The phone rang. It was Rob, calling early on a Tuesday morning on his way to work.

“Hey. Hypothetical question: Would you eat a live kitten for $100,000,000?”

“What?”

He repeated himself.

“Would you eat a live kitten for $100,000,000?”

“No” I paused while I thought about this.”Where did you come up with this?”

“Oh, at my work. We come up with ridiculous questions to see how people will answer them.”

“So eating a live kitten was the topic of the day?”

“Yep.”

“I see. You guys are weird.”

“What if the kitten was sick with a terminal disease? Would you eat it then?”

“Alive?”

“Yes.”

“And it’s dying? I am not going to eat a live kitten dying from some weird disease. That’s even worse!”

He sighed, “You know, all the women said the same thing as you. You have just proven that you are a woman.”

“I kinda got that. Why? Did the men say something different?”

“Yeah, they all said that they’d do it.”

“You’re all sick, you know that?”

“No, just not as picky as you all are.”

To all the men out there, this unappealing lack of good judgement apparently comes with the territory of being a man, so if you are one, go ahead and eat dying live kittens. Me, I think I’ll stick to my nice, dead, ready-to-cook chicken. It may be filled with hormones and have led a horrific life in a factory farm, but at least I am not eating something with huge, adorable eyes that will give me some horrid disease and kill me slowly in revenge.

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