It Came From The Bowels Of Hell Itself

Well, I think I'm finally over what was probably the World's Worst Ever Cold. This persistent little bugger first hit me the weekend of the 8th, and then it proceeded to make itself right at home for the next ten days or so.

Yeah, yeah, I know. All colds are annoying. But this thing went well beyond the usual call of duty. It's worst feature was that just when you would begin to think the worst was over, it would come back for another round. You'd be reasonably fine in the morning; then around 3 or 4 in the afternoon the mucus would once again begin to fill every available cavity in your skull and chest. And once every possible space was occupied, the stuff would begin to ooze out of the body. Oh, sure, the nose is enough for most colds, but not this bad boy. You ever had snot coming out your eyes? Believe me, it's not particularly pleasant.... Especially when you're trying to stay in a lane at 70 mph.

If phlegm could be harnessed as an energy source, my used Kleenexes could have supplied the electrical needs of a medium sized city for six months. Hell, Dick Cheney and his Haliburton buddies would have been kicking down my door trying to sign me up.

Nights, of course, offered no respite. You'd fall asleep on your left side for half an hour or 45 minutes, and then wake up with your left nostril completely plugged up. So then you'd blow everything out the best you could, and fall asleep on your right side.... But only for 45 minutes, of course, because now it's time to repeat the blow cycle.

Some of you are probably saying, "Well, why didn't you just take some Nyquil, Lugosi? If nothing else, it would have helped you sleep better."

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Don't make me laugh.

Believe me, I tried Nyquil. Didn't work. In fact, the virus reached right out of my nose, grabbed the bottle, and slapped it around. Then it triple dog dared the Nyquil to fight back. And the Nyquil's response? It fled. The entire eight ounce bottle just ran away, cowered in the corner, urinated all over itself, and whimpered like a wounded puppy. It was quite disturbing to see a once proud cold medicine reduced to such pathetic insignificance.

Sleep proved to be an elusive escape, especially when one of the coughing jags would hit. After about half an hour or so, a lung would finally come up and land with a wet splat on the pillow. Then I'd pick it up, clean the lint off the best I could, and stuff back down into my chest. Of course, by then the neighbors would be beating on the walls yelling for me to take a damn lozenge or something.

Oh, and then there was the sore throat. And not just a regular, run of the mill sore throat, either. That would have been much too ordinary for The Cold From Hell. No, this puppy came equipped with a nuclear powered sore throat. Remember how they tell you to drink a lot of liquids when you're sick? HA!! If you swallow, you end up immediately screaming out in agony. It got to the point where I was happier to just let the spit drool down my chin rather than endure the pain again.

Eventually it got to the point where my throat would take turns with itself. First, the left side would hurt. Then the next day it would be the right side. Finally on the third morning I'd think, hey, I'm fine! No more sore throat! Then in the afternoon it would announce that it had just been taking a nap.

Forget the damn human pyramids and the barking dogs pointing at naked male genitalia. If Rumsfeld had threatened the inmates at Abu Ghraib with this cold, they would all have ended up singing like canaries and saved everyone a lot of trouble.