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5:37 a.m. - 2001-05-01



I stayed home from work yesterday. Well ... actually I went in ... but I was sent home.

Right before I went to work, I took my medicine for my g'damned bronchitis. "Avoid sunlight" my medicine bottle says. "Eat my ass" I say as I swallow the pill.

I drive to work, sunlight in my face.

I get to work, and I can't catch my breath.

I'm breathing like Rosie O'Donnell after climbing 12 flights of stairs. I sound like an asthmatic moose gasping for oxygen.

I walk in the building and get dizzy. Our associate publisher sees me hunkered over my desk and says "Go home."

"Eat my ass," I say.

"What do I look like," she says. "A medicine bottle?"

I'm clearly hallucinating at this point and decide that the best thing to do right now is get back on the road.

So I drive home, first stopping by Blockbuster Video so that the strangers at B.V. can get a rather long giggle at my weakened respiratory system's expense.

I pick out two movies, pay for them, and head home.

I get home and there's already two messages from people at work, making sure I made it home okay.

I call them back, sounding like a really bored obscene phone caller.

"I'm (huff,huff) home now (huff,huff). I'll be (huff,huff)fine. I just (huff, huff) need some (huff,huff) rest."

They tell me to go to the doctor. I invite them to eat my ass one more time, they decline and the conversation ends.

So they call my wife at her work to tell her how bad I sounded.

She calls home. Except...oh get this ... I'm fucking ASLEEP because that's what I need.

"Hullo(huff,huff)" I say.

"I heard you got sent home from work," she says, while I hear her fingers typing on a keyboard in the background.

"I'll be (huff,huff) fine," I said. "I just had (huff,huff) some reaction to my (huff,huff,huff,huff,huff) medicine."

"You need to go back to the doctor," she says. "You're not getting any better."

"I (huff,huff) don't want to go back (huff,huff) to the (huff,huff) doctor," I said. "This takes time(huff,huff) to get (huff,huff) to get over."

"Well, at least call him," she said.

"Fine," I said. "I'll do (huff,huff) that."

"You sound like that little black handicapped boy on 'Malcolm In The Middle'," she says, pegging my ailment perfectly.

"Thanks (huff,huff) honey," I say. "You sound like (huff,huff)that sassy white bitch Jerri (huff,huff) from 'Survivor'."

"I'm sure that's just the medicine talking," she says gruffly.

"It (huff,huff)is," I lie. "I'm going back to (huff,huff) sleep now. Love ya."

"Love you," she says. "And call the doctor!"

"I (huff,huff) will!" I say and hang up.

I go back to sleep.

I wake up a few hours later and feel much better. My breathing is more normal and my bedhead isn't outrageous.

I call the doctor's office. They said he'd have to call me back. Okey dokey. Here's my number.

Thirty minutes later, Dr. Chammywongo calls me back.

"What the problem," he asks in his clipped English.

"I sound like a penguin going through a hysterectomy," I say. "What gives?"

"You sound fine to me," he says.

"Well...earlier I did. I took a nap and now I seem okay."

"I tell you Thursday ... rots of bedrest. You get rots of bedrest?"

" But I've been very busy."

"You no get better unress you get rots of bedrest, round eye," he says. Why he tossed in that derogatory term "Round Eye" is beyond me.

"So I need lots of bedrest," I say.

"Yes," he says. "Take it easy. Take your medicine. If you no better by Thursday, you give me call."

"Gotcha Chammywongo," I confirm. "Thanks for your help."

He had already hung up.

So I laid there for a few more minutes trying to will myself back to sleep. Wasn't happening, so I moved to the sofa in the den and popped in my rented DVDs.

Watched "Chuck and Buck". Hoooo boy. I was expecting a comedy. That shit creeped me out. A 90 minute movie building up to a blow job. In case you haven't seen it ... two guys, age 27, used to be friends when they were 11, until one moved away and they never saw each other again until one guy's mom dies and the other shows up at the funeral.

Buck is socially retarded and really wants Chuck to be his best friend again. Chuck's moved on in life, he's successful, has a hot girlfriend, life is good. So Buck starts stalking Chuck in order to make Chuck be his best friend again.

I dunno. It was just odd. Maybe it was my medicine, but Buck just really gave me the ass willies.

So then I watched "The Tao of Steve". A much better movie. A romantic movie for guys, is how I'd classify it. I learned a lot about how to pick up women from that movie. It's just a shame that I can't do anything with the women once I pick them up, because it'd piss off my wife and she'd take my boy and move to Chicago or somewhere and become a lesbian accountant and have lesbian slurp parties and my boy'd be locked in his room playing Nintendo and eating Cheetos while I sat here in Alabama all sad and shit because I had to go and watch a stupid movie that told me to talk to women without thinking of screwing them for a change.


But IF I WERE, oh ladies would have to be guarding your panties 24-7 with Uncle Bob on the prowl.


You betcha.

Today marks the day we have to turn in our money for Big Rat Junk.

Gawd. I'm SOOOO glad it's over. The stress is gone.

According to my calculations, I've collected $9,112.62 plus a bag full of pennies that I didn't feel like counting, but is the vicinity of $20.

I don't think that's enough to win. Unless everyone else just TOTALLY slacked off, it's not enough.

I hope the two big winners got wayyyy more than that. If they only got a little more, I'll be pissed, because I could have collected more if my posse wouldn't have left me hanging on Friday night and gave me no choice but to cancel "Hit Night".

But in the past, they've had winners only collect $4,000 or so. There have been some pretty shitty years for this campaign. So I DO have a chance. I just don't think it's going to happen though.

I'd have a better chance of scoring some crack rock with Billy Graham as my connection than winning this contest.

That's what I think.

Alright...I've gotta get ready to work.

Peace out, beeyotches. Love most of you.

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