Originally posted by John Parry
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Irk:
When you need to give birth to an otter, and you've held it in for hours, and you've managed the car journey home with ease, even though your guts feel heavy. You reach home, open the front door, and BANG! Your cake is suddenly at emergency crimping stations, having forced it's way to the front like a determined reveller. You end up sprinting upstairs with a turtle's head struggling to break free. When you slam your cheeks down, you feel like half your brown egg has already been laid, and you have visions of a mammoth papering session on completion.
For crying out loud, I've held on for hours with no hint of a mole at the counter. Would it have killed it to hang back for another ten seconds?
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