Well what do you know, I am sick again. For the second time within one month. But this time it is serious, well not deadly serious, AKA It isn't AIDS and it isn't AIDS 2, but it is not as minor as the 'common'. I guess you would say it is the flu as all my bones are stinging and also I have been shivering and/or sweating through the night.
It will take me 50 or 60 rolls over in bed before I get close to being comfortable, so after i have busied my self looking like some kind of thrashing bed walrus I will then carry into the night to have hallucinogenic dreams where i am either:
a) in the desert with no water and a plane flies over and drops some water BUT coincidentally a massive eagle with a huge greedy beak flies under neath it and collects all the water that i thought would fall on me. And I pull out my trusty slingshot BUT I have no stones or berries to fire at the cursed (pronounced cur-sid) beast.
b) I am so totally thirsty and running a marathon and as I run past, my supporters give me deliciously full water bottles and pat me on the shoulder, BUT as opposed to refreshing H20 or juice, the bottles are filled with either salt water, or sometimes warm blood, which as you probably know are not thirst quenching at all really. So then i get fed up and decide to shoot a flare gun at the next idiot who comes up to me with salt water, no exceptions. BUT it is a little kid. So I shoot him. And he explodes, and I keep running, and admittedly my remorse is pretty minimal because all I keep thinking about is how I wished he had given me some god damn juice.
For your information I would never shoot a kid in real life with a flare gun. Unless he was badly injured and I was trying to P.H.O.O.H.M (put him out of his misery). Anyway, being sick is actually not the best feeling in the universe, and the most annoying thing about the flu is the fact that everything you eat tastes like metal. Chicken sandwich = Metal sandwich. Tomatoes = wet red squishy metal. Roast beef = metal. Not that I would know what the latter tastes like as my mother AKA The Morning Stomper has a pretty strict policy of Rotisserie Chicken for all, for ever, for the whole family, for all meals.
There are currently two different rotisserie chickens in the fridge. I will not go near them though and would rather live off of grass and/or the drippings from the ceiling than eat another one of those things in any way shape or form.
I have taken to wandering down the hallway at night to look in the cupboard and fridge to check and see if my brother has some form of filing system to hide all the good food until I go to bed and then sneak it back out once I have retired, but alas, it is not so. But, I have gone off on a tangent again, the metal, thats what I was talking about.
One item that doesn't seem to taste like metal when you are sick is juice. It is though it will alway stay the same, (thank the lord) and being sick is the perfect excuse to really over indulge in juice, and it really is your god given right to drink around 3 litres of it in one day. And let the vitamins flow through you.
My faithful ally Kenny Powers the pig has a certain sixth sense in regard to when I am sick or not and tends to keep to his corner of the room when it is the appropriate time. Whether he can tell this by my overall juice consumption or just due to my general demeanour I am not sure, but that is certainly one of the top five things I like about him and probably the reason why we are such a powerful and unstoppable team. A few of the other things that I like about him are (including the aformentioned) :
a) Using his sixth sense to keep to his corner when I am sick so as not to get up in my face when I am trying to get comfortable and have my own 'space'. (The aforementioned).
b) Being happy watching a video with me on the couch and not feeling like he has to get up every five seconds to go to the bathroom or ask me every five seconds what is happening with the plot of the movie (which is what girls tend to do and is very disruptive).
c) Being a great discussion point if you ever need to meet any of your friends in the park and there is a bit of an uncomfortable silence when you are sitting around talking
d) Being further inspiration to save up for a motorbike with a sidecar, where he would be my main passenger (wearing an airpilots leather hat, goggles and a scarf).
and last but not least
e) Not needing to be fed all the time. I will happily leave a box of Nutri Grains, a sack of normal grains and a giant Toblerone in his basket at the beginning of the week and he knows it is expected to last him four days before he will get his next 3 days worth of food. He has taught himself to portion, ration and plan, which is just another reason why people should confirm how intelligent pigs are. And Kenny Powers, I believe, is one of the smartest of all of those cute little guys.
Admittedly, although he tends to keep clear of me when I am sick, it is the absolute opposite when Kenny Powers the pig is sick or feeling 'poorly'. It is though I am a magnet for his puke when the shoe is on the other foot and he is unwell. Quite often when he eats a whole block of chocolate he will immedietly get sick and usually puke on my leather jacket, my duvet cover or on and around my ear if i am lying down. It is times like this when you have to rise above the anger and realise you are responsible, almost like a parent, to help your dependants when they are unwell. The best thing to do is slide him off the bed away from the puke and into his basket and read him a chapter from the Hobbit until he relaxes or stops puking.
I must say it was kind of annoying when we had first arrived at the Auckland airport on our way home from Berlin via Korea and it came to my attention that Kenny Powers the pig had not travelled so well and had spent the second leg of the plane trip home puking all over himself in his cage in the cargo hold. A gigantic Samoan woman working at the Auckland airport advised me that there was 'quite a mess that I would have to take care of' when I went to collect him from the quarantine area. 'Great', I thought as I cursed him again. 'All that pig is really good for is puking everywhere at innopportune times and collecting a few coins from between the cracks of the ground with his snout when we are really desperate for money'. But I put those thoughts aside after about a minute and realised I still loved him as much as a man could love a pig without it being 'sick'. And my anger subsided when I saw him sitting there in his cage with puke everywhere, in fact I must say I was impressed that he didn't look demoralised. It was quite the contrary really, he was wearing his usual facial expression of 'I may just look like a pig to you, but if I was a human I would be a Count with riches and esteem that spreads through the surrounding lands'.
I was not really looking forward to cleaning all the puke off him to be honest and thought about offering to pay my brother $35 to do it. But then I remembered I only had 45 euro cents to my name and that he had a very firm policy of 'No IOUs' since I borrowed $20 from his piggy bank when he was 8 to spend on refill vodka to drink at Ladies Bay.
I also thought that because I had not seen him in around six months I didn't want our first conversation to go like this:
'Hi. Thanks for coming to the airport with mum to pick me up.'
'That's ok. Where's your pig?'
'At the quarantine. He puked everywhere on the plane in the cargo hold.'
'That's pretty cool. Did you bring me some DVDs back from Germany?'
'No. I couldn't find any. I got you and mum a big Toblerone to share.'
'Wow thanks for the most predictable gift travelling people ever get for their family, and then dividing it in half between two people.'
'That's ok. Do you know what jetlag is, or are you too young?'
'Yeah I know what it is. Why?'
'Because I have jetlag and need to sleep, so, I think it would be pretty cool of you to clean the puke off that pig when we get home. It will be a good way for you two to meet each other and do a bit of bonding as he will be living with us.'
'I will clean the puke of that pig if you give me $100 cash up front and also you have to take me to the video shop to hire R16 Xbox games whenever I ask you to for the whole of summer.'
'I counter that offer with this offer: $35 cash IOU to clean the pig and I will go to hire the R16 games whenever you ask me, as long as I don't have a headache at the time.'
'No way in hell. Have fun cleaning that puke off your pig. And also have fun trying to convince mum to let him in the car with puke on him.'
He was getting wiser to my devious plans this boy.
In other news, what the fuck is this picture?