We have been left grasping for a deeper meaning after reports filtered in this morning stating that one Kentucky man facing eviction took a shotgun to his family and three neighbors before turning the barrel on himself when his wife served him cold eggs at Sunday brunch.
UK Daily Mail: Dressed in his pyjamas, Stanley Neace, 47, went on the killing spree in a trailer park in Jackson, eastern Kentucky. The massacre happened at around 11.30am local time.
Neighbours in the roadside trailer park said Neace stormed across the lawns of several homes and fired dozens of shots from a 12-gauge pump shotgun.
Although there’s something undeniably aggravating about the monotony of squabbling over all our daily minutiae (especially that surrounding domesticity), what is it about something like a plate of cold eggs that can cause someone to snap into a suicidal shotgun shooting spree?
One relative of the murdered neighbors, Sherri Anne Robinson, quoted in the Daily Mail, stated: ‘He just got mad at his wife for not making his breakfast right and he shot her. She tried to run to tell my family and he shot them too because they found out about it.’
Could it really all have been so simple? Can one make the case of another dysfunctional family finally reaching its limits, or perhaps even the bolder case that the egg came to represent some kind of metaphorical existential conundrum? After all, what came first the chicken or the rotten egg?