Ranting by Dolomite
Hello fellow readers. It is the great and illustrious Dolomite, slumping ever slightly in this library chair. Why am I slumping, you may ask (if you cared)? Because, the great Dolomite is sick as a dog. Damn the common cold! If it was truly so common, you think there would be a cure for it by now! Mercyhurst, the institution of higher learning that I am a part of, has received this scourge of viruses like a plague from God himself. Just because He is sober and we are allowed to get drunk does not mean it is allowed for Him to do this kind of thing.
It all started last Friday. I got back from work and was preparing to go out for a night full of wistful lusting and liver-killing drinking (not just damaging, but killing). Armed with my trusty bottle of Jaggermeister, I headed across the lawn to the neighboring building. What can I say, it is best to have a short distance to crawl home from. Anyways, I noticed, as I left my apartment, that I had a bit of a sore throat and some mild congestion. I figured I was just a little dehydrated from sweating so much at work. Hey, shit happens.
After a long night of drinking (it takes awhile to drain a bottle of Jaggermeister), I headed home, blissfully drunk and content at the sound my stomach sloshed with all the liquor in it. At home, I lay down on my warm bed half-naked (I was too drunk to work the belt buckle, so the jeans had to stay on) and slowly drift off into slumber. The night was definitely a hard one for me. Within an hour of sleep I found myself gasping for air. Waking in a sweat, I noticed that my nostrils were completely clogged with mucus. I had forgotten,
in my drunken slumber, to breathe through my mouth. I go to blow my nose. Next to nothing comes out. It is then that I realize that it is completely clogged. Swearing, I grab my wallet and head out the door to go to the local drugstore for medicine. After the screams of a few coeds, I go back inside to find a shirt, then head out for the medicine.
I got cheap medicine, which gave me cheap results. I hardly slept that night and this continued for the next few days. I began to go through tissue through tissue like a fat man through potato chips. After only three days, I had exhausted two and a half tissue boxes. I had not gone through this much Kleenex since I rented Cum-Guzzling Beach Bimbos III: The Search for Spunk. Man, that was a lot of Kleenex. My throat is dry can scratchy. Normally, this would be fixed by some Nitequil. However, the hangover from the Jaggermeister
made my stomach gurgle in protest to that idea.
The next days were even worse. I tried to stop the mucus best I could, but it was in vain. Plugging my nose with tissue wads was merely a temporary cure. Within half an hour, the mucus would seep through the tissue and leek from the tips of the wads. My throat became so scratchy and irritated that it sounded as though I had smoked a carton of cigarettes a day since I was three. Every word
was barely decipherable and every other word was followed by a series of coughs. Sucks when it happens. What was worse was the phlegm. It was as thick as a McDonald’s milkshake (triple thick) and at times contained chucks of something. I think I may be one of the first non-smokers to actually cough up a lung. The little bits so far have added up to about half a lung, if that is what they are.
The disease has spread. I now see others walking and coughing and sneezing. One girl I work with was complaining to me about her weekend. Apparently, she had been going down on her boyfriend when she started to go into a coughing fit. She managed to cough up enough phlegm to force her to stop blowing him and spit out the phlegm. Seeing this the boy began to wonder whether he was done or not.
Confused and partially embarrassed by this premature act of spitting, the boy lost his “confidence” and was done for the night. This was ridiculous! Man should not be confused by a woman spitting thick, sticky liquid from her mouth while going down on him. This disease had to be stopped!
I now promise, as soon as I finish this Ranting, to dedicate the rest of my free time to the extermination of this disease. To stop me from drinking is one thing. My liver should have time to recover and regenerate. But to stop the libido of even one college man is something that is simply unforgivable. Now is not the time for words, but for action! I will pop Vitamin C capsules like Skittles if I have to. I will shoot up with orange juice in one arm while a I.V. of chicken soup is in the other. I may even get off my ass and exercise if that is what it takes. Beware, of vile virus of Satan, you shall be torn asunder from this temple of college living and go forth to the burning pits of Hell in which you were first spawned. And as soon as I can get the child-safe cap off of this medicine, you will really get it. Who the fuck came up with this cap?