It Lives

I'm still battling an exotic virus carried by a South American flea on the back of a rare calf purchased by a collector of rare livestock who lives in a secluded holler somewhere near Frog Pond a cold. There ain't no damned sense in this much snot being produced by one human being. I've urged the other people living in my house to contact the CDC but they imply that I'm like.... whining or some chit.

On ya'll's advice, I sent the Amazon after some pseudo Mucinex from the dollar store, but when I opened it, the foil seal had been ripped open and half the pills were gone.

What the hell?? JUST STEAL THE WHOLE DAMNED BOTTLE FOR GAWD'S SAKE! I hate under achieving criminals.

Of course, per my luck, the dollar store was already closed for the evening when I discovered this. I debated whether to take the drugs from the compromised bottle. I mean, if I was gonna die anyway, I might as well take a chance on some guaifenesin laced with LCD or arsenic or like.. goat poop or something.

But I wussed out. The Amazon went back the next day and got another bottle and it's helped alot. That and pseudoephedrine every four hours. My heart might explode, but I'll be able to breathe when it happens.

I got up this morning and staggered to the kitchen to make some coffee and noticed that my house looks like it's been ransacked by a tribe of angry pygmies, performing fertility rituals in the living room floor using feathers, tissues and a collection of plastic bags.

Or the cat's been redecorating again. Oh.. by the way.. the Amazon cleaned out her litter box, removing all the women's magazines. Last night I found a National Geographic stuffed in there. Further evidence of a pygmy invasion.

I've spent alot of time in front of the television, in various states of consciousness. Oh.. I didn't tell you I bought a new t.v. for the bedroom. The old one was used by T.A. in college and had been lugged up and down dorm steps, bounced around in the back of the hippy van up and down I-40 and had finally started to die. I got a wild hair up my butt the other night at Wally World and bought me a little 19 inch flat screen. I couldn't afford it, but I don't care. If it had been for anyone else, I wouldn't have thought twice about it.

I'm worth it. Dammit.

All the extra time in front of the boob tube has made me realize some things..
  • Nutri-System has forced me to despise Marie Osmond. I always loved her, crooning along with her versions of "Puppy Love" and "When the Deep Purple Falls" as a child. But now, if I hear "You can have ice cream delivered, RIGHT TO YOUR DOOR!" one more time, I think I'm gonna hurl.. because when she says it, in my head I hear it followed by, "C'mon chubby.. you know you want ICE CREAM." And have you seen the latest commercials? Who does her make-up? West Hollywood prostitutes on some kinda work release program? Here's some advice for ya Marie, three pounds of hair extensions and six layers of spackle and paint does not make you look younger.. just desperate. You're a beautiful women, WASH YO' DAMN FACE!
  • The Discovery Heath Channel is the modern version of the circus side show. Step right up and see the six limbed baby! The three foot family! The boy with two heads!! And yes.. those are actual shows that have been on DHC this weekend. Are we that desperate for "entertainment?" Stop the freak show, people. We're supposed to be past that.
  • Ya'll know I love animals.. to a fault. I'd save every suffering animal in the world if I could. Just the other day, I rode around town with a baggy full of leftover Spam, trying to kidnap rescue a starving German Shepherd I saw in town. But when those SPCA and Humane Society commercials come on, playing sad music and flashing pictures of abused animals, I change the channel. I understand their motives, but I have issues with their methods of population control. No one wants you? Sorry, you have to die. Why don't you take the funding you receive and set up free spay/neuter clinics? In the long run, I bet it would be more cost effective than what you're doing now. I don't mean "low cost" clinics like they have here, where they load your precious critter in a cage and cram it into a van with 20 others, big angry mutts crammed in crates beside frightened little kittens, being terrorized for the hour trip into Big City, where they're tossed around like livestock then brought back at the end of the day, after surgery and left in their little crates, regardless of outside temperatures, unsupervised and in hopes that "someone" will come pick them up. Um. No. Just because people can't afford the very best care for their animals, doesn't mean they love them any less.
Sorry, this is what happens when my brain is deprived of enough oxygen for long periods of time and I start thinking.

Anywho.. I don't know how I'm going to make it into the Asylum tomorrow, but I'm sure I will. It'll be a snot filled wonderland.

Stay tuned.

Later Taters!