Monday, January 2, 2006
4:18 PM

Ok, God. On the extremely off chance that I've grossly miscalculated and you're actually running around up there somewhere with Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny, I'm putting you on notice.

ENOUGH ALREADY WITH THE PRACTICAL JOKES. Especially the one where ON MY PAID HOLIDAY I end up in bed eating an entire bag of cough drops, blasting copious amounts of phlegm out of my one unstuffed nostril and holding a pillow over my throbbing head while the Mother Taberfuckingnacle Choir sings triumphantly in the background.

GOD: But Doug, I want you to be happy. That's why I invented viruses.

Me: Very funny. Go away.

GOD: Why don't you go ask your dad for a blessing?

Me: That's IT! I'm going over to church right now to sneeze your clever little inventions all over the nursery!!! Wants me to be fuffn happy…mmmphphn…fffnsnfmbtch…

I'm sick. Again. My first cold started right at the beginning of Xmas vacation and lasted me just until it was time to go back to work. By Friday evening a week later, I was off work a couple hours early and settling in at home for New Year's Eve with a brand new cold, only this time worse than before. Hell, if I play my cards right, I figure that by February I can catch pneumonia for my birthday and die.

At least that's where I'm headed if my dad's diagnosis is correct. He's not a doctor, but he loves to speculate.

Dad: Wow, you sound terrible! Have you been to a doctor yet?

Me: Yeah. He said I'm sick.

Dad: No really, you should see a doctor.

Me: I'll be fine. It just needs to run its course.

Dad: It might be pneumonia!

Me: Naw. It's probably RABIES. RUFF, RUFF! AAAAAARRRRGH!!! (This is the part where I jump from my bed and bite his neck).

That's ok, Dad. Keep guessing pneumonia. One of these days you're bound to get it right. In the meantime, could you get me some more cough drops?

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