The drains have backed up again

Coming out

Finding strength from Elliot Page's brave lead, I'm ready to come out. I identify as a chicken. My name is Clucky, and my pronouns are bock/BAAWK.

My joy is real, but it is also fragile. The truth is, despite feeling profoundly happy right now, I am also scared. I'm scared of avian encephalomyelitis; feather pillows; Jewish penicillin; and the cat next door.

But I have a question. If I eat one of my own unfertilised eggs, can I still claim to be vegan? Surely, it can't be any worse than chewing my fingernails, can it?


Meant in jest, of course. I'm not vegan.