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01/27/2005

It's a good thing he's not going to remember any of this

Imagine: you're sitting there quietly sipping your drink, and a hand the size of your torso comes out of nowhere, snatches it out of your mouth and grabs you by the jaw. You're pulled forward into a sort of bent-over squatting position, and another hand, also the size of your torso, starts thumping you rhythmically on the back, shaking your internal organs.

This happens a couple dozen times a day.

Or you wake up hungry, start casting around for food, and somebody shoves a hunk of rubber the size of your fist and covered in stale saliva into your mouth. When you do eat, it's with the heedless desperation of the truly starving.

And just when you're settled, those same hands pick you up and strip you half-naked. They take liberties with your private parts and a cloth doused in cold water, and then dress you again in a bulky, ill-fitting undergarment.


Whoever depicts infancy as a peaceful time filled with happy gurgling and quiet warmth has to be crazy.

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