Doctor? I DON’T NEED NO STINKIN’ DOCTOR! Well, actually, having a doctor check out my throat would be a grand idea, but I’ve been against the idea lately because I’m uninsured until I go back to school in the fall. Uninsured. Ain’t that some shit? My idea was to have a heart-to-heart with my immune system and enforce a strict “don’t get fucking sick or I’ll jam pack my body full of Flinstones vitamins and Children’s Robitussin” rule. Turns out vital bodily functions can’t understand you when you talk to them. Figures.
So here I am, jamming to new age instrumental music alone on my sister’s couch, reviewing English grammar (there’s an app for that!) ’cause I don’t think we learned enough about it in school, and bitching about feeling like Jake Busey in Identity.
The truth is, I like to think I have a pretty high pain threshold, guys. I’m a fucking MAN! The dude I play in everyday life, the sensitive daffodil of a boy with nothing but love to give, he’s just a candy shell over the Snake Plissken-esque rugged motherfucker that I truly am.
Being such a bad mama jama, I rank this sore throat at a solid 4. That’s nothin’! That’s… That’s like a wasp sting, except, you know, in the throat. A stubbed toe? I’d give that a 5. Passing kidney stones: 7. The surgery I had on my testicles (the thought alone): 8. The Holy Grail of pain — the rare 10 — has to be the double thigh cramp. Have you ever felt such a godawful pain in your fucking life? There you are, chillin’ in bed, finishing up a Kitchen Nightmares marathon on Netflix, when suddenly your holiday hams decide to seize at the same goddamn time. You’re wrapped up in blankets, the cat’s on your chest pinning you down, and the dog is acting as a pair of furry shackles around your ankles. “FUCK EVERYTHING!” you shout as you flail about like you’re an epileptic fish out of water getting tased by the fish police. Your dog whimpers as you kick him off the bed. Your cat hisses as she claws the moles of your man melons. Your blanket cocoon flies to the other side of the room. All this commotion for fucking thigh cramps. I don’t know about you, but I’d rather have my inflamed tonsils ripped out by Captain Hook right now than endure that shit anytime soon.
The point I am trying to make is that everything is going to be OK. I’ll just keep sucking on these cough drops until my shit’s better, then I’ll be back to 100%. Until then, I’m off to re-learn prepositions! Remember: Prepositions aren’t words that you should end a sentence with.