Oh hell, so much for wild and wicked weekend; damn bugs are having an orgy in my body system instead. Totally uninvited.
Just when I thought this weekend would be the best opportunity to unleash the party animal in me, the flu virus had to play a party-pooper, hence rule me out from attending an inaugural book club meeting.
The thing is, whenever I’m down with sickness, the last thing I’d do is seeking advice from the doctor. Think about it, this isn’t the first time I’m down with flu. All I ever get was the same set of medication. The same bitter shit.
Or maybe I could do this; since I’ll be going to the hospital anyway later (visiting my dear old grandma), I might as well look out for any ENT specialist walking up and down the alleyway, stop him and ask about my problem. I’m sure he’ll oblige because soon he’ll find out he’s treating a guy called Kerp, the greatest paper columnist there ever was...to be seeking treatment from him.
Then I can imagine he’s gonna say things like…
-Virus is in the air.
-Drink a lot of water.
-Your nostril is not in danger of potential Tenesmus because mucus keeps oozing out.
-Stop smoking because Nik Aziz says so.
-Eat a lot of veggies and starve yourself to die.
Then come back home Mom will be singing the same tune.
-no late night work.
-no cold water for the next few days
-no wild night out
-no loud music.
And I’d be like, no loud music?
Oookay, no point living then.