"We fix broken eggs and repair rotten tomatoes."
I didn't believe it till I saw it.
They actually do fix them and repair them. I saw it with my own eyes, my own two eyes.
The process was an intriguing one. A short one too as a matter of fact.
They broke eggs and harvested rotten tomatoes. Five day old eggs and fifty day old tomatoes.
The chefs were in a race to make omelets. Hell's kitchen was the factory. Public opinions were the destination. And not the public opinion that the poor hold, no, not that. The kind I am speaking about is the kind located around the central province. The bigger it is, the less the visibility a man has of his feet, and probably the ground too upon which his footsteps rest upon. The kind only a well fed man can relate to.
There were two sets of competing chefs: blue label and tangerines. Blue label being the current title holders of the competition, we're obsessed with retaining the title. Tangerines on the other hand, had seen the opportunity to capture the flag. And so the fight began. And the spectators watched on, cheered on.
As the competition went on, a strange thing began to happen. The spectators were no longer cheering. They always cheered the team with the bigger omelets but now, their cheers had receeded into resentment. Maybe so because they did not get a chance to taste the omelets. Then they started pointing fingers at the teams and the teams could no longer make more. The omelets were enough, but it was just not in their character to share it with the audience.
They knew their game was up. They needed a new strategy.
Blue label by this time had made more omelets than tangerines and decided to throw a piece to their disgruntled fans. The fans immediately scrambled for the small piece of omelette.
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