I had a cold. It was a promiscuous cold; others had had it before me. And yet it clung to me like an unpaid student loan. I tried to use whiskey as an antibiotic. It went viral. I tried to sleep, but every time I came close, it woke me with a cough.
Finally, I sat down at my computer and called up the news. It was so depressing, I heard each cold virus scream as it committed suicide in a fit of nihilistic despair.
Wise men used to say, “starve a cold, feed a fever.” I say, show ’em the news. Let’s see just how tough they really are.