"GET OUT OF MY LANE!"

The angry eggs wake up with splitting headaches and the faint smell of last night’s barbecue still clinging to their shells. The pickup trucks are parked, the bonfire is out, and reality is waiting. By sunrise the eggs are standing in line for coffee, some in safety vests, others in wrinkled office shirts, all pretending this is normal. The clatter of keyboards, the hum of forklifts, the endless drone of meetings. The angry eggs are at your real life work now, and they are not happy about it. Finished Game: