I have taken a turn for the worse after my visit to West Africa.  I have fatigue, headaches, and I’m bleeding out of every orifice in/on my body…and that’s just because I write for the Discord.  Actually, I shook hands with a previously infected doctor who attributed his recovery to his Christian God rather than to medical science.  Color me stunned!  With docs like that, Africa is in for a thrill ride on the exponential Ebola train to Shitsville, which I also believe is a Monkees’ song.

I am requesting that you use your resources to have me parachuted into ISIS territory where – before I lose consciousness and while equipped with several WiFi accessible GoPros – I might generously shake hands with the knife-wielding beheading guy known as “John”.  John might later kneel with his friends in a confined space and in obedience to his supernatural figment, spreading my molecular goodness to others, and on and on and on.  My sacrifice may be better than targeted nuclear strikes in affirming the world’s response of an aversion to slicing throats in the service of a political statement.

I have found that beer may be a cure for the Ebola virus, though I’m still crunching the numbers re: octane vs bleeding, but I do think I have enough time remaining to make the flight and drop to John’s doorstep.  I will forgo my next bar crawl to become part of Obama’s Coalition of the Falling. Please help me make this important meeting with John before I bleed out or get too drunk to take my case to him.  The Rolling Stones tell us “only women bleed”, but I beg to differ. In fact, I’m going through gauze like a dog goes through bones, like an Imam goes through verses, like a chef goes through garnish.  My existential nature demands more of me, and so I bleed on your mercy to help me turn the tide in Iraq – the right way!

Do you remember as a kid when you lit that bag of dog poop on fire and rang that doorbell? Yeah? Ding dong, John. I am that flaming bag of poop.