After an evening of overindulgence, Bob found himself in an unexpected place—standing before St. Peter at the Pearly Gates.

Rather than accepting his fate, Bob made a surprising request: a second chance at life. St. Peter, amused by the boldness of the request, offered him a chance to return—but with one condition: he would come back as a chicken. Desperate to live once more, Bob agreed, and in the blink of an eye, he was transformed and plopped down on a farm, now with feathers and a clucking problem.

The Bedtime Stumble

Bob wasn’t unfamiliar with late nights, often enjoying himself a little too much. On this particular night, he stumbled into bed late, trying to slide in quietly next to his wife, who was fast asleep. He sighed and closed his eyes, feeling the aftereffects of a night of drinking wash over him.

But when he awoke, something was off. His usual surroundings—the comfort of his own bed—were replaced with an entirely new scene. Instead of his bedroom, he found himself standing at the Pearly Gates, with St. Peter waiting for him.

“Am I still dreaming?” Bob muttered to himself, confused and rubbing his eyes.

St. Peter looked at him with a knowing smile. “Afraid not, Bob. You’ve passed away in your sleep.”

Bob’s eyes went wide with disbelief. “What? No way! I’m not ready! I have so much left to do!”

St. Peter nodded sympathetically. “I understand. But there’s a way you can return… though, it’s a bit unconventional.”

Bob eagerly leaned in. “I’ll do anything! Just give me a chance!”

St. Peter paused before delivering the punchline. “You can go back, but only as a chicken.”

A Feathered Fate

Bob blinked. “A chicken?”

St. Peter, offering a shrug, replied, “It’s the best I can do.”

With little time to protest, Bob found himself whisked away to a farm, covered in feathers and fully transformed into a hen. His initial shock was overwhelming. His whole body felt different—light, soft, and completely foreign. Bob, now clucking in confusion, tried to get his bearings in this new, bewildering world.

In the corner of the coop, a rooster strutted over with a smirk. “Well, well, looks like we’ve got a newbie in the flock. How’s life as a hen treating you?”

Bob, still trying to process, answered with hesitation, “I… I don’t know what to think. I feel this weird pressure inside, like I’m about to explode.”

The rooster let out a chuckle. “Ah, that’s just the egg-laying sensation. You’re ovulating.”

Bob blinked. “Wait, I’ve never laid an egg in my life.”

“Well, there’s a first time for everything. Just relax and let nature do its thing,” the rooster advised.

Bob, unsure but curious, took the rooster’s advice. After a few tense moments, something miraculous—and a bit uncomfortable—happened. Bob laid his first egg. He felt a strange but joyful emotion flood his system. It was a new sensation, and he couldn’t help but feel proud.

He laid another egg, then another, as if his body had found its rhythm. But just as he was preparing for a third, he was abruptly jolted awake.

“Bob! What on earth are you doing? You’re drunk again and making a mess in the bed!” his wife’s voice rang out sharply.

Bob’s eyes flew open. He was back in his own bed, his body still heavy from the night’s drinking. He blinked in confusion, realizing it had all been a strange, surreal dream—or had it?