The Way of the Katana

ggrrrrrrrrrrrrrrreat

The angry eggs fought with honor beneath the cherry blossoms, blades ringing through the misty fields. But battles fade, and even samurai must change. Their lacquered armor grows dusty, their katanas traded for fishing rods and rusty shotguns. They gather by the glow of campfires, shells scuffed, voices loud with country songs and stubborn pride. The code of the warrior is gone, replaced by beer cans, pickup trucks, and arguments over who can fry the best bacon. The angry eggs are no longer samurai. They are rednecks now.