This little piggy went to market.

12 Feb

I think for anyone over the age of twelve, it is a guilty pleasure to listen and dance along with Miley Cyrus’ “Party In The USA.” Normally I would be the first to cut my wrists upon hearing the new teeny bopper beat, but I gotta tell ya, that song is as catchy as the Dickens. I can’t stop! Is it on my iTunes? Yes. My iTouch? Yup. I’m all nodding my head like “yeah,” and moving my hips, likewise. I’m not embarrassed. Not one bit.

I am 85% certain I have H1N1. Not that I’m incredibly alarmed–I know the media is making everyone believe that the swine flu is the next small pox virus, but just a heads up in case you haven’t figured it out already–it’s a normal flu virus by another name. Had they called it the cupcake virus, people probably wouldn’t be shitting their pants this much.

ANYway, I returned home from Hoisington, Kansas where Trent, Ryan, Jess and I spent the Labor Day weekend. Suddenly my throat began burning very intensely. At first I blamed it on the carnival, remembering that I had somewhat scorched my esophagus with my chili cheese fries the afternoon before, but it continued to become more inflamed. I cannot so much as get an inkling of oxygen through my nose. On top of that, my nose is running like a Nigerian Olympian. My entire body is radiating heat, and my head is fuzzier than the reception I used to get with my rabbit ear television antennas before everything went digital and left me in the Stone Age. My brain seriously feels like it has been nuked in the microwave for a good 10-15 minutes. I am not feeling well, to sum things up. I need meds. And a good week and a half of hibernation. Bah.

The bathroom in our office building reeks, and I mean REEKS. It literally smells like an aborted fetus. Like, we checked the tampon disposal container to be certain. It’s horrid. Why has nobody taken action toward this wretched odor? I don’t like my potty experience to make me gag. It smells like roadkill in that tiny little stall. I’m going to vomit on the tile floor next time I’m forced to use the facilities. You know, freshen it up a little bit.

Anyway, it’s time for me to go nurse myself and wallow in self-pity about my illness. Peace, freaks.

-Trent on the Tilt-a-Whirl.


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