Because It's Better To Be Irrational With Me Than Rational With Someone Else

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PART I: Today I blew a vessel in my brain and I lived to tell you all about it in the most gruesome detail possible.

Tuesday: I was throwing up; I blame the eggs and my cold and the fever. But you know what makes a sick person more sick? When you stand in a packed bus and the person whose armpit is stuck in your face obviously has no idea what deodorant is.

�In the wilderness, if you do not have deodorant, to kill the bacteria that causes the smell and to prevent wetting, you salt your armpits.� 1

Wednesday: It sucks when you have a fever and the only medication that can help you is NyQuil, and you were almost under a year sober after that crazy daily NyQuil addiction. But what sucks more? When you got fuckloads of people walking in the middle of the street, because of the you-know share-the-road-with-bikers-and-pedestrians bullshit. So I punch the horn with my fist, and they flip me off, but do they move to the side? NO! And it sucks, because at that moment I wanted to go Carmageddon on their asses, but in most civilized states that�s vehicular manslaughter, and somehow illegal.

It sucks more, when grabbing onto the bottle of NyQuil that I was carded for, I have a letter waiting for me saying my policy is ONCE again terminated since I was trying to get into a cheaper policy that I did not qualify for. It was the fifth time I got this notice which meant that my insurance company fucked up for the FIFTH time.

Thursday: I call my insurance and since I�m still sick, I am calm. And I explain, I explain they fucked up, and see, they admit. They correct the problem, now for the sixth time, and I trust in my blind trust, that this time, this time they get it right because I�d hate to get another letter from the State asking for my arrest.

And what pisses me off more? When I get home and that�s exactly what I get, a suspension order from the State. They asked for my license, my plates, my registration, a hefty fine, and additional daily fines for each day that I do not surrender my goods, and possible jail time. That�s when, that�s exactly when, I discovered the threshold of my patience for people�s retardness. I close my eyes, and I laugh� like a maniac. Then I chug the whole bottle of NyQuil.

There goes my year of NyQuil sobrierity!

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1. Stan's survival guide, Chapter 15: "Body odor, gone with the wind!", pg 200139.

11:43 p.m. - September 03, 2010

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