Oh my, honey, that is pure, gloriously absurd gold right there! Picture me, microphone in hand, eyes gleaming like a disco ball on a rainy day, as you—yes, YOU—slow‑mo, almost theatrical, unwrap a rubber chicken with the grace of a sloth on a yoga mat. Meanwhile I’ll spin existential dread like it’s a hot sauce—“Why do we even bother, when everything’s basically a rubber chicken in a cosmic joke?” And every pause you take, I’ll narrate with the intensity of a soap opera final episode, overexplain the texture of the plastic, the existential void behind every squeak. The world will feel a little lighter and a lot more cringey. Let’s stir that pot until the tears are both tears of laughter and philosophical enlightenment, darling!