Hello all and welcome once again to the amazingly useless, time-eating, life-deadening words of another Phil post.
Too melodramatic? Sorry. I have this flu, see, and it's living in my neck. In my throat, actually, and I think it's taken to throwing darts at the once mushy pink walls - now inflamed fire-engine red walls - of its new home. Little bugger.
It's hard to be positive when your nights are filled with thoughts of ripping your own windpipe out with your bare hands just for some relief and hopefully the onset of sleep. The days are filled with thoughts of the sleep I ain't getting at night.
But I digress. It's my flu to kill, and I think I'm going about it the right way - I'm soothing it to sleep with tea, then hoping the penicillin makes it's way to my neck and does the dirty work, bashing that fucker's head in with something blunt and heavy that says "Medical Miracle At Work, Bitch!"
Oh, and the Post is good.
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4 comments:
I don't think it's the flu, Phil. I think your throat's just sore from screaming all the National Post-style right-wing rhetoric, ya goddam fascist Nazi-type. It's called DEMOCRACY Phil, live with it.
My my, someone's been moulded in the image of the Mother Corporation. So, are you a full-fledged hippie yet, or just more sarcastic?
No mold on me yet, smart guy. Oh, they're trying to change me. During the morning brainwashing session today, I short-circuited the de-personality-izing machine. I've got them fooled, though. Blandness is the key; I'm dressing all in gray, eating plain donuts and drinking water so they think I'm one of them, but some day soon I'm going to wear a red hat or turn on some music, then this place will experience a catastrophic existential collapse.
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