Every year around this time it knocks me on my ass. It doesn’t matter where I
am or what I’m doing. My schedule and commitments mean nothing. The flu
doesn’t give a shit. So here I am, trying to say something about New Jersey
nightlife, the excitement of our 7 year anniversary or something witty about
Donald Trump. I got nothing. I’m pretty sure I’m dying.
As I type this seemingly farewell letter I can see my temperature is 102 and the
cold sweat is dripping onto my keyboard. My hands are shaking and my head feels
like it’s about to explode. A gallon of NyQuil and a pint of
Guinness doesn’t seem to be having my desired effect. Did I mention I’m dying.
So for all of you reading this who are also dying, forgive me…I need to go back
to bed. Just one final word… Fuck you flu shot!