Oh give me a break. Is there nothing better than great taste? Or I suppose less fillingness could be greater. I’m reminded of a story my Aunt Nonie used to tell about a chicken. It seems this chicken was crossing a road — or was it an egg? ANyway, the way Aunt Nonie used to tell it, the chicken had nearly crossed the road, whenst it reached an existential dilemma. Wast there any reason for this sudden urge to cross roads? Or was it all just predestined. I don’t seem to be recalling the ending of the story, howsoever.