Mommy, You're A Big Fat Tub

Dear Mommy:

I really wish you wouldn't eat your face off while I am growing inside your zepplin-sized tummy. That Triple Whopper crap nauseates me, has made me grow three spines and makes my heart beat like Ozzy Osborne having a seizure. I don't even know what agony you suffer trying not to consume deep fried shit no smaller than a house cat and a dozen bags of all-dressed ruffles but I know you'll be angrier than a bear with his ass in a sling if you try to stop. My first experiences of life in the world will be you in front of the microwave, yelling 'HURRY!!!!!

Better me than you, I guess. Or you could spare me a Timbit or two. Oh, wait. That would be child abuse.

Love, your innocent unborn son or daughter —Now Fuck Off, Smoke Nazis

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