Kiss the Girl, George!
You know how in Back to the Future, right after that nerdy red-headed dweeb steals Lorraine away from George McFly during the Enchantment Under the Sea dance and starts cackling uncontrollably in some bizarre echo, Marty McFly notices himself fading away in the polaroid picture and buckles over in agony, as if the very fabic of space-time was shredding his physical being into non-existence?
That's how I felt this weekend. And there was no "kiss" at the climax of "Earth Angel" to save me.
It was as if some conflagration of gastroenteritis, viral infection, Bird Flu, Mad-Cow disease, Bubonic Plague, the Cruciatis curse and the Red Death all ended up in my stomach on Saturday. I was puking, shaking, aching, sweating, chilling, convulsing, shivering, and just about any other-ing you could think of for about 24 hours. I urged my betrothed to hand me my seppuku kit and allow me to end my misery, but she insisted on a heating pad and Diet Sprite. To make matters worse, there was nothing on but crappy Olympic hockey and really, really bad movies to take my mind off matters. Not even the 2-hour series finale of Arrested Development could stem the wave of nausea that threatened to overwhelm me at any given moment.
Alas, not even the night can last forever, and by Monday morning I am feeling better. Yet the effects of my unholy demon curse sickeness linger. So, if you care about my well-being, next time you see the kid walking about the hallways with a Pepsi-free can asking for change, do me a favor and drop a quarter in. "Save Cherith." Don't be a heartless wench.
That's how I felt this weekend. And there was no "kiss" at the climax of "Earth Angel" to save me.
It was as if some conflagration of gastroenteritis, viral infection, Bird Flu, Mad-Cow disease, Bubonic Plague, the Cruciatis curse and the Red Death all ended up in my stomach on Saturday. I was puking, shaking, aching, sweating, chilling, convulsing, shivering, and just about any other-ing you could think of for about 24 hours. I urged my betrothed to hand me my seppuku kit and allow me to end my misery, but she insisted on a heating pad and Diet Sprite. To make matters worse, there was nothing on but crappy Olympic hockey and really, really bad movies to take my mind off matters. Not even the 2-hour series finale of Arrested Development could stem the wave of nausea that threatened to overwhelm me at any given moment.
Alas, not even the night can last forever, and by Monday morning I am feeling better. Yet the effects of my unholy demon curse sickeness linger. So, if you care about my well-being, next time you see the kid walking about the hallways with a Pepsi-free can asking for change, do me a favor and drop a quarter in. "Save Cherith." Don't be a heartless wench.
tale spun by Cherith Cutestory at 1:25 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home