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Anybody Know What ‘Pre-Ass’ Feels Like?

Folks, I feel like ass.

Actually, that’s not quite true.

(And I’m not even talking about how it’s not literally true — I think we all know by now that I’m not soft and lumpy and fuzzy down the middle.

On the other hand, when you put it that way, maybe I do feel like ass. Like, all the damned time. I’m gonna go back to not thinking about that any more. Dammit.)

Anyway, what I meant was, I don’t feel like ‘ass’ — meaning sick and stuffy and achy — yet. But I’m pretty sure I’m going to soon. I’ve got the sore throat, and the fatigue, and a little bit of the coughing — even my nose is starting to rear its ugly mucous. It would seem that whatever’s set up shop inside me looks like it’s planning on sticking around for a while. Little fuckers are giving out the new phone number, like they’re gonna winter in my chest cavity or something. Bitches!

So, I’m taking it easy — and going the liquid diet route. Lots of drinks, and chicken soup for dinner, like a good little boy.

(Oh, and a quick word to the wise out there: it’s really not a good idea — and I mean really, really not a good idea — to be watching Fear Factor while you’re eating soup for dinner.

Particularly if it’s the episode that aired tonight, where the ‘gross challenge’ involved two guys racing to be the first to eat half a blendered rat. Read that sentence again, people. Think about how much blendered rat might look like soup, with big chunks of… things that could conceivably resemble chicken. All that was missing was the hair.

And I thought I wasn’t feeling very hungry before I heated up the soup. Oh, mamma.)

All right, now I’ve gone and grossed myself out. Dammit. What the hell was I talking about, again?

Ah, bitching about being sick. Got it.

Actually, though, I think I’m done with that — nobody’s interested in the state of my sinuses, or the relative runniness of my nose, or whether I’ll soon be able to hork up bits of lung in all the colors of the rainbow.

(Well, okay, that last one might be impressive, actually, if you could do it on demand. ‘Orange! Now blue, with yellow polka dots! Huzzah!‘

It’s sort of like being able to burp the alphabet, only… somehow more refined. Just as disgusting, of course, but just a smidgen classier. That’s my story, dammit.)

All right, I’m getting out of here, before I make someone else sick with this nonsense. I’m not really on my game tonight, and I think it’s time to call it a night, crawl under the covers, and re-whine about all this shit to my wife. Yeah, she doesn’t wanna hear it either, but she’s got no choice — ‘for better or worse‘, the man said. ‘Richer or poorer, or fevered and snotty‘. Or something like that — I was kinda drunk at the time, so I might be paraphrasing some of that last bit. She’s stuck with me; that seems to be the take-home message. I may have it tattooed on my ass to remind her.

And now we’ve come full *ahem* ‘circle’ — we started with ass, and we’re ending with ass. Asses to asses, and dust to dust, folks. I’ll catch you manana. Later.