You fucking gave me anal blood.

A rather hilarious turn of events has occurred. It would appear that me and my roommate share enough things so that when one gets sick, so does the other. This Monday, I experienced a horrible burst of being sick, and it turns out he suffered the same sickness back home (he went home for the weekend). One of the symptoms of this sickness, in an almost purposely comedic facet, happens to be bleeding out of the nether regions, among other things. When I told him I was sick on Monday, we shared symptoms, though at first neither of us mentioned this aforementioned one. I was almost forced to explain to situation to him that night however, when I decided to, at midnight, change into my oldest, most worn out underwear and my least favorite pair of pants, and after doing so, he affirmed that the same thing was happening to him. Today was more of the same, runny, clogged nose, sore throat, headache, disorientation, and of course, the red menace. I got tired of it by tonight, and my roommate came back into the room after playing hockey really drunk. After a few exchanges, he asked how my sickness was going, to which i responded "You fucking gave me anal blood." Hilarious story, as I see it.

This is the sort of thing I write when I am sick/disoriented.

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There was a little boy who sat calmly by a creek,
every day he spent so silently listening to the birds and listening to the trees.
The orchestrated song of nature that resounded around his head,
the rustling of the wind upon the rocks and leaves and the flowing of the water.
And some days he felt inclined to try to join the beauty,
but the only sounds that rose from his throat were groans of pain and sadness.
One night he lay beside the creek and stared up towards the sky;
he saw a shooting star and wished upon it with a twinge of hope.
His wish was not of wealth or class, but he wished only for a voice.
Intents of his were to join the woods in solemn song,
but soon he would learn that wishes seldom ended well.
In the morning he felt inspired to leave the creek,
he wanted to unite the world.
His expedition started as he marched upon the city.
The words flowed so fluidly and endlessly they seemed to have no end.
He made a thousand friends and passed through school with but a thought.
He was hired on the spot to fill the slot for global peace.
With his iron voice he set the world at ease,
At first the world remained apart, but they slowly integrated.
With the help of his iron voice he pulled the strings that tied the world,
string that were perhaps a bit too strong; a steel thread run round a mouse.
And to the forefront of this unity, this universal sense of self,
was pushed the boy who wished upon a star.
And as the boy, now turned a man, gazed upon his world of peace,
he wanted nothing but to sing.