V8 Splash Is Evil In A Glass

Not only am I ready to have "Kill Me Now" tattooed across my forehead, but I have been reduced (or induced) to tears by this sumbitchin' cold. Literally. My tear ducts are being pressured by my sinuses to create a whole fucking new ocean. Conspiratorial little bastids. I get cranky and cuss a lot when I don't feel good. You may not have been able to tell.

I have been trying to follow the sage advice of doctors, mom, and the nurse sister to hydrate, hydrate, hydrate, so I can pee this virus (or cold, whatever. Kill Me Now.) out of my system. I have been practically bathing in steaming teas of every flavor, marinating myself in hot showers, and slathering my upper body in mentholated goo. Really, I have been trying to ward off the inevitable hospital stay that is sure to ensue if my lungs decided to go all pneumonia on me again like they did a few months ago. My body has a mind of its own. I just live here, people.

Ironically, I was given weeks to live a few months ago. That is of course, par, for these doctors that are truly just PRACTICING medicine. (Did you notice the par-doctor-golf reference there? I did after I proofed this and it cracked me up. In my defense I am feverish...) These same geniuses told me years ago that I had months to live. At 32, being told that I wouldn't live past the age of 25, I think I am doing a pretty good job at rebelling against the man, there. Right on!

So (feverish ramblings aside) the reason for the post and the oddly Seussical rhyming of the title is because I have been hydrating with anything I can get my hands on. I looked in the fridge this morning and thought, why not try some veggie/fruit juice? It has vitamins and stuff and will help cure me. HA. Yeah, right. After downing a large glass of the strawberry banana flavored stuff, I went about my merry vanilla-pudding-new-ocean-producing day. After about an hour my stomach started chanting Beatles tunes backwards. (What can I say, I'm talented that way.) I have an ulcer and esophagitis and a hiatal hernia and G.E.R.D. There is a reason I don't drink O.J. The ball of whimpering pain I become after ingesting citric acid just isn't a pretty sight. I should have checked the label. My only defense is that I am being held hostage by my unruly bodily functions at this point. There is a reason I don't eat many vegetables, either. They don't like me. Don't get me wrong, I love green things. Very yummy when mixed with things like cheese and ranch dressing and cream of mushroom soup and fried onions. But they tend to rebel against my body by producing gas pockets of evil proportions.

So this stuff must just be a chemical combination of citric acid and vegetables. Don't be fooled by the somewhat enjoyable taste. It lies, folks. Tasty going down but absolutely unholy coming out and up. I think I actually burned a hole in my leather couch while simultaneously farting, sneezing flames and burping out nuclear grade toxic fumes. The juice is evil folks. Don't say you haven't been warned.