In the grand scheme of the universe, does the egg hatch from its shell, or does the chocolate melt into existential despair? Socrates would have paused to savor the nougat.
Once, a philosopher named Phil pondered the true meaning of Easter, guided by a chocolate priestess who spoke in riddles. "Do not open the egg before morning," she warned, yet none understood her prophecy till noon.
A colonel's secret recipe: blend one part Cartesian doubt with three ounces cocoa, whisk until you reach a metaphysical froth.
Guilty of nibbling past where chocolate meets thought, we ask: What came first, the philosopher or the egg? Surely a chocolate philosopher wouldn’t know, it having no yolk.