Gentle Readers, in case you're admiring my bed pictured above, it's a snorkedischkedurgeborg (mork, mork, mork) from IKEA.
Note to future self: Oh self, the best cure for a bad chest cold/bronchitis is not pretending that it's not there and going for eleven mile runs in the middle of winter. This doesn't make you more more obdurate or stalwart....more Scottish. If that were the case, doctors would prescribe a good battle cry and a double serving of haggis (to be taken with plenty of water). Alas, the only thing it makes you is tragically stupid, and oh yeah you may or may not end up with pneumonia.
Here's a rap to serve as a mnemnotic device in case you forget this missive. Kindly provide your own bespittled percussive riff.
You're no Tenacious D,
Unless the "D" stands for duh,
Cause that's not how it should be,
Even when you're the mammuh,
You threw a dinner for eleven
Then you started gettin' peakish,
And by quarter to seven,
You was lookin' pret-ty freakish
Your good friends they ditn't know,
That you was feeling so blue
They thought beaujolais nouveau?
O peut-etre prime rib au jus?
So although you're lookin' yuck-tastic,
There may still be some hope,
Cause they call you Mrs. Bombastic,
And your rhymes are so dope.
In celebration of my brightly plumed little visitors, who have decided that we need a hint of springtime music in New England right about now, here's some Mandatory Fun: