I'm ill.

Yes, again. I don't know what the fuck is going on with my immune system. I can't believe it's failed me TWICE IN ONE YEAR. YEAH I KNOW. It's a shambles. Immuno-Crew, sort your fucking lives out. But I can't be too harsh on them; perhaps they have some sort of complicated and exciting plan in letting me get sick again. I'm going to assume that my cells are going through a long protracted exciting storyline (a la that one in the Spiderman TV show where he kept mutating and eventually turned into a horrific Spider-monster before being reversed instantaneously by ONE INJECTION) in which I keep getting ill and an important main-character cell gets killed off just before the season finale (probably involving the bird flu) which will raise as many strange and enigmatic questions and it answers but will eventually end up with the status quo of the immuno system restored - BUT FOR HOW LONG???/1/??!//jiohm m m mjmmmmm k :'(

:D

Oh man I'm not well. Firstly, I've made up a tv series about my immune system. Then I've gone off on a random tangent. Then I USED SMILEYS. NOTHING I'M WRITING IS MAKING ANY SENSE. I PREDICT THAT I'M DELIRIOUS. AND I MEANT TO TAKE THE CAPS LOCK KEY OFF ABOUT 16 (or 15 and a half) words ago. Maaaan. I have been pretty feverish in recent days, as you may or may not have noticed from the level (or lack thereof) of coherency in my 'writing'. And I haven't slept much, a fact that may explain my artistic secretions later on in this post. The other night was particulary bad; I was convinced that the top of my bed was the top of a deep, deep valley made of ice-cream, filled with strings (but for some reason, the ice-cream was boiling hot and very very sticky). And attached to each string was a medieval lord having some sort of religious crisis. And as I tried to sleep I would sink into the valley and get entangled in all the strings and I would have to figure out the religious crises of the various characters. And if I didn't get it right they threw how blankets on my head and screamed at me. I don't know why. IT WAS A DREAM. But that didn't stop me from trying to figure out the crises in my feverish way. I just got very confused and my brain started to ache. And then, of course, the only way to climb out of the valley was to kind of roll out of bed and get back in again, at which point I would just sink back in to the hell-hole valley of the strings. Christ.

Meanwhile, my father (running London Marathon on Sunday) has started avoiding me like the literal plague, refusing to eat dinner with me, leaving the room when I enter, disinfecting my shoes with fire, making a sign of the cross and throwing holy water @ me, injecting hot acid into my eyeballs, ETC. But that doesn't stop him from drilling really loudly in the room just under mine, which creates a grinding sensation in my sinuses akin to having a dentist's drill going off in my face for TWO SOLID HOURS.

So yeah. I've basically been moping around, watching the snooker, and not doing homework. Seriously, I have some sort of pathological fear of starting my homework. Or revision. Or anything, really. I have done literally nothing for the past three days since getting back from Amsterdam. It's not like I haven't tried to be non-lazy. I mean, today I decided to Get Down To Some Work No I Mean Seriously This Time I Really Will Crack On. But then I realised my desk was messy and I had to clear it up. So I did that for an hour. Then I updated the calendar on my wall. Then I got distracted with all the bits of paper (I have many bits of paper) I'd unearthed during the aforementioned clearup, and I was forced to read each one individually, then file then away. I found this awesome picture that I doodled during an English class a while back. It was the result my initial brainstorming to make my own awesome Internet Comic for this blog, á la Goatse or Tubgirl. The idea never came into fruition (it will do in about a year when I've run out of all other ideas and have resorted to Photoshopping penguins into porn to get my literate and alliterative kicks) but there's still this first bad-boy of an initial comic to go on. Check it out, it's awesome:



You see, because I'm drawing the comic strip I AM GOD in the milieu that this character exists in, so therefore I can smite HIM for the rude thing he said about me. Aren't I great? Isn't that an ironic subversion of established literary principles? I think it is. And check out the tie on that guy. That thing took some drawin', I'll tell you that for free.
When I found this Da Vinicist work of pure art, I felt somehow... revitilised. I felt creative and decided to blog. But what could I blog about? I surely couldn't just write a long rambling blog going nowhere in which I kind of talk about what I did today, could I? Absolutely out of the question, ducky. So I opened photoshop and made the following picture. It was literally the first thing that came into my mind:



If you look carefully, you'll see that the entire concept of the masterpiece is pinned upon the basic tenet of the similarity in phonological patterning between 'AIDS' and 'GRENADES'. You get it? It's cool, eh? And I even made a jingle. Just sing the following words really loudly to whatever tune you want. But sing the last word in a really high pitched tone, like I would be doing right now if only my throat wasn't filled with phlegm and I was able to speak in anything but a girlish whisper

AIDS GRENADES! LIKE NORMAL GRENADES BUT FILLED... WITH... AIIIIIIIIIIIIIDS!

So yes, this is what I chose to do instead of attempting to further my education. I made a picture of some foreigners being pelted with explosives full of a deadly viral disease, and then wrote 1,104 words on the internet talking about how I made said picture.

I should make a promise to myself that I'll never be creative again.

Comedy Mohammed No. 20:

I like snails. They rule. So much more than their evil compatriots, the slugs. Aidan. And Michaela.