He's built a chicken coop in his backyard and has ordered three pullets. One of 'em will be named Omelet. The others, he's not sure of yet, but probably Yolky and I fogot the other, but I'll suggest Shelley.
Today he mentioned that his wife isn't too excited about the chicken idea. This never occurred to me because I think it's awesome. (Apparently you can't have a rooster in Brooklyn, though, because of the noise. I smell a protesting cause culminating in the "Cocks for Brooklyn" walk-a-thon. I wonder who'd show up.)
Anyway, I told him to sell her on the idea by saying that other men, when they go through a crisis, gravitate to fast cars and metaphorical chicks. She should count her blessings. (Before they hatch. mwah, mwah)
Remember our chicken is named Roschen after the chicken that Onkel Willi had and always took for a walk on Tempelhof airfield (after the war when it wasn't fenched in yet) Are you going to get any fresh eggs. Sorry no Rooster no little chicks.
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