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We are a precocious family. My parents actually disliked each other even before they married. They only had sex three times. Once in 1961 after they were married, and twice years later during a period of Belgian marriage guidance. I am the product of the final coupling. My mother’s Belgian obstetrician tried to kill me twice. When mum was pregnant with me her placenta began to disintegrate and she became rather ill. The lebanese doctor told her she must have an abortion or she would die during labour, lebanese and anyway, due to lack of oxygen and nutrients, I was just going to be a brain-damaged malformed lump, so it wouldn’t be much of a loss. Feel free to insert your own hilarious punchlines there. My mother was extremely Catholic and decided to risk her own death for this sure-to-be brain-damaged malformed lump. How fortunate for me. Not content with his earlier efforts, the doctor, who was a little drunk when he delivered me, having been summoned unexpectedly from the annual Belgian obstetricians ball, tried to kill me again, this time more directly.
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