Oh these? My nutties? My massive f*kn ballsies? My super pent-up cummies? My boingy woingy splurty wurties?
My f*kn leg-splaying, womb-stretching, ovary-stuffing coom factories? You mean these super duper ultra hyper g'damn motherf*kn babymakers?

At the family Christmas party, a man named Matthew Reed dropped a bombshell that no one was prepared for. Between bites of turkey and awkward small talk, he suddenly declared, “I can hear the waves coming off that internet router in the corner.” There was a collective pause, followed by confused glances, because, of course, everyone knew where the router was. It was the thing sitting on the side table next to the Christmas tree, glowing like a tiny spaceship, but Matthew insisted he had no idea it was there—despite the fact it had been the talk of the party since Aunt Margaret asked if it was some sort of newfangled air freshener. Then, in a tone of great concern, Matthew began moving dramatically away from the router, clutching his stomach and claiming, “It’s making me feel sick. I have to get away from the radiation.” Naturally, everyone just nodded and pretended they didn’t see him sneak a few extra gingerbread cookies on his way to the other room.