Tale of woe about me.
About to go on week-long Seattle trip.
Trying to pack the whole house so painters and carpenters can work on it in our absence.
Got two phone interviews today, realtor meeting, and doctor appt.
Yesterday, went out to Mexican restaurant for lunch, had lots of spicy food and a margarita.
Then more mexican for dinner (wife happened to order it).
Went to bed at 10:30.
Realized gut was in severe pain.
Had the squirts.
Spent three hours tossing and turning.
Finally realized nothing was going down and it had to come up.
BLOOOOOOSH. BLOOSH BLOOOSH BLOOOOOOOSH.
Felt lots better, but still slept crappily.
This morning, 100 degree fever and immobilized.
Stomach flu.
First, you have one line too many. Second, there’s no real rhyme scheme. Ideally, you want to go with like A-B-A-B, C-D-C-D, E-F-E-F, G-G or something.
I’ve been stricken ill from Subway many more times than from Mexican food. He was obviously poisoned. Also, needs more ridiculous spelling mistakes. How’s the pnacruese?
I can’t really defend that one. I thought about deleting the post, sure, but then I figured I’d let my dumbassedness serve as a warning to others. Sucks. Normally, sonnet jokes are a total homerun.
Attend, QT3, my tale of woe.
On the eve of my trip to the rainy coast,
Possessions secured in case contractors show,
I’d run all my errands, or at least I did most.
Queso Grande for lunch, burrito, margarita.
My wife ordered dinner, of the same ethnic kind.
Heavy food made retiring at 10:30 sweeter,
Til the racking pains started, from gut to behind.
The runny affliction that pervaded my being
Left me writhing and moaning in a manner quite louche.
I knew emesis was the relief I’d be seeing:
BLOOSH BLOOSH BLOOSH BLOO-OOSH BLOOSH BLOO-OOSH BLOOSH BLOOSH.
In the morning I woke, my throat and ass raw.
Stomach flu. Fever. Fuck you, Murphy’s law.