sicky icky ick
Man, oh man.
Good 'ole steve sure is acting like a big effin' lady right now.
Thats right, im doing my Aretha impression.
No, no, thats for private time. The reason im acting like a buh-gina is because im sick.
Now, think of how long you've known me. After shuddering, think of all the times ive been ill during that. LEGITIMATELY SICK. I know i skipped most of my senior year in high school and bought cds instead, but catching me full of germs was a rare occurance. ADMIT IT!
or whatever. The point is, I have a wicked immune system shaped from years over eating preservatives in the form microwave pizza et al. Probably, when i die, I'll be so pumped full of preservatives that i'll keep walking around for days, clearly dead, but still moving around, occasionally spreading DNA about.
What all this scientific mumbo-jumbo means is that i have a good health record. I rarely get sick
But that all changed. When i went to california, my host was getting a bit sick, and i had no choice but to share a bed. Flash forward to today, past my bathroom escapades (cool band name) to this evening, where i suddenly hit a wall of running nose, sore throat, nausea, dizziness, and acting like a bitch. I complained to anyone who would listen; and many who didnt; how i was sure that the big man upstairs was calling me up to heaven to play cheezy guitar solos with buddy holly.
Trying to play it cool and take it like a man, I went to a drugstore and got a few illness essentials. 20 fucking dollars worth. cheaper than a hospital, i guess. Which is where i'll be if i have the sniffles tommorow morning. I hate being sick.
Ok, im gonna change the format up a little bit from now on. It was brought to my attention that i talk alot on here about bathroom habits. It was suggested i had a fixation with feces and anuses (another good band name). So im gonna stop. cold turkey. No one needs to know what goes on behind my closed doors. Well, they can infer, but i shant say another word of it. Unless its hilarious. then all bets are off.
I have something to say. I, Steven Balstabber willingly auditioned to be in a ...sob....tribute band. I didnt want anyone to know, but it was so far down the road of acceptable that i couldnt keep it secret. I won't say who it was attributing, but if you know me well enough, you can probably guess. It was lamer than lame. Especially when they admitted their business model was to emulate the already popular austin-tribute band's success. dang. thats lamer than Final Fantasy xxx or whatever its on.
pwned.
I gave a fake number where they could reach me to at least save some face. Nice people though.
Thats it for me, though. Minutes before starting this, I took a big 'ol slug of nyquil and a few advil. See you in 48 hours.
peace;
war;
steve;
Good 'ole steve sure is acting like a big effin' lady right now.
Thats right, im doing my Aretha impression.
No, no, thats for private time. The reason im acting like a buh-gina is because im sick.
Now, think of how long you've known me. After shuddering, think of all the times ive been ill during that. LEGITIMATELY SICK. I know i skipped most of my senior year in high school and bought cds instead, but catching me full of germs was a rare occurance. ADMIT IT!
or whatever. The point is, I have a wicked immune system shaped from years over eating preservatives in the form microwave pizza et al. Probably, when i die, I'll be so pumped full of preservatives that i'll keep walking around for days, clearly dead, but still moving around, occasionally spreading DNA about.
What all this scientific mumbo-jumbo means is that i have a good health record. I rarely get sick
But that all changed. When i went to california, my host was getting a bit sick, and i had no choice but to share a bed. Flash forward to today, past my bathroom escapades (cool band name) to this evening, where i suddenly hit a wall of running nose, sore throat, nausea, dizziness, and acting like a bitch. I complained to anyone who would listen; and many who didnt; how i was sure that the big man upstairs was calling me up to heaven to play cheezy guitar solos with buddy holly.
Trying to play it cool and take it like a man, I went to a drugstore and got a few illness essentials. 20 fucking dollars worth. cheaper than a hospital, i guess. Which is where i'll be if i have the sniffles tommorow morning. I hate being sick.
Ok, im gonna change the format up a little bit from now on. It was brought to my attention that i talk alot on here about bathroom habits. It was suggested i had a fixation with feces and anuses (another good band name). So im gonna stop. cold turkey. No one needs to know what goes on behind my closed doors. Well, they can infer, but i shant say another word of it. Unless its hilarious. then all bets are off.
I have something to say. I, Steven Balstabber willingly auditioned to be in a ...sob....tribute band. I didnt want anyone to know, but it was so far down the road of acceptable that i couldnt keep it secret. I won't say who it was attributing, but if you know me well enough, you can probably guess. It was lamer than lame. Especially when they admitted their business model was to emulate the already popular austin-tribute band's success. dang. thats lamer than Final Fantasy xxx or whatever its on.
pwned.
I gave a fake number where they could reach me to at least save some face. Nice people though.
Thats it for me, though. Minutes before starting this, I took a big 'ol slug of nyquil and a few advil. See you in 48 hours.
peace;
war;
steve;
posted by Steve at 10:04 PM
3 Comments:
did you learn nothing from your nyquil-on-the-bus escapade?
if, in fact you do mean the escapade where i drank a bunch of nyquil, and counter-intuitively stayed awake for the duration of the 17 hour bus ride, than, yes, i have learned nothing. Since it is late again, i shall repeat. pray for me.
that was, in fact, what i was referencing.
your insomnia is my entertainment, dear.
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