I’m glad scrambled eggs don’t have lips, because when I’m grinning over a hearty breakfast, it would really freak me out to see my breakfast grinning back. I’ve eaten a man for less than that.

The internet is a knowledge omelet. Sometimes I just want the purity of scrambled eggs that only a book can provide.

I want to keep politics out of my breakfast. Politics isn’t something I want in my eggs, no matter how scrambled I like them.

Like eggs, I’m scrambling to get ahead in this economic depression.

Everyone can make scrambled eggs, Remy. It’s programmed into you at birth, the default setting. Like being able to swim and knowing not to mix pickles with oatmeal. You just know.