I am made mostly of tinfoil, and yet...and yet I know how much I mean to you, and I accept that in myself, in the tinfoil pocket where my heart sloshes back and forth as I walk. If you have ever felt like you were committing murder when you cracked an egg for your breakfast, please realize the embryonic chicken was dead long ago. If chicken fetuses could survive refrigeration, why would their mothers sit on them in order to make them hatch? Try to use some of the common sense god gave you and I think we'll all have a better day.