How's it going?
It turns out, I have a choice...
Yeah, according to the post-apocalypse docs, I can either REMAIN INDOORS or undergo some kind of laser treatment.
Ok, it's not as serious as it sounds... I kinda knew that a diagnosis like that would be along eventually...
Um, what can I say? Well done? Nice dodge there?
Weird to think I had a chance actually! I mean, after today, I'm surprised I had ANY SELF-ESTEEM AT ALL.
Oh, alright... I still need to see a specialist to properly identify the scale of the damage, but I can guess it will be bad news.
Now, today's blog may not have anything to do with zombies, but I'm afraid I don't give a shit.
To be honest, if YOU walked into a medical institute and YOU were told YOU were a freak, I bet YOU wouldn't give a shit either.
Laser treatment? How has it got to the state where I need fucking space-age technology to make me normal again?
If you're wondering, by the way, what kind of condition I'm talking about, I'm afraid it's too private to post here.
Kill that. It's too EMBARASSING.
Even if I didn't care, which I do, I wouldn't write it down, because I don't want my 3 or 4 regular readers to be sick.
My god... Today has made me pretty upset, internet. I found out I'm CLINICALLY PHYSICALLY REPULSIVE.
Ehh... I might just be able to text about it. But don't feel you have to... Just promise me that you'll...
REMAIN INDOORS