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There are scratching posts that cats have. I never had a cat, but I assume that the posts are to keep the cats busy, sharpen their hunting skills, and help them keep their claws in good form.

The Claw was the villian from Inspector Gadget, who if I believe correctly, always had his evil plans thwarted by a dog, a prepubescent girl, a detective who hid in trash barrels, and a bumbling idiot who was a social misfit with the best intentions. Now what I say to you is this—when I think of scratching posts—and this is essentially imperative at this stage of my life—should I be thinking of an 80’s cartoon about a guy with a metal arm and a slightly overfed cat?

I went to the emergency room twice last week. The first time the fine gentleman said I had strep throat and prescribed me penecillin and vikodun. I was less than pleased when I had to go back and see him again. This time he said, “Yes, that is definitely mono,” (notice that he is Indian because he doesn’t use contractions), pumped two liters of intravenous fluid into me with a mix of steroids for my throat, and told me not to play soccer for a month because my spleen might explode. Why thanks Doc, not only will I not play soccer, but I probably won’t leave my couch.

And I get mono during the worst possible time to get mono; I’m not just talking about the summer, which is a major disappointment, but during the time where I find out if I’m going to London for the semester. (I can’t exactly go bug Claire when I can’t go see her.) During the time I would be going to the Karate Hall of Fame with Katie for her induction. During the time where I was in the middle of summer classes (my last classes as an undergraduate) and I had to drop out because I’m contagious!

Stupid, stupid mono. You control me now…but I will enjoy killing you off. Muahahaha. It figures I have to get the cucharacha of sicknesses. It’s like a bunch of bad senstations rushing through the body and logjamming in my poor throat. And I’m only saying “poor throat” because it’s unhealthy, the thing has had so many mentions in this entry that it could be living off royalties for years.

On the bright side, I don’t have to work. I get to watch television all day, and I can make contorted faces into the mirror and you will never know unless I write it down, which is highly unlikely because it makes me look like an idiot.

Also, I’m finally having a really gigantic burst of creativity lately—which is probably a byproduct of the vikodun—but I’m not complaining, no, not me, look at the lady over there and shake her out. I want to keep these heavenly pearls so that I may bathe them in water and pour them down my gullet forever and ever, until the time comes where I put them in my medicine cabinet and pretend that I don’t have them anymore. When I had my wisdom teeth lasered out (sharks with “lasers”) I didn’t stop bleeding for two straight days. I didn’t eat. I didn’t sleep. I was prescribed vikodun and roxacette but my dad wouldn’t let me take them. After I was healed, the pills were gone. Were they thrown out? I don’t know, maybe, maybe not. However, I hadn’t eaten in five or six days with this mono business and my throat hurt the bejesus out of me, yes the bejesus out of me, so I had my slightly girly hands around the bottle the entire time, glaring at my dad with the shifty eyes that Homer Simpson taught Mel Gibson to do. And it worked. Great Success! High Five!


Also, I’ve been getting crazy LSD-like hallucinations from these vikodun. Crazy bright-colored, images of people that change every few seconds. And I’m pretty sure I watched a shadow act out a scene for a good ten minutes. But I wasn’t moving. I tell you, that Shadow should hit Broadway. I’ve never seen better.

This is my new blog. We now have an informal agreement that you will read more entries in the future.


1 Comment»

  Baistetle wrote @ yahggweppuiloo

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