Ask A Fetus

Dear Fetus, I’ve a serious problem I hope you can help me with. There’s a group of young ruffian kids who constantly run all over my lawn and tear it up. I’ve yelled at them; set bear traps to catch and seriously injure them, and fired multiple rounds of buck shot at them, all to no avail. They mock me with their very existence, and, if they do not stop tearing up my lawn, I will completely lose every shred of sanity I have left. Is there any advice you can give me to stop this unbearable torture I endure a few days out of every summer? Thanks in advance, The Reverend Jerome “Grouchy” Oldman

 

Dear Jerome, you think you’ve got problems?! I’m a fetus! A f**kin’ FETUS! Do you have ANY idea how hard it is to order a pizza when you’re a fetus? Do you?! Well, let me tell you. First, I’m surrounded by embryonic fluid which is constantly f**king up my iPhone. I’ve had to replace the f**kin’ thing 3 times since I was a zygote. 3 f**kin’ times! Next, try ordering a pizza to be delivered to the address: “My mother’s belly.” “Which mother’s belly?” They always ask. Well, how in f**k’s name would I know. I’m a f**kin’ FETUS! I’m INSIDE a womb. I’ve no idea whose womb yet because I can’t f**kin’ see her face! Jesus Christ! It sucks, Jerome! It really f**kin’ sucks! Compared to your “lawn” issue, this one’s far, far worse. So, next time you want to ask me a question, ask me a serious one or f**k off. Hope this helps. Love always, a Fetus

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