P.Z. Myers strokes his inner mad scientist, as he talks about persuading chickens to let him manipulate their embryos in hopes of reproducing a dinosaur:

As for respecting the chickens themselves, what can be grander and more respectful than this project? I would whisper to my chickens, "With these experiments, I will take your children's children's children, and give them great ripping claws like scythes, and razor-sharp serrate fangs like daggers, and I will turn them into multi-story towers of muscle and bone that will be able to trample KFC restaurants as if they were matchboxes." And their eyes would light up with a feral gleam of primeval ambition, and they would offer me their ovaries willingly.

...

But I have a dream, too. Of a day when biotechnology is ubiquitous, and middle-class kids everywhere will have a cheap DNA sequencer and synthesizer in their garages, and a freezer with handy vectors and enzymes for directed insertional mutagenesis. And one day, Mom will come home with a box of fresh guaranteed organic free range chicken eggs, and Junior's eyes will glitter with a germ of a cunning plan, fed by a little book he found in the library…and 30-foot-tall fanged chickens will triumphantly stride the cul-de-sacs of suburbia, and the roar of the dinosaur will be heard once again.

Sweet! I hope I live to see the day... and the day after.