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Brian's illness is your gain

So it's the cold and flu season around our house, which is as delightful as it sounds:

Alternating hot and cold snot taps, flowing freely from both nostrils.

Puffy piles of brain cotton jammed behind eyeballs.

More joint pain than a Colorado hippie who's jammed his thumb.

In other words, I'm a mess.

And the cats are no help whatsoever. You'd think an animal that bounds into the kitchen demanding to be fed any time someone shifts a muscle in that general direction would be a bit more understanding when their only source of food delivery is down for the count.

My nose has honked out so much foreign-looking stuff this week, Donald Trump wants to build a wall around my face and make Proctor pay for it.

If I can aim my next few sneeze blasts towards my truck, I'll save a fortune in Turtle Wax.

Ugh ... c'mon, cat. I need some juice. How hard is it to stack a few Tupperware bowls up to the refrigerator handle and yank? I know you're aware of the location of the fridge. Your 3 a.m. yargling is usually emanating from the kitchen and the only other appliance in there you care about is the stove, and that's only because you keep batting EVERY SINGLE ONE OF YOUR PLUSHY MICE UNDER IT FOR ME TO FISH OUT WITH A YARDSTICK! AND I'M SICK!!

coughhackwheeze

'Scuse me. I need to do a magic trick and turn this pristine white tissue into a wad of nasty yellowish stuff.

BRAAAACK

Ta-daaaa ...

I apologize for the rambliness of this week's column but as you can probably surmise, I don't feel very good. And I get no sympathy from anyone in this house. Believe me, I'm an angel to take care of when I'm sick. I don't complain at all because I don't want to be a burden and I'm sweet and demure and kind and patient and ... ALRIGHT! WHO MOVED THE $#@&^^@#!! NYQUIL!!

Think about it, cat! If I go, who's going to fork out your freshly flaked tuna? You need me! If I die here on this couch, you'd never make it!! Now go get me some juice before I replace you with all these piles of hair you've already shed JUST IN THE LAST TWO MINUTES ... Hey, wait a second. Why are you staring? And where'd you get those teeny-tiny kitty utensils? And who tied those little kitty bibs with a silhouette of a bald guy on them around your necks ... uh oh.

OK, OK, I'm up!

Stupid opposable thumbs ...

WHAACHOO!!

Brian Matuszak is the founder of Rubber Chicken Theater and invites you to follow him and his theater company on Twitter at twitter.com/rchickentheater, like them on Facebook at Rubber Chicken Theater, and visit their website at www.RubberChickenTheater.com. He feels much better since he guzzled 50 gallons of orange juice and a Sudafed. Hardly any more pink rhinoceroses are floating about with zesty zealousy zeal zahooey zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.

Brian Matuszak

Brian Matuszak is the founder of Rubber Chicken Theater and invites you to follow him and his theater company on Twitter at twitter.com/rchickentheater, like them on Facebook at Rubber Chicken Theater and visit their website at RubberChickenTheater.com.

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