When teens attack

It makes for good TV. After all, there are only so many "When Animals Attack" and "Predators" videos that MSNBC can broadcast. Why not feature an hour of teen violence?


That's what I'm watching right now, by the way. I'm not just channeling some juju from that voodoo lady in New Orleans.


Yes. So. Yeah. Life goes on.


Not sure what to write about. I'm still sick. Sickety Sick Sick McSickerton. Bleah. What an ugly virus this is. I'm pretty sure that if I was able to pry this bugger up and look at it under a microscope or perhaps an electroscope (because I'm a nerd and I've worked with one before), this virus would look just like that dermatophyte thing on that gross toe fungus commercial that always seems to air whenever I'm eating.


Hmm. What to say, what to say...


Here's something. I almost choked about half an hour ago. What did I choke on? Why, my own ball of sputum and snot, of course. Yeah, that's how gross this cold is. Phil was in the bathroom and could hear me choking. It was so scary that I stood up from a prone position on the couch, because, somehow, in my reptilian brain, it made sense to stand up to dislodge a ball of snot from my windpipe.


I don't know. YOU tell ME why I did that.


Even though I was choking, I simultaneously wondered how long it would take Phil to put down the newspaper or the crossword puzzle or whatever else he was reading in the bathroom, wipe his nethers, flush, pull up his britches, wash his hands, and then saunter out to the living room to perform the Heimlich manuever.


I guess I don't need to cipher out the number of seconds, since later on Phil told me, "Well, when I heard you blowing your nose, I figured you weren't choking anymore."


Ah. Wise, he is.


So, that was part of my Sunday. I hope you had a great weekend.