I'm no Ferris Bueller, so today will be rather uneventful for me. Feel free to send flowers and nurses ready to dome me up, though. Having the flu is eerily similar to being hungover. However, I have a vast amount of experience with hangovers, so I'm all prepared. After spending a majority of the night imitating a fetal position statue, I feel rejuvenated enough to go lip-sync my favorite Beatles song in the middle of a parade on the streets of Chicago. I would perform Can't Buy Me Love in b minor.
Or maybe I'll take the "Cameron" approach. Since I am actually sick, maybe the only cure is to steal my dad's whip, eat at a 5 star restaurant, and rock my vintage Red Wings sweater.
The latter seems way more feasible, at this point. I'll let you know how it works out.
Editor's Note: So I tried to go for the "Cameron" approach. Here are my findings. I put on my Red Wings sweater and drove over to my parent's place. My dad asked me if I was high when I told him I was stealing his car, even though I have a vehicle far superior to his. I told him it was just a Nyquil overdose, but I digress. Whipping it around in the family vehicle, I had a robotrip-induced hallucination that Buffalo Wild Wings was a 5 star restaurant. Lunch was fantastic, standard BDubs.
The low point of the trip: Apparently Lifetime Fitness frowns upon fake drowning while assessing your life. Even though I told the lifeguard she was "my hero."
1 Comments:
Well hell man, if your at home swing by H&R Block and get my taxes done...
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