This stupid cold just won’t go away!
Two weekends ago, it started as a sore throat. Last week, it bloomed into full-bodied pain and a lost voice. By the weekend, my voice was returning, but almost a full octave lower, causing me to sound like a Sith lord, much to my pleasure. Now, almost two weeks in, I’m still here coughing and sneezing up phlegm like a wheezing baboon.
Listening to me hack and gurgle away here in the morning, I sound like a wrinkled, craggy women buying a carton of cigarettes at a gas station with stringy, peroxide hair and tapered stonewashed jeans. Since I sound like this anyway, I may as well just give up the ghost on any upward aspirations I might have and spend my time buying scratch-off tickets and discussing WWE Smackdown with my rural peers. I could spend my day drinking Coors and complaining that the Vikings suck. To accompany the hacking drone of my lingering cough I could blast Nickleback’s latest album and rev up my Chevy Silverado.
I should also give myself meth mouth.
Hopefully this cold finally clears up and this transformation won’t be necessary. Don’t be surprised, however, if the next time you see me, I am riding a snowmobile and I knock you unconscious with a whisky bottle before urinating on you.
Because that’s what rural folks are like, you know.