*cough cough* H-hello? Has a healthy visitor come to taunt the condemned? In other words, hello, I'm Bobby and I'm sick. I don't know what I did to compromise my immune system, but my symptoms include TMI and none of your business. But I know you all care about me so I'll give you a hint, it rhymes with "mass evacuation." And here's another clue: I've been making a steady deposit in a crap bank, and for the first time in my life I wish were broke. I'd write a riddle, but I'm sure you understand what I'm going through by now, or rather, what's going through me. "I like being sick," is what a liar would say and that ain't me, so I've been trying to figure out what I can do to keep my mind off of my condition so I'm not in a state of maximum crummyness. Everybody has things they like to do, but when we're ill, all joy is gone and life turns putrid. For example, normally I would be at work, working, because I love work, but I don't want to infect anyone. So then I thought, "I can infect people with words." So this week I'm gonna talk about what you can do while you're sick to ease your ravaged body, right after I make a quick trip to the little writer's room.

I'm back, at least, what's left of me is. I'm surprised I had more to give. Let's be honest. When you're sick, even your most favorite cool-guy stuff (laughing to the bank while also flexing on these lames) can't cure you, so there's no point in trying to be productive and doing tasks you hate, like errands or chores. Mowing the lawn? Good idea, contaminating the fresh air with my nasty aura. Grocery shopping? More like, clean up on aisle me! And the laugh track played on... What's another dumb thing? Laundry? Get outta my face with that. What we need to do when we're sick is absolutely nothing. Just loaf. Turn on the TV and watch the second X-Men movie. I guarantee it's on FX right now if it hasn't come on already. Marvel *smirk* at the universal appeal of Hugh Jackman to land starring roles in both musicals and superhero films. Be thankful that the dude who played Cyclops was also in 30 Rock, playing a surprisingly important character in Liz Lemon's life. It's clear that I'm not really coherent right now, so I'm going to go take a nap.

Nevermind, I forgot my family owns a parrot and she's not a fan of silence. Damn, what else can I do? Maybe I can solve the mystery of how I got sick. Was it something I ate? Was it someone I touched? Should I have left that skull in the dirt where I found it? It's no use. There's no way to deduce why I've been cursed with tummy trubs. I'll just have to hope it passes as quickly as I've been. Maybe mother has a crossword puzzle laying around somewhere. That should take my mind off my malady. Ah, here's one!

Well, well, well, my day just got crappier in a different context. This is much too difficult! There's too many references to things that happened like 40 years ago. Look at this one: "Son of God, e.g." It's five letters, the first being a "J." Christ, that could be anyone! This isn't a puzzle fit for a 90s kid, bring me a word search. Speaking of puzzles, I haven't gotten jiggy with it since I was too short to reach the top shelf. Maybe I'll go make a puzzle, those take forever! Oh wait. We gave all of our puzzles to charity, or worse... Neighbors. I'm losing my mind here. Is the third X-Men movie on yet?

Well what do you know? It is. Cool. I don't really want to watch that one though. Maybe I should eat something to give my jarred intestines a pop quiz. Maybe something small and light, like some applesauce or a bean. Or I could be a grown man and eat a real meal, like a peanut butter and banana sammie, which is what real masculine bros call sandwiches. Maybe I should author a crossword puzzle with all this fresh lingo I'm slangin. If I can digest a PB&B, I can digest anything, signaling that I'll be ready to work tomorrow and I can avoid another day in Purge-atory. I make me sick.

Alright, I'm a little bloated after that Samwise, but I think I'll be good. This stomach can take a a fair bit of punishment. I've seen it keep down 10 Denny's pancakes in one sitting, and the only one who suffered was my server. But enough about my beautiful belly, back to this article, which I'm starting to realize is very pointless and disgusting. I feel like I had a mission at the beginning, but now I'm more sweaty and nervous than when I started. I think I'm just sleep-deprived, cranky and sleep-deprived so I've just been complaining about being sick. What a misuse of this platform populated by scholars and me. The responsible thing to do would be to cease writing and wait until I've recovered to write anything else, but this is a unique opportunity for the world to see me at my lowest. You're dealing with the real raw Bobby right now, the one they don't tell you about in the textbooks because color images are expensive to print.

I am so sleepy but this parrot is so loud. I'll try to teach her some words, I guess. Maybe I can just expose her to this soundboard of the greatest MCs of our time all day until we both fall asleep. That'd be good for company, trying to guess which rapper she is mimicking. Fingers crossed that she really likes Project Pat. Quoth the parrot, "Good googly moogly."

This is usually the point where I give some basic advice like, "be a good person," or "don't die," but today I'm going to say don't get sick, and definitely don't test your digestive system with a PB&B Sandler. I think it encountered turbulence on its journey and I may have to see that ol' sumwich again sooner than I had hoped. Here I go again on my throne.