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Can't feel my legs. My heart beats rush as

  • Can't feel my legs. My heart beats rush as my head throbs to it's beat. I can't get my body moving. I'm trapped in my own skin. I don't think I can handle much more pressure.

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  • My self pitying introspective whinging was interrupted by a huge whale penis crashing through my roof and landing on my bed crushing my poor cat. It would take Sherlock Holmes to

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  • flag this inappropriate fold as Spam so that the rest of us didn't have to be subjected to this nonsense. "By jove, I think the administrator's got i!" It would be elementary to

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  • pass the job off to the nearest intern, so that's what the administrator did to separate the naughty folded bits from the squeaky clean ones. Meanwhile a spam baby was born

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  • "It's an epedemic!" cried the midwife, but the Doctor dismissed the events as a mere viral marketing campaign by whoever makes Spam. The paperwork for that one was an absolute

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  • joy. Said with the sarcasm of a 15 year-old. The Doctor continued to ignore the midwife and study the records. "One last night, three more this morning, and four in the last

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  • seven aeons. All of them vinyl collectors, even though vinyl is an exclusive invention of Terrans. And baby makes Nine." The Doctor looked at the midwife and the teenage girl with

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  • horrified disbelief. "You're insane," he declared. "Vinyl died in 1987. You're living in the past! There is no way I am delivering this baby." The doctor stormed out, leaving the

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  • Elvis impersonator who sprang out of the hospital waiting char. "I always knew this day would come!" he shouted as he grabbed an IV bag stand to use as his mic.

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  • His sweet song filled the OR. Surgeons dropped their tools. Nurses fainted. The equipment beeped and booped in ethereal unison, accompanying the crooner. Here, now, came salvation.

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