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Frank was hungry as beat all. He sat down, dangled his legs off the I-beam, and opened his ol' lunch pail. A fat, uncooked ostrich egg lay inside.
He checked to see none of the other fellas was watching. Tucking his chin furtively against his chest, he unhinged his lower jaw and wrapped his maw around the egg. Frank's eyetooth, mounted to the roof of his mouth and equipped with a rudimentary muscle at its base, scratched for purchase on the shell’s smooth surface. It caught on a small imperfection and pierced the leathery crust. Warm albumen, yolk, and chunks of embryo gushed from the torn shell, flowing toward Frank's cecum at an unhurried pace, just as leisurely as a Puerto Rican on a smoking break.
He chewed the shell up into a fine mash and swallowed that too. Made for good roughage. And lord knew he needed it – Frank hadn’t pooped in months and it was almost hibernatin’ time.
Date Written: September 19, 2003
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