Crossroad Destiny
It had been six months since surviving the trauma of the 'chicken or egg' debacle. I was scarred, broken, and defeated after a lifetime of paradoxical thinking and dead-end philosophy.
Somehow I had made it through the worst of it. I even joined a support group. The dog that chased his tail. The crying crocodile. The forgetful fish. The rabbit with endless children. It was a victim support group for the animal phrases that prejudiced the lives of creatures of irony.
It helped. I made some friends. The nightmares let up. Until this bastard of a fox joined up. The guys usually go out for drinks after the meeting at the pub across the street. We get to the far end of the crosswalk and he chimes in with, "Hey Paul, why exactly did you cross the road?"
Now, I am full relapse. A rapid return to existentialism has washed over me as I can think of nothing other than why I crossed the road. I have returned to the nihilistic feathered entre that wastes his time on meaningless riddles to never find an answer. For I am a chicken, destined to wonder after order of eggs and meaningless roads. I am a chicken, the answers will forever elude me.