The plague has fully set into my chest now. I fear that this may be my last transmission from this desolate place. (Except for my guest post over at Rassles that will be up tomorrow).
"The Carrier", the original infector, is climbing all over my still partially animated remains, with his off-kilter equilibrium.
If you don't hear from us again, please send the CDC and that crew from E.T. that was lead by Peter Coyote. You know, the one in the awesome suits that tented the house and scared the hell out of everyone. Oh, send Reese's Pieces too.
The plague has started to set into our mental capacities. The Carrier is repeatedly hitting the dog over the head with a pillow and screaming like a tiny manshee. I fear it's only a matter of time before we are completely lost.
Warn the others.
The end is near.
The apocalypse came in the form of a really cute, blonde-haired, blue-eyed toddler.
Of course it did.
PS - The Carrier is super cuddly and still managing to find books for me to read over and over again even though I swear I hid every single one of them. Also? He is playing with cat balls and we don't even have a cat. Which reminds me, at the doctor's office we read a book about a bear that draws and his berries and I don't even think that "berries" was supposed to be code for his balls or anything. I now have to go and watch Yo Gabba Gabba or freaking AFV for the 800th time.
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
This Is Being Written By My Left Lung, Which Has Developed A Mind Of Its Own
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13 comments:
Before you succumb, please, for the love of humanity, make sure Will Smith has a vial of the anti-virus somewhere on his person or in some weird underground lab in the event a survivor can save the world.
Also? Feel better soon!
That sucks. Watching Yo Gabba Gabba is a form of torture, I do believe. Also, feel better. I really hope you can be saved. I would really miss you.
Be glad you don't live in Australia or none of us would have been warned about what's on the loose. Thank God!
I love that you call him The Carrier.
You only need one lung anyway, so don't worry about it. I functioned on one for about a year in college. True story.
At least you aren't watching Barney. Or Pee Wee Herman.
what is it with kids and AFV. And yo gabba gabba for that matter. Are they totally making fun of kids that can't dance? Really? Because if they aren't, I'm so not letting my kids watch it anymore.
Oh. And.
There's a party in my tummy.
No really. A Party. If you were feeling better and not totally dying and or contagious, you could come.
reese's pieces are on there way.....no need to send germ here as a thank you!
Yes, we all fall victim to Cuddleyidis and Cutesiephobia and of course the never ending mom mom mom mommee mommee mmooommmmeeeeeeeeeeeee or in my case dad dad dad daddee daddee..you get the point. Hang in there, candy is on the way and of course lots and lots of giggles.
I'm sorry you're sick. But I'm not sorry you have to watch Yo Gabba Gabba. I love that show. The Roots were on today. And DJ Lance is going to be my new gay boyfriend, once we meet in real life.
Yes god please die. Your value doesn't even amount to a urinal filled with drunk's piss. If life was fair, you would simply hang yourself from the nearest lamp post instead of blogging, you inbred banjo-pickin' hillbilly.
In the meantime keep typing. Maybe, someday, you'll randomly type something semi-intelligent.
Was this post a conclusion or simply the place where you got tired of thinking? Well, you're certainly thoughtless; I just wish that you were keyboard-less, too.
For the record I read this post and loved it and also that part of E.T. was the reason I had nightmares about monsters who dissected me underneath oxygen tents when I was seven.
Dude.
I know I told Gwen about this, but I have a feeling you'll be down...
Pancake Mountain.
If the men in camo and freaky gas masks start rolling into town on military vehicles, go quietly.
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