Spring Is In the Digital Air: R Von D Attempts Online Dating

I've touched upon this a thousand times before, but I must reiterate again that my social life leaves a lot to be desired. Granted, this will all be over at the end of May when I move to the glorious city of Waltham, MA and get to have bunk beds with the Fridge (I already called bottom because of my small stature, and I'll enjoy watching his fat ass climb up every night). However, at the beginning of this month, I lost faith in my abilities to go out and meet people. I began to think that I was so undesirable to the opposite sex, that I delved into ninth circle of dating hell...online dating.

My experience here has done nothing but affirm my suspicions that I am going to be the cranky old man in the neighborhood who shoots kids with pellet guns when they step on my lawn. I did, however, find out some new things:

1) Fat girls LOVE me: Now I'm not talking "curvy" or "full figured" or "Mother Earth goddess" types here. I'm talking FAT girls. Girls who's ideal date is sensual food play with a fucking turkey drumstick. Oh, and all these girls list their body type as "about average"...right. I don't get it. I mean I was once in great shape, and have admittedly not been in the gym as much as I ought to, but come on. I'm not fat, and can't understand why "normal" females* do not find me attractive. This leads me to my second point:

2) All women are delusional: If you think writing "easy-going" or "loves movies" is going to somehow set you apart from the herd, you're fucking crazy. All girls think they're easy going. What is that shit? The reason you're on this site in the first place is because you're NOT easy going. If you were, you'd take the approach that 'things are going to work themselves out' and not whine and complain about how you can't meet the right people. That is the EXACT OPPOSITE OF EASY GOING, you stupid woman. Side note: Everybody loves movies, who the fuck do you think you are? I mean, granted you look like Roger Ebert, but that doesn't make you a film expert.

3) Every single girl on match.com is taller than me: No bullshit, every "wink" I got was from a girl who was 5'11" or taller. What do they want on a first date? Me to balance on a ball, juggle, and have them throw me across the room? Move onto the next profile, Gigantor, I'm short and stocky and do not need your sympathy or kinky sex acts that involve me dressing up in costumes. I mean...not that I know anything about that or anything...fuck off.

4) My home state is a Greek Tragedy: Seriously, you should see the single girls New Hampshire has to offer, they should seriously have their own fucking telethon.

Now, those are all facts, these are things that I actually witnessed. This is what I have come to. Just this morning, I took a peek at my profile to see that I got an email from a girl who listed her interests as the NRA and the last book she read was something regarding "Fantasy Dragons." Yeah, and did I mention she was 28-years-old and reading fantasy dragon books while going to monthly meetings of the goddamn NRA???!?! Is that fucked to anybody but me? Here's the thing: I majored in classical languages and Asian studies in college. I own several Frank Miller graphic novels, and Coheed and Cambria is one of my favorite bands, but am I THAT big of a goddamn dork?

Here's the thing; I used to be a social guy. Not to toot my own horn, but when I was more of a strapping young man I could throw the claw up and get it down in a crowded room of girls. Now it seems, I attract Dungeon Masters and girls who wash themselves with a rag on a stick. Perhaps I'm being unkind, perhaps they're really nice people and I've just had too much coffee today, but HOLY HELL I need to get out of here.

Okay, enough of the rant, and now onto the real problem with online dating.

The real problem I see here is that decent-looking girls who are on these sites and are "sick of the bar scene" are just as impossible to deal with as they would be in real life. Admittedly, I've done whatever I could to kind of break the ice with every girl who fit my criteria, and even if we seemed like a dynamite fit for each other, I am the first person in the history of online dating to strike out in the email department. Really. I can't even get an online girl to find me to be witty, charming, and perhaps a bit attractive. I'm beginning to think that I peaked sexually at 18 like everybody told me I would, but perhaps I'm putting too much pressure on myself. After all, this was just an experiment for me, just to see what I was up against in the dating world. But I'm beginning to feel like Sisyphus pushing that boulder up the hill** and God is punishing me for ever becoming a Latin teacher in the first place.

Today my own flag is at half mast. I am mourning the loss of my dignity and any social life I thought I had. Take a moment moment out of your day for observed silence for me.

Fucking fantasy dragons,
R Von D




*There are, of course, no normal women left on Earth.
**Classical mythology reference alert!

I Traveled 3000 Miles For This?

Spring 2007

My former college roommate, Mike, was now living in Chicago and I hadn't had any debaucherous activity with him in almost 2 years. We decided that a trip to Phoenix, AZ to catch the Red Sox play the DBacks was a wise plan of attack, as we had clearly won our battles with the East Coast and Doon had staked a strong claim in the Midwest. 2 of Mike's high school buddies, Matt and Craig were up for a vacation as well. And so it was settled, Friday June 7^th we would all fly to Phoenix. Matt, Craig and I would fly from Logan Int'l in Boston and Mike would depart from Chicago. We settled all of our reservations in early April and the anticipation mounted for a few months.

June 7 2007

5:45 AM (EST): Three chubby white men boisterously make their way through the Air Tran Airways security checkpoint at Logan. We are all dressed appropriately for an early summer's morning. Jeans and hooded sweatshirts as it is before 6AM. This was to be my first flight since I was approximately 7 years old and take note that I had refused to go on several vacations in previous years because of a fear of flying after 9/11. Obviously, I ended up with the seat across the aisle from Matt and Craig. During take-off, I think I legitimately reached for Matt's hand twice across the aisle for comfort. A relatively uneventful 90 minute flight to Atlanta ensued. I think it was the free XM radio featuring an entire station of Kelly Clarkson hits that saved me from a panic attack.

9:00AM (EST): Do not ever ask for Pepsi products anywhere in Georgia. Someone pulled out an Uzi on me just for seeking out Mt. Dew. The headquarters of Coca Cola is somewhere near ATL and they are all real homers down there. We boarded a new Air Tran flight, now bound for Phoenix. By this point we (note, college educated adults in their 20s) had realized that we could make transvestite jokes out of the name of our airline. This became exponentially more amusing when something that resembled Buffalo Bill from Silence of the Lambs boarded our flight. I would spend the next 3 hours staring out the window to avoid eye contact with the it sitting 3 rows away. (Note: If you keep in mind the fact that we were in an air conditioned airplane then airport for the entire duration after our exit from New England, the next part of this story will be funnier.)

9:00AM (PST): "Folks, we'll be touching down at Phoenix's Sky Harbor International Airport in about ten minutes. The time is currently 9AM Pacific Standard Time, the sky is clear and it's a gorgeous summer morning. It's currently about 105 degrees and we thank you for flying Air Tran Airways." Oh no.

9:30AM (PST): Matt, Craig and I found Mike in the airport, as he had arrived a few minutes ahead of us from Chicago. We stepped outdoors, started sweating profusely, and hailed a taxi van as quickly as possible.

10:45AM (PST): After checking into our hotel in downtown Phoenix, we realized that it was actually more like 2 in the afternoon back east. We needed to feed. Being newcomers to the West Coast, we sought out the closest In 'N Out Burger. Unfortunately, it was 20 minutes away in Tempe. We took a $60 round trip cab to Tempe just to eat 3 cheeseburgers (4x4 animal style.) During our return to Phoenix, we saw billboards galore for something called "Miller Chill." It was clearly a Miller Brewing Company product, but it was being advertised with a Mexican theme. This needed to be investigated further. After arriving back at our hotel, we set out on foot (AWFUL IDEA IN 110 DEGREE HEAT) to hunt down Miller Chill. We brought beverages back to our hotel and started saucing up. To our great bewilderment and surprise, Miller Chill was the cerveza of the gods.

6:30PM (PST): We stumbled towards Bank One Ballpark. We watched the Sox smoke the DBacks. Uneventful part number 1 of trip. We sat in a luxury club suite section where Long Island Iced Tea quickly became the drink of choice.

10:30PM (PST): We found a cab after game. "Take us to the finest Gentlemen's Establishment within your city limits." Somehow, we failed to realize that Phoenix's city limits are about 2000 square miles wide. Our second expensive cab ride of the day later, we were located at Phoenix's lovely BOURBON STREET CIRCUS. Just the name of this place was awesome. As an experienced customer of gentlemen's establishments, I can easily say that this place had the cleanest and least creepy restrooms I'd ever used. It actually had those old-school saloon doors to get inside. An un-named member of our party actually did a Pac-Man Jones impersonation and made it rain onto the stage.

June 8 2007

2:00AM (PST): Sleep.

8:00AM (PST): Wake up and watch Sportscenter on loop for 2.5 hours in hotel room.

11:00AM (PST): Mike, Matt and I decide it's time to get started. We leave Craig alone in hotel room rubbing on himself. We found a lovely Mexican place called "los hermanos." Nothing like a tall, cool Budweiser at 11am to get you feeling a little sad about yourself. Matt reminded Matt and I that it was well after 12 noon where we were really from. This time zone business really fouls up your feelings of self-worth. After a few hours spent at "los hermanos" and your humble author feeling confused about not being able to find any $1 bills in his wallet, we set out back for the hotel.

2:15PM (PST): Your confused and slightly hungover/drunk author realizes his cell phone is conspicuous by its absence. Matt remembers seeing me place it down on a table during a "dance" the previous night. Luckily, I had several ATM receipts in my wallet from the Bourbon Street Circus, so it wasn't tough to find the phone number. One easy phone call later, I knew that the proprietor of the Circus was going to hold onto my phone for the afternoon if I would like to retrieve it. I took a lonely $40 cab ride outside of my comfort zone and entered a strip club by myself and while it was sunny out. Yuch. At least I had my phone back and wouldn't have to explain that one to anyone when I got home.

4:00PM (PST) The Four Horsemen decided to hit the hotel pool for a quick dip and cool off. Unfortunately, we found that every other awful Red Sox fan at our hotel had the same idea. I actually heard arguments debating whether WAAF or WBCN was a better station. We also found out that residents of Revere and Everett do not enjoy each others' company and are willing to do cannonballs into the pool to prove that they are tougher than one another. This basically looked like the parking lot at Gilette Stadium before a pre-season Patriots game where you get those weirdo fans who can't afford regular season tickets, but there was a pool in the middle. It was awful and I apologize to Hyatt Regency Hotels' staff for being a willing and active part of it.

7:00PM (PST) We again stumble into Bank One Ballpark. Spend 9 innings sitting right behind the DBacks bullpen harassing their middle relief. Uneventful part number 2 of the trip.

10:00PM (PST) Mike had done some recon on the Phoenix area before the trip and found a karaoke bar for us to visit. I brought the house down with an epic rendition of Justin Timberlake's "Cry Me A River" and such Karaoke Revue staples as "Just a Gigolo" and "Mack the Knife." You'd be surprised how much the residents of Arizona appreciate Diamond David Lee Roth as performed by el Fridgerino. Our associate Matt stepped outside to vomit into the bushes and with this we were informed by the staff that closing time was at 1:30.

June 9 2007

1:15AM (PST): Matt and I decided we needed some food. We left Mike and Craig behind at the bar with two large women in their late thirties. We walked through a drive-through of a taco place and ate our food walking back down the street towards the bar. We heard a strange noise come out of some sagebrush on the side of the road. I couldn't tell if it was a human-sized scorpion or a 60 foot long rattle snake. In a move reminiscent of Ron Von Don on the streets of Hartford…all in one motion I hailed a cab, opened the door and threw Matt into the backseat to get away from the mutated creatures that stalk white boys on the mean streets of outer Phoenix. We got back next to the bar and we informed our chauffer that we had 2 more riders. Craig happily joined us in the cab while Mike spent 10 minutes entertaining the thought of spending the night with his new ladyfriends in Mesa, AZ. (Mapquest it, he would have been 45 miles away from Phoenix, moron.) I started pleading with the driver to leave him in the parking lot, telling Craig and Matt that Mike would "pay for this decision," but those two (being more loyal friends) made sure that we didn't leave him. Even screaming "don't go home with those fat c's" out the window of the cab couldn't make his mind up. It wasn't until one of us yelled something about the ladies being part of the Arizona Cardinals offensive line that Mike was convinced to rejoin us.

2:00AM (PST): Sleep.

10:00AM (PST): I get pulled out of security line for trying to sneak a Randy Johnson bobblehead onto the plane. Apparently having a pock marked pit faced doll with you on an airplane is now a federal offense.

4:00PM (EST): We arrive in friendly Atlanta again. This time, we do not order any Pepsi products.

10:00PM (EST): I arrive home in Nashua. Sunburned, tired and still confused where all my $1 bills are.

Who Loves Irony!?

As of right now (March 24th, 2008 10:22 AM) I am sitting in a seminar for teachers discussing appropriate web site usage in the classroom and I am writing this while some Canadian frog is going on and on about appropriate web usage. Why am I doing this instead of paying attention? Two reasons. One, I really don't care what the kids do on the internet in my classroom, if they fail they fail and I will smile while their parents grovel at my feet for better grades. Two, I'm R Von D and I do what I want, when I want, how I want to do it, and who I want to do it with...so put that in your back pocket.

Any questions, concerns, please direct them to Fridge, K-Rock, or The C, or Dana Complaina, 'cause I don't give a shit.

Two fingers, One love,

R Von D

R Von D's Internet Videos of the Week: Vol. 2

Back from vacation, thought I'd break you assholes off somethin' proper.

1. The Best Scenes from "The Wicker Man:"
If you haven't seen this Nicholas Cage box office bomb, here are the best parts. And by "best parts" I mean "unintentionally absolutely goddamn hilarious parts" like Cage punching women and getting a helmet of bees put on his head. Please to enjoy.





2. Midget Wrestler Tossed Into A Sliding Face Plant:
There are very few things in this world that make me happier than a retard with an ice cream cone. Three of these things come together in one glorious internet clip: midgets (or "little people" to be politically correct), professional wrestling, and face plants. Watch how far this little bastard slides across the ring. Don't you just want to pick him up and hug him after that?


Midget Tossed Into A Sliding Faceplant - Watch more free videos


3. The Ipecac Vomit Prank:
Glorious prank I wish I could pull off on one of my friends that doesn't like me all that much (K-Rock comes to mind). I think this kid's reaction is a bit much. I like to think that after the searing pain in my stomach subsided and there was no more stomach fluids for me to flush out, I'd have a good laugh. At least I think, I may kill some people first, guess we'll have to wait and see right?


Ipecac Vomit Prank - Watch more free videos

4. Canadian Reporter Gets Smoked By A Sled Mid-Broadcast:
This happened to me once so I should feel bad right? Wrong. This happened to me when I was fuckin' five and not a grown man broadcasting on live television. Take that, queer.


Reporter Owned By Sled - Watch more free videos

5. A Video From the "Are You Serious?" Files:
Meet Sharon and Fred. They make movies. They're also married and are probably the two creepiest people I have ever seen. The cuts are awful, the dialog is horrible, the animation is worst thing I have ever seen, and I pray to God that these people don't have kids. Oh, and how about mentioning the anniversary at the end of this? What are these two going to tape on their anniversary? Could you imagine Fred piping Sharon with some Loch Ness Monster animation in the background? Yeah, have fun with that image in your head the rest of the day.


Worlds Best Video Production Company - Watch more free videos


Enjoy ya bastids,

R to the D

Dana Complaina's Gripes of the Week, Vol. 1

In keeping with the overall theme of my nickname and attitude towards
life, I give you my top 5 gripes of the week. Just a few little things
that are really chapping my bottom this week.

1. Tagging on Facebook. There is nothing more invasive, annoying and
inconsiderate than receiving an email alerting me that someone has
"tagged 50 photos of you" on facebook. Here's the thing, sure we had a
great time last weekend. Yes, I'm glad you took pictures so we'll
never forget it. But what gave you the idea I wanted everyone I went
to high school and college with, met at a bar that one time, made out
with two years ago, or currently work with to know what I did, who I
was with, and the poor decisions I made? Is it really necessary? Are
you that desperate for attention? Do you have a life? Are you just
dying for people to see on their news feed that you've posted pictures?
Grow up. Get a life. You're dumb.

2. PT Cruisers. What retard decided that designing a turn of the
century"gansta" car would be a good idea? Do you see the people who
drive these things? Holy smokes. Yeah guy, you're looking real tough
in your purple PT Cruiser. Your vanity license plate it killer too,
how long did it take you to come up with "GNGSTR?"

3. Recycling. Now I realize green is in, but come on. I got an email
from HR today saying that a "concerned staffer noticed plastic bottles
piling up in the trash" and that drastic measures will be taken to
resolve the issue. Drastic measures? What are you going to do, have a
trash monitor? Are we in 3rd grade, we can't handle throwing our own
trash away? And who takes the time to take an inventory of what's in
the trash at work? Looks like someone needs a little extra work to do
instead of poking around the receptacle. Maybe you should just quit
and start working for Greenpeace, I heard they need a few extra hands.
Weirdo hippy.

4. Movie rental late fees. They no longer exist. This sounds like a
good thing to the common person, but a true movie lover knows this is
poison. There are 3 movies that I'm dying to see. Michael Clayton,
American Gangster, and Jesse James. I've gone to Blockbuster on 3
different occasions over a week and every time I go the outcome is the
same, NO FREAKING MOVIES. How can this be? How can a movie rental
store, that's what they do, provide movies for rent and return, not
have ONE copy of any of the hottest titles out right now? I'll tell
you how, people are not being punished for failing to abide by the due
date. This is ludacris. Did you get in trouble if you passed in a term
paper late? Yes. Did your parents ground you if you were late for
curfew? Yes. I certainly get a ticket every time I forget to fill the
parking meter. Then why shouldn't you be punished for not returning a
movie on time?? I know it's sitting on your coffee table. You watched
it once, your done. You could have had it in the next day, but no.
Instead you're punishing me. I hate you.

5. Buffet Restaurants. Now I understand this is a sensitive subject,
especially for our two original authors, but I gotta get this off my
chest. These have to be the most disgusting places on earth. I have an
idea, let's semi cook food and leave it out for hours then charge
people $30 a head to eat as much as they can. Sounds like a plan to
me. Oh wait, let's make sure we pack it in with people who have NO
respect for personal space. Everyone all up in each other's nut, yeah
that sounds good. Little kids running around your ankles grabbing at
food. Arms reaching across you chest like savages who have never
tasted food before. That'll be great. It'll be a hit. People will love
it.

Fridge's Five Stages of Work Related Anger

I have a very nice job. I work at a solid, respected company and have my own cubicle. By no means am I miserable like Dana Complaina. In fact, I tried to get Miss C a job at my company. I don't know what went wrong, she probably brought her negative attitude into the interview and screwed it all up. The point of my writings this evening is to tell you, dear reader, about my five stages of anger that I express during the average work day. I have a kickass iPod boombox on my desk at work and over 4000 songs to choose from, and I could just use multisyllabic words (like RVD would) to describe my hate and disgust. Instead, I'm going to let you imagine my demeanor based on my musical selections at each of these five stages.


DEFCON 5 - 311/Incubus
Here, I'm still at the point where I think that music with positive vibes can cure me. One of my coworkers has generally asked me a repeated question that I explained to he or she (probably a she) at least twelve times before. Perhaps my GChat isn't working so I can't communicate with Ron Von Don and Dana Complaina. Most mornings bring some bad news though...Hillary Clinton still allowed in public without a muzzle, the Red Sox signing an obese Bartolo Colon, the Celtics signing an alien looking Sam Cassell, or me getting poked inappropriately by one of K-Rock's idiot PSU friends on facebook. Oh well, maybe things are looking up.

DEFCON 4 - TOOL/Smashing Pumpkins
I've passed the point where music can positively effect me. I'm at the stage where I need to tap my feet to the beat of a song or else my foot is going into the back of someone's head when they are stupidly staring at their computer without being able to comprehend the work in front of them. The general creepiness of Maynard J Keenan and Billy Corgan amuse me to the point where I (unfortunately) probably still seem approachable to people at the office. I guess subconsciously I'm listening to 7th grade rock because I had no responsibility then, and wish it was the same now. Someone please stab me with a letter opener.

DEFCON 3 - Iron Maiden
More than likely, sweat is beading up on my forehead because I've realized that I have at least six more hours of this douchebaggery to deal with. It's two hours into the work day and the best conversation my cube mates can come up with is to discuss the congestion on Rtes 128 and 90 that morning. People should only be allowed to complain about things that they can't control...like "Wow, that Condi Rice still won't give me the time of day, even with the naked pictures I sent her,"... perfectly acceptable. But choosing to live 40 miles away from your office and complaining that it took you two hours to get to work will henceforth be met with a very, very dirty look from two angry eyes in my bald head. I find that "Number of the Beast" gets me through the 10am hour fairly well due to the fact that I can pretend I'm playing Guitar Hero.

DEFCON 2 - Kelly Clarkson
All I want is to be left alone. I can see lunch coming, but I know my phone is going to ring and that stupid Outlook email preview window is going to pop up at least twice before I can feed. Miss Independent is my only hope at this point. The topic of conversation has moved from traffic to the weather now. Everyone has also mentioned at least twice that they have headaches and are really tired. Hearing KC's voice and picturing her hazel eyes is my only hope to make it to lunch without committing a homicide.

DEFCON 1 - Daughtry
I get back from lunch and find out that no one has quit, my phone has voicemails and my computer still works. Power buttrock ballads are my only hope for 3 more hours of work. This music really gives me a chance to meditate on the real struggles of other middle class catholic straight caucasians. Maybe I don't have it so bad. After all, I could be a high school Latin teacher.

Cheers,
William Perry

R Von D Vs. The Norovirus

On Wednesday of this week I, out of the goodness of my heart, decided to take one of my students to go see his brother (a former student of mine) play in a minor league hockey game. During the car ride my current student, we'll call him Kyle, and I were shooting the shit. He was telling me how excited he was to see his brother play and how he had just gotten over a terrible stomach virus that had him throwing up for the past two days. I then, in an almost insanely foreboding tone, told him that if he had an immune system like mine, he would not have to worry about such things. You see the ironic twist that is coming? Let me tell you about the game first:

To be honest, the game itself was not the most interesting part of the evening. But let me tell you this. If I were in charge of the Bridgeport Sound Tigers, I would have shot all of my full-time employees at the end of this contest. Here are some highlights.

-During the first intermission, some tarted up little wannabe on-air whore came out of the tunnel with a bunch of little kids. To the crowd, she announces that these kids are going to be playing musical chairs the grand prize of which will be a t-shirt. Mind you these children are going to be running around and pushing each other on a near frictionless surface with no safety equipment. I'd fee bad, but all of these kids were from either Long Island or Bridgeport, CT, so if any of them cracked their heads open I really wouldn't have cared, but what if there were a well-adjusted kid out there by accident? Cover your bases.

-In an even more inexplicable lack of safety precautions, the second period saw both an old lady AND a developmentally disabled lad who were sitting next to each other in the handicap section BOTH get struck with pucks flying into the stands. Both of these literally happened within five minutes of each other. First the old lady took one off the dome, then the poor kid sitting next to her got vulcanized rubber right off the jaw. The elderly and the mentally handicapped do not ask for much. All they need are shiny things, some Play-dough, maybe the occasional puppet show, and to be sat behind the tall glass at a hockey game. Not too much to ask.

So the game ends and Kyle and I leave the wretched crowd amidst the throng of ugly people, fat people, and ugly fat people from Long Island and make our way home. Before we got back to school though, we made a stop at a local fast food establishment for some comfort food. Kyle told me he hadn't eaten in a couple days so he was psyched to eat something. We exited with our value meals and took the show on the road. Along the way, as we were talking, I made a grab for a soda, took a sip, and a feeling of dread hit me. I had taken a sip out of Kyle's soda. I was more worried that he would notice than whether or not I was going to get sick because come on, I'm the D...and the D never gets sick.

Around 3:30 AM on Thursday though, I woke up with what I thought was a back spasm. The ache in my back was almost unbearable, so I rolled out of bed to stand up and stretch. As I arched my back while standing, it hit me. The wave of nausea was so great that I had no choice but to sprint to my bathroom. I made the fifteen foot journey in about three steps. You might not know it to look at me, but when I need to I have the agility of a fucking puma, for God himself blessed me with the sweet-feet. So there I am puking in my bathroom for a solid forty five minutes. I had not thrown up due to an illness in a ridiculous stretch of time, over ten years at least. Needless to say I did not handle it well at all. You ever watch that show "Celebrity Rehab" when Jeff Conway was puking into his trashcan? If not, I probably sounded and looked a lot like this (the fist part not the second part):


So when I got done doing that, I eventually found some way to fall back asleep for like an hour at a time before having to get up again. This went on for the entirety of the next day. I did manage, however, to get out of the house to pick up a few things at the local apothecary. Here are the list of items I picked up:

-NyQuil
-Orange Juice
-Pepto Bismol
-Baby Wipes
-New York Magazine (Lindsay Lohan cover)
-Sour Apple Altoids
-Tylenol PM

From the looks of my basket, and the way I must have looked for that matter, you would have thought my name was Ricky and I drove a windowless van around the suburbs but I was way too sick to care what anybody thought.

So the rest of that day was spent whacked out on drugs and drinking as much fluids as I could. While I was awake though I did manage to take some hot showers. Interestingly enough, I managed to throw up on myself while in the shower once. I thought I was just gonna make a little burp having just drank some warm ginger ale, but it was not to be. There are very few things worse than cleaning puke off of yourself, and one of those I'll mention later.

So after the first day I was feeling a little better. My stomach was feeling a bit better and I was not as nauseous, but I still didn't feel right. As it turns out, my dear reader, the norovirus, or GI Bug as it is more commonly known, is a fickle bride, and once she is tired of spewing from one orifice, she then favors the other. So, day two of my illness was nothing but photo-finishes and fear. Why fear? You try and spend an entire day of your life scared of your own farts. The mystical things that used to bring me so much joy in life suddenly turned on me. What if you had a dog from when you were very small until now? What if you raised that dog, had wonderful times with it, and raised it to be your best friend? Then one day, as you were both older, that sweet puppy tried to rip your throat out? That was the second day of my illness. I was scared for my life. The one thing I could always count on to make me smile, my own flatulence, had turned on me. And that, my dear reader, is no way to live. Luckily for me, and unluckily for people like Michael Vick and Bad Newz Kennelz, they make medicine for my predicament, and it is called Immodium.

Why am I telling you all of this? What greater good does this serve? Many will say none. Some will say it made them smile. Few will say it reminds them to keep a bottle of purell in their house and to stay away from germ-infested scumbags like teen-aged boys. They are the source of all that is wrong in this world and it is times like this that I revel in the fact that I only have two months left at my post at Fort Scum. Oh, and here is a little something that Gregoire sent to me after I told him of my plight:


See you in hell, my friend
-R Von Diz