I can complain like no other human on the face of the Earth.
Just last month was my most successful hypochondriac moment in which a splinter became a headache which became a brain tumor which became inoperable which became the reason for me getting my extended family together to talk about my will since I was sure that I only had a few days to live. Being alive and well months later has convinced me that I am, indeed, the most successful hypochondriac that has ever lived.
I can take a skinned knee and turn it into a possible leg amputation. I can turn a bloody nose into a brain aneurism. I can turn a sprained ankle into an equilibrium issue just as well as I can turn my sore, bloody gums (after a tooth brushing) into a wired-jaw procedure. I can turn a stomach ache into a possible gun shot wound from a silenced-sniper’s rifle as well as I can turn a bug in my eye into an ocular-surgery or lazik procedure.
I am the King of Hypochondria.
I can turn a gentle fall on a pile of Legos into a shrapnel issue. I can turn a mild “choking on a glass of water” into a drowning-lung scenario. I can turn an accidentally-swallowed scallop into a food poisoning/regurgitation/lack-of-acid-in-my-stomach/peeling inner-stomach lining/stomach pain/inoperable intestinal tumor rigamarole. And then, just as the rain sweeps clean the dirt of the previous day, I can wake up happy and healthy the next day.
There’s really no question. I can complain, think horrible thoughts, and put myself in a hospital bed faster than the average man.
I am the King.
In other news — tomorrow is “Words For Your Enjoyment” once again. If you don’t know what it is and don’t know why you’d submit an idea for a post, and have no energy to go looking through the archives — may the evil spirits of the fifth dimension devour your soul. If you’re just lazy, it’s all good.