Doctor: Alright, just keep pushing, you’re doing fine. This will all be done before you know it. Karen: I HATE YOU I HATE YOU GARRRRFFFFF OOOOOOOO I HAAATTEEE YOUUU!!!!! Jeff: Ok, like this is my fault. You're responsibly for at least fifty percent of this. Doctor: With all due respect sir, your wife is in a lot of pain right now. Jeff: (Biting a burrito) Oh right. Sweetie, if pain was measured like earthquakes, where would you be sitting on the Richter scale right now? Karen: ARE YOU KIDDING ME JEFF? MY CERVIX IS STRETCHING LIKE A LIVESTRONG BRACELET! Jeff: Don't bring my Lance into this! Maybe I should just call off this whole birth. Would you like that? Doc, my wife has a bad attitude, unplug everything. You’re free to go home to your neglected family. Karen: Fine Jeff, fine. You want to know where I am on the Richter scale? I’m at an eight. AN EIGHT JEFF! My Ladypart is the San Andreas fault, and I’m about to bestow eighteen years of misery upon you and, geographically speaking, everyone from Palm Springs to Tijuana. HOW’S THAT FOR AN ANSWER? Jeff: Ample. Doc, shoot up my girl here with the finest drugs you have to offer. I want that baby to leave the womb with the munchies. Doctor: Considering where we are in the birth process I don’t think it would be wise to- Jeff: I’m not paying you for your discretion! I’m paying you to dig that epidural so deep in my girl’s spine that she spits out opioids every time she cracks her back! Woo! Doctor: Too late, the baby is coming. Jeff: Oh wow Karen, you and our baby have the same smile! Doctor: Actually, this child is in the breech position, that’s actually his butt. But no worries, he should come out fine. Karen: I HATE YOU I HATE YOU I HATE YOU!!!! Jeff: Back to square one… Doctor: Congratulations Karen, you’ve given birth to a beautiful baby boy... Jeff: Name it Jeff or I'm shoving it right back the fuck in.