So Full of Cold

You heard right folks; stay your distance, make the sign of the crucifix: I've got the lurgy.

Woe and bitterness! Destitution and dishevelment! Get me some fucking aspirin.

My particular strain of lurg is the infamous "man flu", the snivelling, shaking, sweating and generally feverish counterpart of the normal influenza virus which causes men to become quivering, useless lumps (well, more so than usual) and our lives can only be made the better by women! They are immune to this virulent plague and thus must bring us nourishing broth and tissues, as well as trashy comedy movies, and DVD after DVD of the Pink Panther. Not that anyone will do that for me. Bas'ards.

To counteract man-flu, I visited my good friend Benjamin Burns. Not only is he a nigh-on legendary fellow, but a downright wonderful soul to boot. He invited me to his house for the day so I could marvel at his sexy new mac mini and his gorgeous new widescreen monitor, which I heartly recommend that you get, providing you have the money to hand, otherwise it's stealing, or even worse, borrowing. The borrows, I ought to mention, are inclined by their genetic disposition and should not be ostracised for it, nor for being rediculously small. You have been warned.

From Ben's, we went for a walk to buy some icecream, which resulting in a good portion of my afternoon being devoted to eating a whole half tub of Ben and Jerry's Phish Food, the sexiest teeth rotting amalgam known to man. Afterwards, I did verily laze around and feel ill for a while, while listening to Ben scream at the NPC monsters he was cutting down in swathes on World of Warcraft.

A good half hour later, we ventured to a driving range, where I not only caused myself injury and embaressment from smacking myself in the foot with a golf club and slamming the head of it into the floor, sending a catatonic wave of pain up my arm, but I just ache all over now from the overly disciplined pose I had to maintain. Go figure. Ben, on the other hand, drives like a man posessed, more than once causing balls to sail towards the 200 ft marker as though there was no effort at all!

I ought to mention the Choth. A "choth" is a cross between a chav and a goth, the chav being an English "yob" (a violent, arrogant ass) and a goth being.. well, a universally accepted goth. I argue, while many think the chav and the goth are opposite ends of a social spectrum, that the "spectrum" is actually ring like in nature. Suppose at chavs and goths are at the opposite ends of the line, then turn that line into a ring and where do you find them? Yep, right next to eachother in the social order. Both groups are arrogant, irritating, conformist and just too bloody cool for their Thomas the Tank Engine pajamas. One day, we feel, the social groups will meld to produce the "Choth". Their average prose will go something like:

"WAT THE FCK U SED ABOUT MAH MUM!? It makes me so sad that I'm going to go and rock back and forth in a corner somewhere, cut myself, and write depressing poetry with the blood... N THEN I FLATTN UR FCKIN FACE, IF IV GOT ENUFF BLUD LEFT TO NT FAINT, LYK, you villainous dreg..."

And so on and so forth.

Now the Guinness is wearing off, so I will return to the haven of my bed, the only place I feel secure and safe in this lonely, lonely world!

Peace out.