... About Self-Diagnostics

Hey, Reader! Remember back when I made a resolution to update my blog more often?

Oh, you don't? Good. Neither do I.

Here's what's going on in my world lately: my eye won't stop twitching. I'm pretty sure that means I'm dying. Or, it means that I'm going to throw something through a window pretty soon. It's driving me absolutely bonkers. For the last two days it's been like my upper eyelid is rocking out to some music only it can hear (maybe the crazy bump left over from my toe eye is actually some kind of tiny molecular iPod or something).

So this morning I turned to Dr. Google to find out why my eye is twitching. I long ago decided that Dr. Google is far superior to a real doctor. First of all, there's no waiting room. Secondly, unlike real doctors, Dr. Google never presses one of those freezing cold stethoscopes against your skin. Thirdly, unlike even worse real doctors, Dr. Google never breathes on one of those freezing cold stethoscopes to "warm it up" so you end up with a freezing cold stethoscope coated with a thin moist layer of wet warm stranger breath pressed up against your skin.

And, Dr. Google is free! It's like living in Canada, but without having to deal with all those Canadians. The only disadvantage to using Dr. Google is that you can't sue him for malpractice when he tells you that the reason your eye is twitching is because you aren't getting enough sleep.

Don't be stupid, Dr. Google. As anyone who has ever met me knows, I go to bed at 7:30 every night. Right after I watch Matlock and feed all the cats. There has to be another reason. At the very least, there has to be a more impressive sounding reason, one that will win me sympathy and inspire Reader to make me some sort of baked good.

Aha! Blepharospasm! Much better. But still, that doesn't seem very dire. The most I could hope for with that are some chocolate chip cookies or lemon squares. I want some sort of eye-twitching disease that will earn me Cinnabons or cupcakes. With sprinkles.

Myokymia? Hmmm... does sound a bit more tragic, doesn't it? I know! What if I combine the two? That'll do, Dr. Google, that'll do.

Reader, you might be saddened to hear that I am suffering from a severe case of myokymia blepharospasm. My doctor, Dr. Google, doesn't seem to know the most effective course of treatment. Yes, of course I got a second opinion. In fact, when I asked Dr. Google "how to stop eye twitching", he provided me with over 203,000 opinions.

No, no, don't cry for me, Reader. Tears won't do either of us any good. Really, it's unnecessary. You're too kind. I'll manage to get through it... somehow. But if you really feel like you must do something to help me, I suppose... I suppose it would be ungrateful of me to turn down your generous offer to bring me some sort of delicious homemade baked good. Why, yes, of course, I adore cream cheese frosting, but I couldn't possibly ask you to put yourself out for little old me and my terminal myokymia blepharospasm.

That's right, my terminal myokymia blepharospasm.

You know, Reader, I bet Dr. Google knows some really delicious recipes.

... About Politics

As an avid Reader of this blog, I'm sure you've noticed that I don't often wax political here. But I've been thinking about politics a lot lately, and apparently so have many of my friends. In fact, ever since I announced that I'm creating my own country I've had a slew of friends giving me suggestions about laws I should put in place there. Here are a few I've gotten lately:

In my country, there should be some kind of a device at movie theaters that deactivates your phone as soon as you walk in. Hear, hear!

In my country, there should be a way to inflict physical harm upon people who send you all those stupid Facebook application invites. Hear, hear!

In my country, there should be no John Madden. Hear, hear!

In my country, radio stations should not be permitted to repeat a song within an 8 hour period. Hear, hear!

So, Reader, as I was drafting these laws into my country's Constitution I began thinking about some of the political goings-on in my own neck of the woods. I'll be the first to admit, I don't keep up with local politics the way I should, mostly because I have little to no tolerance for local broadcast news and I'm too lazy to read the local newspaper.

But I do know a douchebag when I see one, and I do know that while certain douchebags may be perfectly within their rights of free speech, their ignorance and maliciousness prove that they are not fit to hold public office. So I stopped by Buttars-Palooza at the state capitol building this past weekend to demonstrate my lack of support for The Worst Person in the World.

While there, I made another decision about my country. All public political demonstrations will be required to have the following: really good music, a homeless guy pretending to be a statue, and a solar-powered amp that looks like a junkyard spaceship:



You know, Reader, as much as I'd like to think that no one in my country would be like Soon-To-Be-Former State Senator Chris Buttars, I know that's not realistic. Statistically, some will slip through the rigid screening process somehow and gain access to my idyllic nation. But I can continue to hope that my country will have a bunch of living statues and people with solar powered spaceship amps that will show up and demonstrate their contempt for bigotry and hatred.

God Bless America. Even though it's home to people like Chris Buttars.