Yes, I know. You don't want to hear it, but it's true. My insides continue to wage war on my outsides. The insides are winning. I don't appreciate this battling; I'm a pacifist. Just when I started to dive deep down into that dark, dark space where self-pity is as delightful as the Skittles rainbow, I learned this.
Do you know whose apartment that Yankees' pitcher crashed his plane into? The woman who was in a coma for some 20 days after being injured during the Macy's day parade. She was hit by a lightpole or a float or something. Can you imagine that kind of bad luck? Damn, woman. Time to get out of New York.
SICK II isn't so bad in comparison.
You coming with me to Chicago then?
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