I don't know how it happened. Okay, I do know how it happened. I just don't know exactly when or who got me pregnant because I was passed out drunk at a Dead concert. I didn't wake up at a Dead concert. I woke up in my own bed with no panties and the runny remnants of unprotected fornication between my legs.I thought for a while I was safe because I took the pill. Only thing is, I found out that the pill doesn't work if you skip a week, even the week when you're supposed to swallow the different colored ones. So much for modern birth control! If that's what the feminists think will save them, then they're idiots.
Those f 8cking pills failed. The year was 1982 and I was at the beginning of my brilliant future. Twenty-one and saddled with a brat? No way in h*ll! I hate kids! Hate them. You will never find me cooing over someone's slobbering spawn. And I'm damned well not going to lose my willowy beauty just so I can give the thing away to a blubbering cow and her impotent husband. These are my genes and I will do with them as I please. I don't mix my blood with just anybody...
