That�s all I have to say is a loud, resounding OI!

Why, cause I feel like shit.

Now I�m going to piece this together the best I can through the fog that has been my brain in the past forty eight hours or so. So some of this will be pieced together reality and on occasion, quite likely, pieces of shit I just imagined.

Really at this point I couldn�t tell you what was real or not.

About two days ago I was lying in my bed drifting off happily into dreams of frolicking naked women and cold two liters of Pepsi with warm, fresh pizza at my beckon call.

Ah how na�ve I was that�er�two days ago.

So anyways just as about to fall deep into R.E.M. sleep the sounds of my ceiling fan begin getting on my last nerve and yank me right back into reality.

BUT BUT�.there was pizza�and cold, bubbly Pepsi�and GOOD GOD MAN THERE WAS BOOBIES GALORE!

Yet that constant, unfamiliar creaking noise my new ceiling fan was making it impossible to stay asleep. So I crawled down my bed and started blindly flailing my arm around above me in vain hopes of catching the pull cord without actually opening my eyes.

Finally after a few minutes I find the right cord, turn off the fan, then dive back into my bed with a deep sigh.

Yet now I notice this pain deep down inside my stomach.

Odd, that wasn�t there like five minutes ago. Then again I was almost asleep five minutes ago so it could have been there and I didn�t know.

Thinking it would go away after a few minutes I started digging in for the long haul. Squishing down the pillows under my head to support my neck, tucking the blankets in around my feet. Getting nice and comfy.

Yet the pain in my stomach wasn�t going away, but rather getting worse as time goes on. Getting so bad that I can�t even get back to sleep no matter how much my body screams I need it badly.

After a point the pain is so bad that no matter how I lay it just will not go away. So finally I get up out of bed in hopes of finding some kind of a cure.

Oh that was a bad idea. Little did I know my brain said �fuck you, I�m sleeping dude,� and was leaving me to do my own thing. Though I do have to say the slushy feel of my brain sliding back and forth in my noggin made the prettiest colors.

As if that wasn�t bad enough my body felt weak and out of control. It�s like when you wake up from a really hard, deep sleep from a phone call or a knock on your door. You go to answer who ever is trying to get a hold of you, but your body would rather be back to doing what it was busy with not thirty seconds ago.

Yeah that feeling never left my body nor did my brain stop feeling like a partially melted slushy for the past two days or so.

So I�m thinking if my stomach hurts this bad it can mean only one thing. There is something in there it doesn�t agree with and it wants it out now.

Never argue with the stomach, it�s going to win every time.

Well I toss a towel down on the floor and kneel before the bowl. Thinking it�s time I reenact the green pea soup scene from The Exorcist.

Only nothing is coming up, nothing wants to come up at all. I�m completely perplexed by this.

See I have a hair trigger gag reflex and normally the only warning I get from it that I�m about to blow cookies is �it�s coming up, find a toilet bowl quick!�

Never do I have to make myself do it. My body is quite ready with the projectile power of a fire hose.

Now I don�t know about a lot of other people, but an experience like this for me is very painful. It�s violent, body shaking, tear inspiring, and pop every blood vessel around my eyes kind of experience.

So naturally I avoid it like I do Reality based television shows. Like at any minute it�s going to turn my brain into a useless pile of goo.

Yet that morning I most definitely had to make myself go and still it didn�t help with the pain at all.

Not good since I�m as well stocked medicinally speaking as your average broke junky.

So the next eight hours or so I spent trying to find some way to be comfortable. My body so tired it demanded I go lay down in my bed and try and sleep. Yet my stomach hates my bed like a hooker hates an under cover cop. So after ten minutes of that I�m up and sitting in my recliner. Hoping this semblance of laying down will appease my body while appeasing my stomach with shiny objects on television.

That being as effective as laying down on my bed I would then get up and walk around. For some reason walking around made the pain in my stomach subside enough that I didn�t feel like there was a midget Satan in my stomach twisting his pitch fork in my stomach lining.

Problem with this is my body is so weak after thirty seconds I�m ready to collapse. And with my brain being as fuzzy as it was collapsing was more then possible.

I was stuck in this vicious circle that one act would make part of me happy and the rest of me miserable.

After like eight hours of this I did what any reasonable man would do in my situation.

�Um..hello�.mommy? help me.

Ok so I�m a big ass wuss, but at that point I was curled up in a corner whimpering in pain. I didn�t know what to do with this. At best I could imagine either it�s a really fast and hard hitting stomach virus or I have a bad case of food poisoning.

Now I know the vast majority of this entry has probably been a real let down to my loyal readers. So let me give you a list of choice moments during this time. Edited for your pleasure I give to you.

My sickness bloopers.

1. At one point while I was waiting for a phone call back from my mother I think I answered it a few times by saying monkey shine into the receiver. Not hello, but monkey shine.

Seriously I don�t know what I was thinking when I said that.

2. While parked on the crapper I happened to look over into the mirror and caught a glimpse of my face. My hair was in a bird�s nest like mess, hairs cocked all over the place. And my face was so pale except for around my eyes where it was a mix shade of deep red and black.

I caught that glimpse so quickly I let out a quick �ack!� and nearly fell off the damn toilet.

Freaked myself out with my own damn image.

3. At one point I think I was having a fevered dream about Denis Leary talking about women in comedy while slamming Tom Green�s face into a 1988 Ford Mustang�s grill work.

Seriously that�s the last time I fall asleep with Comedy Central on while I�m that sick.

And the rest of the �fun� tid bits are so outrageous even I couldn�t delude myself into believing they where real.

Gee and isn�t this a great time to be feeling like shit when the next two days I�m going out of town and some time during those two days I have to talk to a lady from the US Census to do some kind of Census interview?

Yeah some one kill me now�.or give me lots of money so I can pay people to do this shit for me.

Either way I�d be happy right now.

It's about time - Wednesday, Jul. 07, 2004
An Honor for Chrome - Friday, Feb. 20, 2004
A great loss - Monday, Oct. 20, 2003
a terrible announcement. - Tuesday, Sept. 09, 2003
Chrome speaks: - Friday, Sept. 05, 2003