Me and my big goddamn mouth. Cortana was sick as Hell last week so I quarantined myself to the couch to prevent getting whatever bastard plague that’s getting passed around her office like a bad case of crabs at Caligula’s place. No such luck, I’m afraid, because once we hit the highway for our departing flight in Toronto– I started to sniffle. I told myself, sure, my immune system is going to go full-on Duke Nukem on this thing because I will it so.
Then we got on a nine hour flight… that felt like it was being piloted by the Marquis De Sade. Apparently I’m one of those people whose illnesses decide to do a fat Sheenpile of blow the second they hit 40,000 feet. I tried to sleep, and yeah, that was as futile as resisting the Borg (when they first came out and actually were damn near unstoppable).
My immune system can kiss my ass. My darling wife claims to have licked my keyboard the day I went into quarantine, so there’s that not-serious-but-still-happening blame game. However, 9 hours of sniffling agony later where the only part of me that didn’t hurt was the tip of my elbow (a la Indiana Jones), I was treated to this:
Anyone wanna venture what mountains these are?
Now, I don’t coddle the weak– and that most assuredly includes myself– so I informed my family that I wanted all the drugs. I wasn’t going to deal with some pansy-ass plague while I’m in Rome. Fuck that shit right in the face. So I doped up and shrugged 85% of that shit off like a boss. The other 15% was due to a combination of adrenaline, sudoephedrine, ibuprofen, afrin, and no fucks given. I’ve already snapped over 200 pictures (been here roughly 5 functional hours), and I’ve come to notice something–
— Italian drivers are the most bizarre combination of courteous, calm, and fucking insane. Now, mi scuzi, uomini et donne…. morto famme.
I may post later.
In the meantime—
I TOUCHED THE FORUM DOORS.
Unplug.
Snark and Circumstance 