Easing Myself Back Into It

Praise the Lord and pass the biscuits, I've finally returned to Austin. The conventional notions of time show me that I was only away for a few days. However, in my own mind, I feel like I've been gone for years, off fighting in the Crusades. It got particularly bad this morning when a gentleman cut in front of me at McDonald's; I called him an infidel and attempted to fire a catapult full of burning manure at him. Well, I succeeded in firing the catapult, but I missed my target and instead coated the playground with my ammo. Let us hope that the parents of the kids and their lawyers all buy my explanation that it was actually a shower of flaming reindeer droppings from Santa's sleigh.

I believe I'm getting a little sick. I felt it creeping up a few weeks ago, and so I've spent most of my free time lately in the hospital, demanding a complete blood transfusion. Each time I go, I get the same question: "Have you considered medication, Mr. Powell?" I respond, "This is no time for half measures. Either swap it all out entirely, or I'm driving to a swamp and looking for some leeches." At this point, I usually get tasered, which certainly doesn't help the immune system.

Tonight, I'm going to stay in, rest up, and hopefully be ready to rock in the morning. If, by some freak occurrence, I don't feel better by tomorrow, I'll be making a little trip with a mason jar, a flashlight, and the directions to the nearest swamp. Hopefully the gator bites will rest uneasily on the consciences of those "medical professionals".