Chuck E. Cheese carries five times as many diseases as your average rat.

Yeah. So.

Last week, I went to Chuck E. Cheese's with Kim, nephew and nieces in tow. Pizza, ancient arcade games (but hey, the kids don't know any better), and, of course, ski ball. Wooha.

Yes, well. Come Saturday, I could feel something creeping in. Scrathy throat, etc. Sunday, worse, but still not really set in.

Monday, I can barely lift my head. A full blown attack of las plagas. Wooha.

It's Thursday night (Friday morning, whatever) now, and I'm still all fucked up. It's better than it was, but not GOOD. And this is a good weekend for shows! Hairpin Murders at Sluggo's and Karmella's Game at the Gutter on Friday and Saturday, respectively. I'm going to try my damnedest to make it out, but I can't make guarantees. If I'm still totally fucked, I'll stay home. If I think I can swing it with help, I'll dose up on flu meds and find someone to drive me, if they can stand possible exposure to las plagas, of course. Or maybe I'll be significantly better by then. I know I'm getting better, but I have no idea how quickly. I suppose I'll just keep my fingers crossed.

So! If any of you fuckers plan on hitting one or more of these shows, and you are also the type who loves danger-- like the threat of contracting a communicable disease that may cause you to cough of bits of your own internal organs-- let me know! I may need a chaffeur if I'm still bad enough to require these meds. They make me woozy like a motherfucker... no sense of balance, constant zoning out, etc. No way I'm driving on that shit. Plus, I'll want some beer. =b

Anyway, maybe I'll see you out. Maybe I won't. I promise I'll try, though.