Cold from Hades

I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve such a horrible, nasty, long-lasting viral infection. It spreads like the plague, makes you look like Rudolph on crack, and you sound like Mrs. Donovan (that’s Charlie Brown’s teacher for you neophytes). And no cure? No treatment? Oh, how I wish for palm trees, frothy drinks and tanned boys. I must’ve done something good to deserve that, something?

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