Situation Normal. Atmosphere Breathable. Brainstem Injected. Dialogue Engaged.
Thursday, March 17, 2005

Circulatory Trench Warfare

People are counting on me, so I must perform. My bodily presence is required daily for seventeen straight days in order to fulfill this obligation. Nobody else can serve.

So what happens when I catch strep throat, or worse, pneumonia? I'm sick, you see. Sure, it's my fault. I managed to get away with wearing no jacket for a couple months, but now my hubris is biting my ass like a rabid howler monkey. I could blame this on last weekend's booze and drug bender. Those always weaken my attack cells. But no. It's probably the lack o' jacket.

The leaves me in the delicate position of hiding my disease and going about my day. If bubbly mucus frogs jump from my throat instead of my usual mellifluous tone, I will quickly repeat my statement and hope the croaky stammering went by the boards with nary a quizzical thought. When my voice cracks, if noticed, I'm prepared to explain that I slipped while scaling a fence. At the top no less, and my testicles were racked most severely. I'll say that I've been prone to the occasional squeak upon sitting down too quickly as a result of the unfortunate incident and that I expect this won't last for long.

Then there are issues of stamina and complexion. I'm likely to shade grey and perspirate upon standing up, let alone hauling heavy equipment through a snowstorm. It will take an iron will to prevent myself from clutching the nearest object for support between carries. To prevent myself from collapsing to the concrete, braying like an asthmatic donkey. To prevent myself from projectile vomiting ugly stews of robitussin, off-brand ibuprofin, and bile.

I'll drink scorching coffee and slog through this gauntlet of unhealthy peril. This weekend will allow me a brief respite, during which I can recuperate and consume hot soups and small servings of whiskey to quell the nauseating assault upon my being.

If that fails, I'm insured.
7:07 AM - Bottle Rocket Fire Alarm


March 17, 2005 9:04 AM, Blogger Kerouaced said...

Very witty. What is this bastardly strain of the swine flu that has overtaken us? It has reached Pennsylvania and seems impervious to most common remedies. Perhaps as you were I was a fool for wearing nothing more than a loin cloth sewn from badger pelts and Converse high-tops. I will lock myself in my bunker with porno magazines and beer and emerge when it is okay to golf.

March 17, 2005 7:10 PM, Blogger Matteus Von Mustard said...

this comment box appeared as slowly as the inverse of latigo flint's six-shooter. i may perhaps have forgotten what i was going to say.

oh yes. what is this obligation that you cannot avoid on pain of death? jury duty?

March 18, 2005 7:42 AM, Blogger Bottle Rocket Fire Alarm said...

Half the company that employs me is away on training. We have a 24x7x365 helpdesk and I'm covering the early shift. There's no backup, because I'm the backup.

Thank you for your concern. I intend to go on Safari when this ends. Shooting large animals will restore my cheer.

March 20, 2005 9:19 AM, Blogger Matteus Von Mustard said...

yes, yes, a capital idea. a safari would most assuredly do you well. what model are your elephant guns?


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