HAVE DONE THIS! WITH SEVEN EGGS!!! that’s nearly twice as much overcooked-exploding-eggs havoc!

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  6. You’ve done this?! It’s totally frightening, isn’t it? Speaking of cats and diarrhea, I’m pretty sure we wasted at least one life per feline during the eggsplosion.

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  7. I’m no Heloise, having gone to bed just last Saturday while a pot of lentils boiled away on the stove, but I will share the formula for perfect boiled eggs:

    bring water to a boil, gently drop in the eggs, wait for the water to come back up to a boil, turn off the heat and cover, let sit until the water has cooled. wah lah

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  8. Wait wait wait… I have done this, boiled then dropped and they explode upon hitting the water. S’up with that, Mr. Heloise?

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  9. That was my first thought, did you have to pry the kitties off of the ceiling after the explosion? :D

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  10. Tucker’s tails was bigger than his head. It was HUGE and fluffy. He was pleased with the egg situation. nor was my vegan husband. He’s a brave boy cleaning up numerous chicken abortions.

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  11. OMG…I’m so mad that you didn’t take pictures of the carnage.
    And I am sad you did not like I Heart Huckabee’s…I really enjoyed it!
    Saw? I won’t see…I’m scared very easily. If I was watching a horror movie when 4 eggs exploded, I probably would have had a heart attack.

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  12. Being ‘cooped’ up at home these days has left me plenty of time to surf blogs. Thought you might appreciate my advice on cooking eggs

    Of course if you really want the perfect boiled egg you’ll need to start by bulding a henhouse in your backyard.

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  13. While I would totally LOVE to have a pet chicken (or hen) I imagine the folks of Greenpoint, Brooklyn might kick my ass. For now, I will read what Martha has to say, poor sod.

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  14. Mihow, I think you should discover channel 1020 on your own (actually, you should probably have Toby Joe around, he probably deserves it after cleaning up the chicken abortions and all).

    Harharharhar.

    :-)

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  15. oh my goodness, we’re talking porn, aren’t we?

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  16. I’m only into egg porn.

    You know, Bataille-style!

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  17. So that’s why you wanted to clean that shit up so badly. Dirty boy. Dirty, dirty boy.

    Reply

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