Comments: "
oh darrrrrrrling,

whatever can i do for you?

i hate that you are sick. it makes me want to GET sick, just so we can hate it together.

"i know no other way than this: where I does not exist, nor you,
so close that your hand on my chest* is my hand,
so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep." ~pablo neruda

*this includes chestal pudding too
" "
Nice blog! Do you have rss feed I can tap into? #ionic air silent purifier#
" Post a Comment
28 March, 2005
It isn't fair. I've done my time with the ghetto flu already this year. It isn't allowed to come back, right? Yet here it is and I know where it came from and you better believe that I called this person on this shit. Because I started this guy's shit and I'll end his shit, that's what. I said andiquote,

me: I hate you.
him: *exclaiming with surprise and sorrow* Noooo! Why do you hate me?
me:Because you got me sick...A-gain. Fucker.
him: I'm sorry. I didn't mean to!
me: Your sorrow means nothing to me. I'm far too busy trying to eject the pudding from my lungs to give a shit that you're sorry and didn't mean to get me sick. I have a FEVER!!! Fucker. By the way, did you happen to see anyone trying to put pudding in my lungs in the last 12 hours? Because they need to die.
him: I'm sorry. I guess the pudding comes with it, huh?
me: Death is too good for you. Hope you rot AND develop a wheat and/or gluten allergy. Fucker. If you want to live Ima need you to do all the chores I was gonna do today but can't because I have the Bubonic Plague. Go clean my bathtub, beeeyatch.

aaaaaaaaaaaaannnnnnndddddddd scene.

So it's back to the couch for me to recuperate. Fortunately, M is off work today for Easter (yeah, Easter was yesterday, I know. however, if they wanna give M a day off AND pay him for it I am most certainly not against that.) so when I get good and tired of the Indiana Jones marathon I can have him fetch me some flicks. I'm dying.

*cut to Lola with her hand draped delicately across her forehead, head tossed back, recreating the death scene from Camille.*

In the immortal paraphrased words of Chandler Bing, "Could I be any more drama queen?"

Posted at 12:48 PM

The Wild Flower
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