As I sit here in my germ-filled bedroom, with my trusty Gatorade and thermometer at my side (current reading: 99.6) I feel compelled to write. In the past few days, as some kind of virus has been slowly eating me away from the inside, I have come to some revelations about the universe. Pondering my own mortality in between bouts of shivering, certain truths about life and existence have presented themselves to me. Some of these may have just been hallucinations, but I can’t help but feel as though I am being used as some sort of vessel, an intermediary between some higher power and my fellow earth-bound mortals. I feel it would be selfish to keep this knowledge to myself, and so I present it to you, the lucky reader…

–Anna Nicole Smith is dead! Long live Anna Nicole Smith! This sad news blindsided me yesterday; I am still trying to process my shock and grief. Just kidding, I don’t care. This may sound horrible, but I consider this to be sort of a happy ending. For one thing, the grieving mother is reunited with her son, which is kind of nice. But more importantly, that new baby will have an exponentially less fucked up life now. By the way, if any of you find this inappropriate, do remember that I am running a fever and cannot be held responsible for my poor judgment.

–Holy shit! Jack killed Curtis! Holy shit! Jack’s brother is Dr. Romano! Holy shit! Jack is excellent at cutting and styling his own hair in under nine minutes! Being sick, I have finally had the opportunity to get caught up on 24, and it has been well worth it. However, I would like to take this opportunity to say, “Fuck you, FOX network!” I went to the 24 area on their website because I wanted to know if episodes were available to watch from there. So of course, I’m looking around for approximately two seconds when I see a major plot twist written out in giant bold letters. Dammit FOX, isn’t it enough that you ruin baseball and football for me? I really think it’s only a matter of time before Joe Buck appears as some fill-in CTU agent with a dark secret.

–Remember that old computer game, Oregon Trail, that we got to play in school sometimes? I have found a site where you can play it and like 20 million other shitty old computer games online: You’re welcome, and I hope you don’t get dysentery.

–Why is it that cereal boxes don’t come with prizes anymore? When I was a kid, I would always hound my mother relentlessly if there was a cool prize, even if I didn’t like the cereal that much. And I was the calm one. Scott was perpetually 30 seconds away from becoming the Tasmanian Devil on meth and running laps around the supermarket. So as long as he was aware of the prize, it was as good as in the cart, lest we be ejected from the store. I may be exaggerating. My point is: why wouldn’t this work today? Or are shitty plastic toys not as appealing to kids of the Xbox and Playstation age as they were for us? Really, what I am getting at is that I just want a Count Chocula wristwatch.

I feel I’ve done a service here—if any of you are half as enlightened as I was after reading this, I will sleep well. Until my fever comes back and my blankets try to strangle me again. In case I die in my sleep tonight, I just want to say that I love at least 40 percent of you. Godspeed.