Bridgette has had the flu for about a week now.

She is aching, feverish, plugged up, nauseous, coughing, and unable to sleep, swallow, or breathe. I feel so bad for her, but at the same time, her illness has helped me learn something important about myself.

You see, I am immortal.

She and I hung around on Saturday, Sunday, Monday, and Tuesday, and I didn’t get sick. While we weren’t kissing, we were in close proximity, and today, Friday morning, I still feel fit as a fiddle. Not only do I not have the flu now, but I now realize that I can’t remember the last time I actually had the flu - it’s been at least 6 years. My only hypothesis is that sometime during those years I must have advanced to a realm beyond men and become a demi-god of some sort. I recall eating a very peculiar enchilada in 1999 that might have done it - its taste was bitter and pungent, perhaps enough to help me ascend to eternal life.

Yesterday, I felt behooved to test this theory and make certain that I am greater than all men. I had Bridgette repeatedly cough directly into my mouth and open sores. She did so with vigor, sending her diseased particles flying into my body. I then collected roughly a pint of her flu-ridden mucus into a small milk carton and swallowed it whole. All this, and yet I still am healthy and virile. It can no longer be denied - I am impervious to the flu and all other maladies which plague the lives of mortal men.

I wish to travel back to this taco-stand that I visited in 1999 that sold me Excalibur - the Enchilda of Life. I will purchase another enchilada and give it to Bridgette to heal her of this sickness. I will rub the moist, plump enchilada on her stuffed sinuses and gaze in wonder as its powers sear away all iniquity from her body. I will then hold Excalibur aloft and summon blood-red lightning from the sky to arbitrarily kill a nearby rabbit. I shall then be christened Gorlock, Commander of Pain. Then, and only then, all will be accomplished.

Good morrow.