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|If given a chioce between being sick and having my toes smashed by a hammer, I would be wearing special shoes by now.|
|Thankfully I don't get sick very often, but when I do it is akin to being beaten repeatedly with a sack full of doorknobs. It always starts the same way whether I am getting a minor head cold or a case of the "which end should I point at the john" flu. I wake up early in the morning with a sore throat, which if I am lucky goes away after a hot shower, or some fresh OJ, or a shot of scotch. If I am unlucky, however, stages two and three usually hit me almost simultaneously. Stage two consists of a full-body soreness (the likes of which only someone the size of Louie Anderson would know the day after completing the Boston Marathon). Stage three is a sinus issue which forces me to 1) expel great amounts of lung butter on the average of three times per minute and 2) pronounce the letter "F" with an audible nasal squeak. I normally exhibit other symptoms, however in the interest of time and benefit of my readers stomach I will skip ahead. (Besides these are the three things that REALLY annoy me to the point of mass genocide). Here, then, is a new--in what I have decided will be a series--Top Five.|
5) Back in grade school (yes this is a very long standing hatred of colds/flues) I was sick for about a week, and while I had kept up with my schoolwork while I was out, I knew that when I returned I would have to make an oral report on arctic expeditions. During the course of the week I had no discernable voice, due to a sore throat. Upon my return I delivered the speech in what must have sounded like Swahili. Everyone had a great time clicking and squeaking at me for the following week.
4) Grade school again; but this time it was the morning before school. I was my normal groggy incoherent self when I told my mother that I didn't feel well. She took my temperature, but I didn't have a fever, so she decided that I would still go. I poured myself a bowl of cereal and immediately after she told me that the milk I used was the last in the house, I sneezed. This accomplished two things; milk and rice krispies splashed all over my face, and there as I looked back down was a large greenish-yellow floater in the midst of my breakfast.
3) Grade school again; in the middle of art class, many of us were roaming around the room finished with our work, looking at other people's projects. Again I sneeze, only this time I have time to cover mouth and nose so as to not launch projectiles (see item 4). What I manage to do, however, is expel half a pint of phlegm down my face and into my hands. With hands still cupped to face I head for the door to go to the bathroom, but before I can leave the room I am head off by one of my classmates. Of course, this classmate happens to be the girl I have been fawning over for the last few years. "Are you alright? What's wrong? Do you have a bloody nose?" I shake my head "No." She then makes, what she finds to be, a grievous error, "Let me see," she says as she pulls one of my hands away. She yelped, cowered in terror, and I went to the bathroom and stayed there until the bell rang.
2) Now for something a bit more recent. Two years ago I lived in a shithole apartment on Cleveland Ave and one very memorable day I was on my couch wrapped up in a blanket watching TV. My girlfriend calls, saying that she is going to come and cheer me up, because I hadn't moved from my couch, except to vomit, for three days. She comes over with some chicken soup and porn. (God I love this woman). I eat the chicken soup, turn on the porn, and am feeling a bit better. One thing leads to another, and she goes down on me. (I repeat, God I love this woman). However, once again being sick overpowers any attempt of normality, and just as I am about to unleash the boys, I turn and toss tacos into the trashcan beside the couch. So close and yet so far.
1) The other night I decided to go out to the bar. I had been a shut in for the past four nights, so even though I was doped up on a smorgasbord of painkillers and decongestants I met the guys for a beer. I arrive at the bar, I get my beer and I spot him. I hate this guy. For both of our sakes I will refer to him as "Guido of the Frat People." Guido aside from being a genetic mistake and a cross-eyed moron, slept with my ex-girlfriend while we were still going out. Hmm...crowded bar, can't kill him, there's too many witnesses, so I get over it, for now. Later on, however, I pass him on my way to the bathroom and under his breath he mutters the word "pussy" in my general direction. I turn, forgetting that I am sick; I tap him on the shoulder. At this, much of the bar around us gets quiet. Quiet enough, that is, to hear me say "Whud duh (squeak)fug did you zay mudder(squeak)fugger?!" Lots of people laughed, some pointed, I helped matters oh so much when I followed up with "Shud duh (squeak)fug up!" I walked out, pissed in the parking lot and went home.
I am still sick, and I have to work tonight. GFFFFFD