Little blobs of ***** and eggs mix together to turn into little flabby flesh things that churn out a bunch of farts and yell about stuff
Those blobs of flesh things get told how to do stuff by the older flesh egg ***** things who are starting to go bad, so they compensate by laying down rules about how to be a flesh egg ***** thing
They make up different reasons for why they're all here swimming around bumping into each other and making noises that only their own groups of ***** egg meat people can understand, because that's what the older eggs taught them
They try to add some **** they call beauty to all of this by scribbling on stuff, or making noises they think sound good, or building stuff, and they think they're clever.
They'll tell you if it's not proper art it's not good art, but they'll also tell you art is subjective
They won't stop themselves and realize this whole omelette they're a part of is just being made up as they go