I woke up with the unmistakable stirrings of a cold beginning to bubble in my head. Why? Didn't I just get rid of the mother of all colds a few weeks ago? What's up with this?
I think I know what's bringing this on. As you know, if you've been reading anything I've written over the past few months (recent years?), I don't get out much anymore. I'm a stay-at-homer pretty much all the time now.
But - what's happening now is this: every time I leave the house and step out onto the street, somebody rushes up and kisses me. They're glad to see me, they say. They've been wondering what happened, where I've been hiding myself, what's been going on; but, golly, gee, seeing me out and about again just thrills them no end that they have to rush up, grab me in a big old hug and plant a sloppy wet one on my lips. I no sooner turn to walk away than someone else is grabbing me and repeating the scenario. A few yards further down, and people start falling out of doorways to get to me. Soon, strangers are rushing up to me, thinking I must be someone, otherwise, why would all these people be showing me so much love?
It's a conspiracy, that's what it is. There is a black-robed cabal at work out there with one overriding goal: to obliterate me from the face of the earth. These kisses are nothing more than assassination attempts.
Well, you've done your work well, you masters of deception. I've caught that cold you've worked so hard to infect me with.
So what is there left for me to do? I may soon be out, but I'll be taking some of you out with me. I intend to start hitting the streets with as much regularity as my time left on earth will allow me. I'll be kissing you all back, returning each wet sloppy one of yours with one of my own. This cold will carry and spread among you all, and soon I'll be riding your backs down the slippery slopes of hell, sneezing and coughing deliriously!
Mess with me, will ya?
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