Someone Please Pray For The Dying Trashbag

At about 4am this morning, my fever peaked at 102.9 degrees.

I called out sick this morning and since 7pm last night I have spent 96% of my time in bed. Yesterday I felt terrible, last night I received my Last Rites, and today I feel fairly worse than yesterday. Also, now my throat is starting to hurt and in the shower I almost fainted.

This truly may be the end.

Therefore, I ask that one of you please come to my aid. Your duties will not only include taking care of me (getting me water, refreshing my warm towels, giving me deep tissue massages, and of course, bathing me – we need to keep Frank and the Beans fresh throughout this ordeal), but also you’d have the honor of taking down my final post. Typing makes me woozy, so I need someone to whom I can dictate my swan song, which will at once be poetic, prophetic, and contain some variation of the word "penis" no less than fourteen times.

I will now return back to my bed to lie around and feel sorry for myself and maybe cry a little bit, but if you are interested, please email me. Note that there is no compensation for this, but only a lifelong memory and an afternoon/evening of some of the most inappropriate suggestive and sexually aggressive comments you’ve ever heard.

Thank you for your consideration. And please, pray for me.