The Itch Of Ages Strikes Back
I should be quarantined. I should be boxed in a sterile environment. Instead, I am running amuck mass railway transits, cabs, and rush hour lifts. You see, little brats (I mean it) living with me are playing gracious hosts to the viral blight on vanity, the chicken pox. Which leads me to suspect there may be viral pathogens clinging on the fabric of my shirt, my jeans. The hair, however, poses no real threat to even the most poorly immunized bystander. No virus can possibly escape the tenuous hold of Dep. Now, if you think I have a history of pox running in my veins, you are wrong. But worry not, chicken pox virgins. If my antibodies prove no match against these microscopic miscreants that could infect even a bacteria, then I will lock myself in solitude and meditate on the complexities of life, like how the microwave oven works, or how they put the graphite in pencils, or how Nicole Richie can stand being herself.
If you it off thge florr you have a higher immune system. Try it.
It may be a false alarm. But I'm not letting my guard down. I think my mind-over-matter mojo is actually working. Creepy.
First it itches. Then it gives you a nuclear fever. Then it bores you to death.
Been there. Not fun. Good luck, pre.
And to add to your musings: bakit ang pop pag Hapon ang kumakanta, hindi baduy?
Just remember what doesn't kill, makes you stronger.
Doing a Uri Geller number on the pox can be quite taxing to a regular couchpotato like me. So, I went to the nearest drugstore and took the pharmaceutical shortcut to a pox-free existence.
I got this over-the-counter drug that actually prevents the virus from making babies.
Now, now, ain't that harsh?
This is quite a charming conversion.
Charming? Hello-Kitty charming. Hehe
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