Yes, it's that kind of day, kids. An "I feel so crappy I'm actually going to put clip art of a bedridden bear on my blog" kind of day. Because -- in case the bear wasn't clue enough for you -- I'm sick. (But not so sick I failed to notice that the bear seems to be gnawing on Goldilocks's bloody femur. That's what you get for messing with Baby Bear and his peeps, biyatch! But really -- what happened to that bear? He's got head bandages and a thermometer? Huh? He was so woozy from that bowl of salmonella-tainted porridge he fell down the stairs? Or is it an infection kind of thing -- like, the Big Bad Wolf pistol-whipped him and kicked him in the ol' bread basket, and now peritonitis is setting in? Ooooo, this fairy tale does not end well.)
But I digress. Nonsensically. Blame the fever! Sick, remember? If you want a post that makes sense today, you'll have to write it yourself.
Or, better yet, help me get mine -- and my whole life -- in order. You see, I'm feeling too enervated to make any decisions. So I'm leaving it up to you. I'm a cuddly widdle bear with toilet paper wrapped around his head and a giant peppermint stick in his mouth. Help me. Save me. Tell me what the hell to do.
UPDATE: The people have spoken, and I listened. After the polls closed Friday night, I (1) read The Berenstain Bears Visit the Dentist, (2) ate pea soup, (3) started watching The Walking Dead and (4) took a shower. Today I feel a lot better, so obviously democracy works.