Too much information...

or, why I shouldn’t listen to myself when I get what I think is a brilliant idea...

Samplings of random thoughts I had this weekend…

Man. I don’t feel well. It feels like I have something heavy sitting on my chest and I’m dizzy when I stand up too fast. Let’s see what I have in the medicine cabinet for this. It’s probably another damned case of pneumonia. It’s this weather. One day it’s 25 degrees with snow, and the next it’s 65 and sunny. Hmmm… here’s some Nyquil, but I can’t take that now. It’s the middle of the day. Tonight, though… tonight I will be sleeping in the warm arms of Princess Nyquil, that’s for sure! Wait a minute, here’s two or three bottles of antibiotics that I never finished taking. All right, according to the doses and directions, I’ve got enough here for at least 6 – 8 days of treatment! Well, hot damn! I just saved myself a trip to the doctor’s office, a $15 co-pay, and another 10 or so bucks for a prescription for antibiotics. Which one should I start with? Well, I’ll go with the oldest first and mix and match as I go. Antibiotics are antibiotics, right?

Later…
Whew! Holy crap! Why am I so gassy? Man, the whole living room stinks. You know it’s bad when you can’t stand the smell of your own ass. Braaaappp! Oh man! Whoooo! Ha! I just chased the dogs off of the couch. How awesome is that? They actually go out, look for, and roll themselves in some of the foulest, filthiest stuff they can find. If my ass is enough to clear them out, you KNOW it must be bad. Still feel crappy, but I feel a little better because the beagle is sitting across the room and glaring at me like I took a shit on the living room couch. Ha!

Even later…
Man, this is the life! My wife and kids are out of town visiting her sister, I’m free to fart and burp and do as I please, and I can make Doctor Zombie’s world famous extra spicy Cajun jambalaya without having to hear any whining about how “Daddy’s food makes the house smell bad”, or “My eyes! Daddy’s food makes my eyes burn!”. The dogs are giving me a wide berth, as well they should. They’re still mad from our little game of ‘Lure the dogs on the couch, throw a blanket over all of us, and let rip with a rotten, sulfur smelling air biscuit!” Man, this is almost like being single again. My only regret is that I can’t crack open a Guinness or six because of these antibiotics. I… whoa… what’s that gurgling sound my stomach is making? Man. I don’t feel so…OH CRAP! OH CRAP! Fire in the hole! Oh jeez, oh jeez, Must! Get! To! The bathroom! Move dogs! No, I’m not playing! Jesus, God - I know I’m an atheist, but I swear if I make it to the bathroom without shitting myself, I’ll go to church again!

A few seconds later…
Oh man! Oh man! Oh man! It feels like I’ve got some tropical disease. I’m all sweaty and my stomach’s roiling. It was touch and go for a few seconds there, but I managed to stiff leg it up the stairs and get to the bathroom. Jumping Jesus on a pogo stick, it’s like my insides have been liquefied and are now pouring out of my south end like beer from a pitcher. It’s like my colon is a pressurized firehouse. This isn’t right. There’s seriously something wrong with me. This must be what hell is like. It’s all eternity with your insides splashing into the toilet at near the speed of sound. I swear I heard a sonic boom that last go around. Oh god! Here it comes again…

A few hours later…
I’m dying. Now I remember why I never finish a full course of antibiotics. It’s because it gives me the purple squirts. I guess I shouldn’t have mixed up that antibiotic cocktail. I’m so weak from shitting, I can’t get up. I feel like a sock that’s been washed, wrung out, and hung to dry. My whale eye is sore from the abuse it’s had to suffer eight goddamn times in the last two goddamn hours! And the worst part is that those shit-eating dogs are laughing at me. I can tell by the looks on their furry faces, they’re sitting there on their fat asses, laughing and saying to me, “Ha Ha! Fart on us will you? Serves you right asshole!” They’re laughing like they’ve just discovered Karma, and Karma has giftwrapped a present for them. Oh god I’m dying. Please send help! Damn antibiotics. Damn dogs…

Such is the misery and shame that is my life...