TELL YOUR MOM I WOULD HAVE BEEN HAPPY TO PAY HER, HAD THE RIMJOB BEEN OF HIGHER QUALITY

Tuesday, November 01, 2005

Right Now, I Am Sick

It could have been all the candy I ate (prodigious, near staggering amounts - and this is coming from a veteran of gastric overindulgence) or it just could have been whatever bug is going around. I refuse to take flu shots (don't trust 'em). Even though the cheap scumfucks with skeletal features and dead eyes who hold the elusive keys to the dusty, unused purse strings are murderously cheap cocksuckers, they spring for some fuck with dubious qualifications with a needle and some mystery fluid to come around and poke everyone in my office who is up for it on the company's dime. I never go for it. And don't give me shit about the stuff I heard about on the radio that can supposedly keep certain varieties of bird flu away, I read the Great Influenza and even if Bush finally did something decent (although motivated by a deep, pervasive desire to try and redeem his performance in the face of crisis in the public's eye - note: I could try and be funny and flippant and say that much of said public deserves the misery they brought themselves by voting for his stupid, stupid ass into office, but it's too soon, check back in a few months and maybe I will edit this part I am writing right now out) with his surprisingly competent plan to prepare for the onslaught of a global pandemic of death that will give me a great excuse to not leave the apartment for eight months, we're flat fucked either way, and man, that Wilson was a jerk, wasn't he?

Sickness is cramping my already scattershot gibberish, and my already poor command of simple grammar and inability to express coherent thoughts is suffering, as am I. I feel like my body is a car bound for the scrap heap, a real junker. A ten penny shitbox. I can barely control it. I cannot achieve comfort in any position. My nausea is overpowering. My limbs periodically loose feeling. A great heat settles around me, followed by a bone chilling cold. Getting up is torture. I feel like I ate a wheel barrow full of graveyard dirt. My eyes ache, even when closed. My head feels like I just removed it from the inside of a bum.

I am sitting on my chair, which is groaning, and my back is hurting and I'm hunched over, looking at the screen and listening to my cheap ass old fashioned monitor hum and I wish I had someone to bring me a nice bowl of chicken soup, a hot toddy, or a tall glass of pulpy, fresh squeezed orange juice. The only edibles I have around here are some leftover Almond Joys (why did I buy those? I don't even like them. Phil Honolulu/me is a 100 Grand Man, goddamnit) and some cold buffalo wings that I think are rancid. They are in a takeout container, which has filled with condensation and the thought of the buffalo wings makes my mouth water, but not in the impending tastiness way, but in the way that serves as a prelude to vomiting. For me to not want some buffalo wings, means I am fucked up, and even that House M.D. motherfucker, that is on TV right now (and who I would be watching, if I was the type of no good asshole dickhead fuckface dumbshit stupid shitsack idiot that watches that) would be horrified by the symptoms of me being disgusted at the prospect of ingesting buffalo wings.

Is this what we have to look forward to? I've just got some kind of cold/all purpose S I C K going on, what is a real, bona-fide disease like? I know people that claim to be sick every day or two, always stuck with a case of the sniffles and acting like it's terminal. But when a real one comes along? I've known people that have been really sick, and it's horrible and ugly and sad but they seem to handle it with such grace. Would I be able to? How can people cope? I have been thinking about heroism (and my lack thereof) lately, and the ones that really come to mind are the people that fight disease, scientist types in smocks with poor social skills who are dedicated to improving the quality of life, not motivated by the desire for fame or money (although I am sure some are), but the ones that really want to HELP PEOPLE. I generally do not like people, but there are times in the abstract when taken as a big vague group, humanity, warts and all, aw shucksness of it, and thinking of the pain that people have to go through and how someone could ease that and want to spend their life doing it, and it all seems so goshdarn noble. Especially for someone that, as means of [don't know yet] gets his jollies insulting second rate shitty bands on his blog. How do people in shitbucket countries and neighborhoods that are violent and poverty stricken and inconceivably terrible to a fat ugly whiteman in San Diego who gets knocked on his ass by a weak cold and nearly cries everytime he thinks of all the girls that he had the hots for (note: unrequited), but are able to get out and/or help people and whatnot, y'know, and again, not wanting the fame and blah blah blah. I've read that true altruism doesn't exist (and can certainly see the argument, like, y'know we're talking for reaping spiritual rewards later) but even if some sociology type from a big fancy school who spends much of their time talking to other very smart people who live in handsomely decorated homes and have research assistants, social behavior is, um, a PRETTY BIG FUCKING BALL OF WAX, and there are exceptions, and some people could, conceivably be altruistic and not motivated by and sub?conscious guff (hey God, you see what I did, just there? get my eternal reward seat ready there, pal, i'm on my way) or showboating for others/God again, just actual nice helpful people. I've always been vaguely distrustful of people like that, assuming that they have the torso of a missing Boyscout in their ceiling vent, but they're has to be some out there, and what the fuck am I doing talking this uninformed, uneducated line of jive on a blog anyway? Fuck I feel terrible. I want to sleep sleep sleep, but I can't. I can just stare at the ceiling and feel bad. My kingdom (note: who am I kidding? It ain't shit) for some chicken soup. With lot's of noodles. Steam wafting off. Nice little bit of barely perceptible bite to the broth. Noodles. Maybe some pieces of carrot. It's not too much to ask, is it?

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