Spring is in the Air

It's a beautiful 77 degrees today. Birds are chirping. Overweight women are showing their fat bellies. Black kids are playing basketball in the street.

So can someone explain to me how the fuck I got sick?

I've spent most of the past two days hocking and spitting up some grown (that's green+brown) loogies that would make Pumkin proud. When I actually manage to swallow something (not like that, you sick fucks), it feels like a ball of dull razors going down my throat. My nose is like a fucking Kenyan -- it just won't stop running. And I'm even starting to piss myself off with the amount of times I have to cough in any given minute. No one's told me to shut up yet, but I know those assholes are thinking it.

But here I am, like the good trooper that I always am, "roughing" it out at work.

Truth is, if I'm going to get sick, I'm taking these worthless pieces of shit with me.

My first conversation of the morning went a little something like this:

Boss: "You getting sick?"

Me: "I *cough* think *sneeze* so *fart*."

Boss: "Well, you'd better take care of that. By the way, here's ten shit-loads of work. Have fun."

I threw that fart in just for jollies. He didn't seem to notice.

Anyway, I think that my immune system must sub-consciously know that ol' Kenny boy is back on the bench for our boys in the green and gold. It's just preparing me for what's to come. The physical pain and suffering that I'm feeling now must somehow be priming me for all the emotional grief and misery that I'll be feeling in September when the Angels are again celebrating on our field. It all makes sense now.

The human body: God's perfect creation.

Anyone notice how Macha left Haren in too long today? Some things never change. (I'm only half-way kidding).


And one more thing. Maybe someone could answer me this: How many Mexicans does it take to hang a door?

(Hint: It's more than one, because the fucker who's been trying to hang one in my new (read: shitty) cubicle for three days obviously had no clue. And now he has his shoes off.)

P.S. In case you hadn't figured it out, I hate this fucking place.