Of the past 48 hours, I’ve spent nearly 36 of them laying supine while the room spun around alarmingly. As I slurred to The Daver, it’s like being wasted while totally sober and if I felt any better, I’d be enjoying myself mightily because a free high is a free high.

But I can’t think straight which is frustrating to me because I have THINGS to do, like organize my Serial Killer of the Month Cards and rearrange my Garbage Pail Kids and I simply can’t. I can barely type this post, to be honest, because the room is tilting out of control and all I can think is that line from that awful song, “it’s hard to leave when you can’t find the door.” Because really, it’s TRUE even if that song sucks.

Considering I had the Swine Flu already, you’d think that I’d get a break and not get The (ever-loving) Flu again but apparently, the Swine Flu ruins your immune system for awhile afterward. Ain’t THAT a bitch?

So I’m going to shuffle back to bed, leaving my house in shambles and my children to run amok (which, hi, that word looks HILARIOUS to me. Is that even a real word? Because it doesn’t look like it. HOORAY FOR FAKE WORDS.) so I can go sweat and dream about hot dogs and zombies munching on what is left of my grey matter.

Good night and good luck, Pranksters.



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