Should I throw in the towel?

"Fuck the POLICE!"

At a certain distinguishable point during the course of last week, I wanted to kill myself. Now, some may say that I am exaggerating out of proportions, and I will throw that back in their healthy, pink, soft faces and say, "then you haven't ever had Mono, bitch!"

Mononucleosis is simply some nasty ol' fluid in your lungs. In translation, it feels like someone ran into you with a garbage truck full of fucking Budweiser Clydesdales, in which the valiant Clydesdales proceeded to trample and shit all over your pale, ghoulish face. Mono hurts. Oh, and your throat, yeah, your throat feels like it's been carved out with a chainsaw like some smiling family's thanksgiving turkey. Just eating a teensy weensy oyster cracker is like Aoki pouring Grey Goose all over a tender, festering wound filled with dirt and maggots. Sweet gushy tears are a mandatory symptom of Mono, the satanic disease. But, with the proper combinations of Ascorbates, Vitamin A, Bioflavonoids, Acetaminophin, Phenylephrine HCI, Menthol, Selenium, Vitamin C, Zinc, Magnesium, Chlorpheniramine Maleate, Guaifenesin, Vicodin, Valerian root, Ibuprofin, Lemon balm herb, Phenol, and Hydrcodone, I was able to doctor and scooch myself through the week without prematurely turning out the lights.

Some blokes say that Stephen Hawking is, I quote, "Like Harry Potter, but without the magic." Mono is kinda like Lou Gehrigs disease, I guess. Because my bloody throat throbbed like a sweaty, pink heart, I communicated through a series of grunts and garble, much like Stephen Hawking. Chilling in my bed with the world swirling around my clammy body, I began to fear that I was going to die, freshman year of college, without ever having discovered diddly-squat about gamma rays or ominous black holes. I wanna make magic like Harry Potter, so suck it Mononucleosis. 

To keep it brief, people generally don't want to hang out with a hacking, coughing, moaning Myrtle bag of snot. Also, something frickin cool about Mono is that rather than just having a congested nose full of puce snot, the snot slithers down your esophagus and into your mouth; Yeah, your mouth. Call me snot mouth if you'd like, cus at the end of the day, you're the healthy one drinking 40's on a La-Z-Boy and I'm beefing it in my bed eating my own bubbling snot and worrying that my spleen might sporadically explode under pressure. This is why smart people keep their goddam distance when their pals, g.fs, b.fs, gang, b.f.fs, b.f.f.ls, hubbies, whatevers...contract Mono.

In conclusion, no one is safe from Mononucleosis. When ya don't gots it, stay far from it- when ya gots it, suckin' on dem ice cubes feels sooo good. And, in the slick words of Ice Cube himself, "chick-ity-check yo'self before your wreck yo'self," and get The Message Remix while you're at it.

Fondly, Lauren (Mono) Fischer