Well, shit. Hillary Clinton's not the only one hiding dirty secrets about her health. I'm sitting at my desk with wads of Kleenex under my arms and some damn baby powder on my temples. I'm working on a word document. The family doctor told me to write whatever I want and he'll put it on company letterhead and sign it.
Now, it appears I have a choice, monkeys. Originally, this was supposed to get me off of work for a few days. But seeing how things worked out for Clinton, I might just go the Trump route and give myself a clean bill of health. You know, to bolster my dominance if shit goes way downhill later this week.
Saturday felt like a bad hangover. This confused me because Friday night I never went to bed. Sure, I might have been sweating, but I was at the club, and I was up to my usual shenanigans. But I even ate some soup in the afternoon, which is old people food. I guess that was when I admitted defeat.
Yesterday I spent a couple of hours looking in the mirror trying to will myself to look normal, like some kind of color changing lizard. I pulled the Shake Weight out of the liquor cabinet and I could barely even hold it, let alone harness the power of its dynamic inertia. I poured myself a whiskey, no creatine (that's how you know it's bad) and got in the bathtub for the rest of the day.
I caught up on Stranger Things. Then I fell asleep on the bathroom floor like a sorority girl. I called my doctor and asked him if he'd do me a favor in exchange for Knicks season tickets. He said "The Knicks can eat shit, just write what you want me to sign." Good man.
Today is a fever dream. I am here at work because instead of finishing the doctor's note last night, I barfed in the sink and cocooned myself in blankets and sweat until six am, whereupon I went to the gym and sat on the weight bench drinking water.
Cool, I'm adhering to the routine. I'm good to go to work, look at me crushing it. Yep. I'm feeling normal. Why am I crying? I dunno, it's involuntary. I guess allergies. Or pollution? Or onions. I dunno, man. Sunday was 9/11 and we're in New York. Why AREN'T you crying?
You guys work sick, right? It'd be a total pussy move to go home right now. It's getting kinda close to lunch. I can have an Adderall nap. People are looking at me a little weird but they can't prove shit. Fuck 'em. If anyone asks, I'm the healthiest individual ever hired to work here. According to my doctor.