As I expected, the sneezing, wheezing, hacking a**holes on that flight to Lynchburg last week managed to infect me with their loathsome germs. I returned to LA to find myself the proud possessor of:
- A massive headache
- A supremely sore throat
- Post-nasal drip
- Stuffy nose
- Stuffy ears
- A bad taste in my mouth
- And, last but not least, an incredibly foul mood.
May his pipe never smoke,
may his teapot be broke,
and to add to the joke
may his kettle not boil,
may he lay in the bed
'till the moment he's dead
may he always be fed on lob-scouse and fish oil,
may he swell with the gout,
may his grinders fall out,
may he roar, bawl and shout,
with the horrid toothache.
May his temples wear horns,
and all his toes corns,
the monster that murdered NeII Flaherty's drake infected me
