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"We were supposed to take this class a month ago but went down and partied in Atlantic City instead (giggle)."
"Breast feeding? Gross. I don't want to hear about that." (Leaves the room.)
"Let's just talk about the Epidural. I want the drugs!" And just as much as much as she was made for him, he was made for her. On our lunch break of soda and pizza pie, Mr. Cunt said aloud for all the room to hear, but not to anyone in particular, "This is a doctor's office, right? Think they have a scale? I want to weigh myself, see if this pizza added any pounds." Off he went to snoop about the OBGYN's offices. Twenty minutes after the class resumed, he emerged from a darkened door, smiling, giving Mrs. Cunt a thumbs up. Seems the pizza had no ill effect on his awesome. But the quote of the day, the reason for me being thankful for attending, the one and only thing that justified the $300 I paid for the class, was at the end of it all when the instructor asked if anyone had any further questions and Mrs. Cunt raised her hand for the first time all day."Oh my!" I thought. "What kind of delightfully idiotic question could this stupid woman have?" I readied my pen because I knew whatever it was would have to be written down and preserved in the annals of time for all to enjoy.
Ask my wife.
I couldn't dream up such a question. The room went silent.
Except for me, I told her what she clearly already knew, "Lady, you are great. Really. Really great. You're gonna be a great mom." These are the future parents of America and we wonder why we are on a doomed planet. We're fucked. Every last one of us. Go post that on your Facebook page. WE. ARE. FUCKED. CHRIS NIERATKO(Classy black-and-white photo by Adam Wright)