Coulter and flu season
What kind of an era do we now live in where one friend won't euthanise another simply because it's immoral to kill someone just because they only have a cold? What a world we live in! Next thing you know they'll be telling us that pollution isn't bad and that democratically elected leaders have the power to do anything they like and have absolutely no worried of accountability whatsoever to anyone they may happen represent! Is that where we're headed?
Expecting nothing but pure, unadulterated sympathy from close friend and main nemesis AlefAlef. This, after all, is the man sat all the way through all 46 baffling hours of "Alexander" with me – perhaps the funniest movie of all time – just because I wanted that 1-second glimpse of Colin Farrell's balls (it was worth it!). Such strong friendship. Such camaraderie. Such brotherly love.
Well, I was to be bitterly disappointed when I called him last night. For the past few days I have been suffering from constipation of the head and forest fire of the lungs. Just a cold you say? My sinuses are so stuffed that my eyeballs are popping out à la Quasimodo and my throat and lungs are so raw that I talk like Gollum. It's precious!
My hypotheses on this wretched illness are the following: a) I have consumption and will soon die swooning in morbid romance all over my divan while my lovers kill each other in a jealous rage (now I must acquire a divan and a pair of jealous lovers and figure out how to swoon) or b) Bill O'Reilly is right and this is divine retribution for wishing a "Happy Holidays" to a Christian. Who would have thought that Fox News would get something right?
The phone call went something like this:
Me: Honey, I need you to do me a favour.
AlefAlef: Now?
Me: Well, soon. I need you to come over and kill me.
AlefAlef: Oh honey ... [brief pause while words of sympathy are formed] ... it would be no fun for me if you're already expecting it.
After a long conversation in which it was observed that I was hysterical and feeling far too sorry for myself than the situation merited (come back to me when you haven't left your apartment in 3 days and your bedhead makes you look like the guy from A Flock of Seagulls and we'll chat about who feels too sorry for whoself!) and that AlefAlef is cold, cruel, heartless, and made of stone, I realised that I'll have to go it alone. I would have to get all Ann Coulter on these germs' ass!
Standing up to my full height (I'm actually a little taller than Ms Coulter) I proclaimed, "Microbes! I'd like to talk to you ... with a baseball bat!"
No effect other than that I had to blow my nose.
"Bugs! If you didn't throw like little girls, you'd give me something manly like pneumonia or tuberculosis!"
I coughed a bit. A lot. Now I know what colour my phlegm is.
"Germs! I will take away women germs' right to vote! I will invade you, kill your leaders, and convert you all to ... er ... Christianity ...?" (I'm Jewish.)
Nothing. A microscopic disease-laden wolf howled in the distance. A furball from my cat – who, it would appear, has neither flesh nor blood, only fur – tumbled by.
The germs were obviously ignoring me and so I got bored and went to bed, but could not sleep. We should all learn a lesson from my germs. If we ignore Ann Coulter long enough, eventually she'll get bored and sink into a pit of her own misery. I can't see any jealous lovers fighting for her attention though.
Expecting nothing but pure, unadulterated sympathy from close friend and main nemesis AlefAlef. This, after all, is the man sat all the way through all 46 baffling hours of "Alexander" with me – perhaps the funniest movie of all time – just because I wanted that 1-second glimpse of Colin Farrell's balls (it was worth it!). Such strong friendship. Such camaraderie. Such brotherly love.Well, I was to be bitterly disappointed when I called him last night. For the past few days I have been suffering from constipation of the head and forest fire of the lungs. Just a cold you say? My sinuses are so stuffed that my eyeballs are popping out à la Quasimodo and my throat and lungs are so raw that I talk like Gollum. It's precious!
My hypotheses on this wretched illness are the following: a) I have consumption and will soon die swooning in morbid romance all over my divan while my lovers kill each other in a jealous rage (now I must acquire a divan and a pair of jealous lovers and figure out how to swoon) or b) Bill O'Reilly is right and this is divine retribution for wishing a "Happy Holidays" to a Christian. Who would have thought that Fox News would get something right?
The phone call went something like this:
Me: Honey, I need you to do me a favour.AlefAlef: Now?
Me: Well, soon. I need you to come over and kill me.
AlefAlef: Oh honey ... [brief pause while words of sympathy are formed] ... it would be no fun for me if you're already expecting it.
After a long conversation in which it was observed that I was hysterical and feeling far too sorry for myself than the situation merited (come back to me when you haven't left your apartment in 3 days and your bedhead makes you look like the guy from A Flock of Seagulls and we'll chat about who feels too sorry for whoself!) and that AlefAlef is cold, cruel, heartless, and made of stone, I realised that I'll have to go it alone. I would have to get all Ann Coulter on these germs' ass!
Standing up to my full height (I'm actually a little taller than Ms Coulter) I proclaimed, "Microbes! I'd like to talk to you ... with a baseball bat!"No effect other than that I had to blow my nose.
"Bugs! If you didn't throw like little girls, you'd give me something manly like pneumonia or tuberculosis!"
I coughed a bit. A lot. Now I know what colour my phlegm is.
"Germs! I will take away women germs' right to vote! I will invade you, kill your leaders, and convert you all to ... er ... Christianity ...?" (I'm Jewish.)
Nothing. A microscopic disease-laden wolf howled in the distance. A furball from my cat – who, it would appear, has neither flesh nor blood, only fur – tumbled by.
The germs were obviously ignoring me and so I got bored and went to bed, but could not sleep. We should all learn a lesson from my germs. If we ignore Ann Coulter long enough, eventually she'll get bored and sink into a pit of her own misery. I can't see any jealous lovers fighting for her attention though.
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