THERE IS A TURD on our wedding cake, a child’s poop. Deirdre is weeping in the ladies’ while I push through the guests looking for Sheila, that loser, the only one who would do such a thing, another one of her “messages” claiming I’m the father of her ugly baby. We spent one night together. One night! And no, I won’t submit to a DNA thing…I don’t do well on tests. There she is! Grab her, someone! Stop that woman!

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