Trying to save days for vacation type stuff. Seeing as the fever isn't intense enough to affect my vision, I've decided to suffer on the clock.

If I feel even shittier tomorrow they won't see me. Running thin most days, but weekends it's a barebones skeleton crew. So my absence will cause drama. They can send me the transcripts of the soap opera. I'll wipe my ass with the pages.

Cursed out a cabbie on the way here. He was doing that one foot over the gas, the other over the brake, constant stop and go jerking shit. Plus, he was driving like a timid geriatric rodent. At one point he slammed on the brakes to let three cars get in front of him, and of course subsequently missing the light while they puttered along their way. So I had to get into his ass. "Don't tell me how to drive, don't speak to me like that." Bullshit and fuck that. I am funding this horribly motored expedition, so I am the boss. I should have just let my stomach contents empty since his driving style was churning my sickly guts. Noticed the rest of the trip was expedient and smooth. Fucker.

Christ I smell like I'm sick. Can taste my immune system struggling. Another reason I usually work through illness, I'd rather steel up and fight this shit. Will not admit defeat to a colony of microscopic critters. I'm multicellular for hamburger sake! I will make them my bitch.

I noticed they are advertising for youth advisors during the Daily Show. Which puzzled and worried me. First, being part of the demographic, I know what type individuals watch that program. We shouldn't be allowed to mentor farm animals or mutants, much less the nation's youth. Second, do they actually expect someone who just sucked back a chamber load from the bong to quickly write down a helpline number, or a complete street address for that matter? Silly advertisers.

Normally I reflexively scoop up the remote to escape televisual ads. Constantly having my intelligence insulted tends to make me angry. So I avoid the angry. But that mentor thing caught me off guard and then I found myself growling at a Gods and Generals preview. The anger started. Infernal commercials.

It did give me an idea though. I now want to make a movie titled Pussy. Strictly for the previews and the bouncy animated opening credits sequence with fast paced bass heavy funk music. Kind of like a deviant School House Rock. Check it.

Ooooo spork! New symptom: The squirts. Gonna go unleash toilet fury. Peace, love and hair grease. Hooo nelly!