Upon meeting famous people, my instinct is generally to fly into rage of unspeakable violence that only ends when one or both of us are dead.
It’s just as well I don’t meet many famous people, really.
However, Cruise makes me so angry, my mind would be overcome by the myriad methods of painful death I’d want to inflict on him, that I’d be left standing there, gaping like a fool.
No doubt the cunt would saunter past, give me his “winning” smile, playfully sock me on the shoulder and say something like “how you doin dude?” Then I would no doubt die and go to hell.

But if he told me I should not make a noise whilst giving birth to his sprog… I’d scream like a Banshee! (whatever one of those is!) just for effect. And using as many ‘f’ words as I could muster.

I would like to slap him and tell him to ‘get real’!

Raw placenta. Very festive.

It’s really meant to be good for you – truly. But viler than vile! And I could never do it – the thought makes me heave!

Isn’t there some legislation with disposal of placentae?

Growing up – my sentiments exactly. Except the husband bit. Cos that would be weird. Wierd-er.

BoyonTop – I went to school with an Ethel. I’m not 75 either. And did you puke at the placenta munching?

As to eating placenta, saw it done once (grew up on a commune for my sins), made me ill to watch…