Things were tough back in the old days.

Previously, on Life Explained, you learned that someone celebrated their 54th birthday.  And, you heard that life was a lot different, a lot more difficult back then, and it was, but, thanks to several recent lawsuits, and the "declassification" of several "top secret" documents we are finally able to bring you the "truth."

In those days you had to be tough to survive.  The birthing coach was there to help the infant, not the mother, she was an adult, and had to take care of herself.  First thing, when you were born, the birth coach would hand you a revolver so you could defend yourself.  There were only two bullets in the weapon, money was scarce, so you had to decide quickly who presented the biggest potential threat.

As I leaped out, the birth coach tossed the revolver up in the air, thinking quickly I performed the classic leap, grab the gun, land, roll, come up behind the bassinet, and fire off a quick round.  Bang, I managed to pick off the obstetrician, who had stopped to reload and pour another scotch.  People drank a lot more back in those days.  One down.

Scanning the delivery room quickly, I spotted the next biggest threat, the head nurse, she was holding an AR15 complete with sniper scope and there was a red dot on my little Dr. Denton's, right in the middle of the panda's forehead, stupid thing was like a black and white target, right over my heart.  Reacting, without taking the time to think, I pushed over the changing table and lobbed a flash bang, lead nurse, red dot, and problem all removed with one well place toss.  Home free, I thought, and still had a bullet to spare.

Just as I was preparing to call a taxi to take me home to meet the rest of the family automatic weapon fire broke out, I had to act fast.  The anesthesiologist was using a 50 cal to lay down suppressive fire while the midwife was low crawling in an effort to flank my position. It was very accurate, too, considering the lit cigarette hanging from corner of his mouth.  People smoked a lot more in those days.  I didn't know how long the diaper cart would hold up under the withering storm of lead.

This could spell big trouble for our little hero.  Firing my last bullet I only managed to hit the doctor in the arm, just a flesh wound, and while it probably hurt, a lot, and there was an elevated risk of infection, and staph is nothing to mess with, it would take weeks for him to die from that, and I did not have that much time.

Fortunately, under the delivery table the last group of caring physicians and staff had forgot to take their light antitank weapon.  I rolled under the table, grabbed the tube, popped up on one knee, and with an impressive shot, leading to an even more impressive explosion, the cover fire was eliminated.  I threw a scalpel, impaling the midwife, causing her hookah to fall, and the water to spill dousing the floor in brown, stinking water.  People toked a lot more weed back in those days.

Thinking I was finally safely born, I sat back to enjoy the soft crackling of an oxygen fed, operating room fire.

Wait, what was that noise, oh crap, that sounds like 81 mm mortar fire.  Dang the luck, nobody said anything about "indirect fire capabilities."  What's next, an airstrike?

Fortunately, Mom woke up, threw the surgeon off the gurney in the hallway, he fell to the floor, breaking his hypodermic syringe, people used a lot more intravenous drugs in those days.  Grabbing me, the complimentary diapers, a bottle of Canadian whiskey and a few cartons of Lucky Strikes, she wrapped us all up in a sheet, threw the whole bundle on the  gurney and we beat feet out of there.  Thanks Mom.

Kids today have it pretty easy, you know?