Feverish:

I am full of flu. Fluid phlegm flacating flacidly from frozen ... nostrils? I am sitting in front of a fire that I full intend to keep burning for as long as I'm awake. Forcasts fully fund five to fifteen further flurries of ... alertness. I dose, the write, then doze and wish for proper sleep.

The letter is F is full of awesome things. Like felatio.

Rambling:

I consider all of you my freinds. Most of you I know pretty well, and the others I have no clue. But I like that kind of informal, semi-anonymous sort of freindship. It's possible to be honest without reprecussions. Reprecussions tend to be complicated, and I'm surrounded by complicated people. Which worries me, I'm in no state to be thinking about such troublesome things. I keep getting asked to help people when they are having relationship trouble. Which is ironic, because I'm terrible at relationships. Such is the way of the world I geuss.

I want to go home, so I can shit normally again.

We have a qoute wall in the living room of our lounge. The rules are, the qoutes have to be made within the walls of the house, it must be voted awesome. And no explaination is ever to be given. And so, for your delectation, I present and excerpt from the wall.

"I couldn't possibly get AIDS. I drink so much tea" -Amos
"Dee-di-da-dee-di-da-da-dee-de-da-raped by wolves" -Mark.

Delirium:

I love you guys, but I couldn't possibly drink another pan-galactic gargle blaster. One can only have ones brains smashed out by gold bricks wrapped in lemons. Or was that the other way around. Someone quickly order me all of the Hitch-hikers Guide to the Galaxy trilogy (all 5 of them), and send them to my home address. That I can a) qoute that correctly and b) read the rest of the damn series.

I think my nasal cavities are slowly melting, causing a backlog of ghosts in the sinus, leading to headaches which only angers the brain imps, who jump on neural pathways, startling the muscle sloths into unexpected action. The muscle sloths, angered by this exercise, excrete the lactic acid of anger. All of this combines to make me crave the fire I lie in front of. Fire loves me, and has never betrayed me yet.

I want you.
I shall seek you
and find you.
I shall take you to bed
and have my way with you.
I will make you ache
shake
and sweat.
Until you moan and graon.
I will make you beg for mercy.
I will you exhaust you to the point
that you will be releived when I'm finished with you
and you will be weak for days.
All my love,
Swine flu.