 ©1999-1999 ICFTP What're you, kidding? |
9 September 1999:
Hey, dig it... it's 9-9-99. There has apparently been a minor (and in some rather rare cases justified) case of "Y2K-bug-simile" panic. Personally, I think it's sympathy pangs for an upcoming pregnancy.
In case anyone was wondering... while the amount of medication I'm taking has, in fact, dropped rather drastically, I thought that it was high time that I impressed you people with just how serious this situation IS. Some of you have been known to express a belief that I will be coming home soon, cured and happy, bouncy and horny. Ha! Nothing could be farther from the truth. I have learned that being taken complete and total care of is bliss. This is my notice to the world that I'm staying here, right here, and being almost-but-not-quite terminally ill for quite some time. The pills aren't really that bad, I don't feel like shit anymore, and dammit, people pay attention to me, act as if I'm a decent human being or something, and... uh... Tanya advises me that "That is quite enough."
I agree.
Meanwhile, here's a picture of Tanya with all the goddamn medicines I still have to gobble on a daily basis. Moan whine, pity me oh pity me. This be a week's worth of the bevvy.
Ok, ya seen it. I'm heading out now, gotta get my feet rubbed.
Oh the torture.
"Can I peel you a grape, m'lord?"
Hehehehehehe.