photo credit: trec_lit

It had no yolk or albumen, just an inflatable swimming pool and plastic books.

I learned to stack a plastic book on another plastic book. This made a tower, and it was more useful than plastic books.
I learned to deflate the swimming pool. This made a moist parachute, and it was more useful than a swimming pool.
Then I climbed up the tower and jumped off wearing a moist parachute. This made me cry. It wasn’t pleasant.

Then an egg appeared in my egg.

I told the new egg to disappear.
It refused.
I told it again.
It refused again.
I told it to stop refusing.
It refused.

I put the new egg in the tower.
I made a balloon out of the parachute.
I blew up the balloon until it blew up.

With the tower and the egg and the balloon blown up, there was nothing left but me. I felt considerably worse off.

Eventually, 8 years later, a bounty hunter broke me out of my egg. He was disappointed to see me.
“Sorry”, he said, “Wrong egg.”

In exchange for orange juice, I helped him look for the right egg. He had some quality orange juice to give away.