Reader, I have a confession to make. You aren’t going to like it. I am finding myself surprisingly amused by incredibly offensive dead baby jokes. True, I don’t really like children, but I certainly don’t want their gruesome deaths. I simply like them to leave me alone. I find the Yo Mama jokes extremely offensive, I defy you to find one that will elicit anything other than a frown from me. Why then, did I chortle when I read this? I blame A, who put me on to them in the first place. Still, I haven’t completely sold my soul to the devil yet. Number 10 shut me right up.
You will be relieved to know, dead baby jokes aren’t the thing that made me happy today; they left me too disturbed at my own macabre sense of humour for that. It was this review that I read afterward, which come to think of it, is pretty ruthless in its own way. Still, I hope to write that effortlessly some day.
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