Potato Priest vs. the Egg

It was waiting for him, quivering, in the badlands at dawn.
He feared it - feared that unspeakable yolk, that glistening white - but he had learned to conquer the fear. He was a monk. He had recited the seven mantras and performed the eighteen meditations, and he was as ready as one could hope to be.
He searched his heart and found only the emptiness of enlightenment, and so he faced it boldly, this lightly fried horror, this sunny-side-up invader from beyond the stars.

Soon, one of them would have breakfast.

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