I Am The Sexiest Man Alive
Anyway, we're not talking about those Latin Losers. We're talking about me, C-dog, and how last night I climbed to the highest heights of Sexy Mountain and stood there like a shining, Bat-signal of lust (it projects an image that looks like my dong) until I eventually got sleepy and had to go to bed. So now, let me break down my sexy, sexy, sexiness for you. Ladies, you might want to chain yourselves to your desk so you don't sprint out of your offices and into the streets, wild with carnality, trying to track me down for a right proper savaging. Gents... sorry, but after you read this, you're going to be crying all over your penises. I'm not trying to blow up your spot or anything... I've just gotta STRUT. Okay, no more stalling, here come the sexy:
-I've got this really bad cold or sinus infection or something and it's making me leak snot like a bag full of snot that's got holes in it. It's also severely affecting my metaphor skills, but that's neither here nor there. I'm all mucous-y and horking up weird globs of stuff from the depths of space and when I breath it sounds like a scuba diver swimming through an ocean of pudding. Horrible, horrible pudding.
-Because of said illness, I took a bunch of cold medicines. Like, a BUNCH. I felt so bad, it just kind of seemed like a good idea to take one dose of everything we had in the cabinet, including some ancient Pepto-Bismal tablets, a few decorative soaps, and an entire tube of Neosporin that I spread on crackers like Easy Cheeze. But the point is, by 8pm, I was completely loopy from the side effects and was stumbling around, slurring my words like Bowery bum, drooling down the front of my stained t-shirt, and mistaking my office for the bathroom. Repeatedly. Such a mess...
-Compounding the loopiness, I decided that it would be a really good idea to drink a lot of beer and whiskey, because I'm pretty sure doctors tell you it's ALWAYS smart to wash down any powerful medicines you might be taking with a good, stiff drink. It balances you out, or, rather, it disconnects you from reality and you'll find yourself out in the hallway doing the best one-man version of A Chorus Line your apartment building (or the cops they eventually call) has ever seen.
-At some point, I pulled it together enough to wander down to the Chinese place and order up a bunch of greasy fried chicken and french fries, all swimming in hot sauce. As my motor skills were... oh, let's say, "fucked up beyond all rational comprehension," I ended up mostly just smearing grease and Red Devil all over my face, neck, upper torso, hair, and the cat. I *did* eat all the chicken and fries, of course, but only after dropping it all on the floor a few times and, finally giving up with the fork (because I stabbed myself in the throat), just diving in there and scarfing at it like a rottweiler on a toddler. It was delicious and worth the eventual bloat.
Look, for real, I'm not telling you all of this to make you jealous (guys) or horny (ladies... and guys too, I ain't picky). I just want you to know... and I mean really KNOW... just how motherfucking sexy your boy C-dog truly is. Because one day you might find yourself alone with me and the flu and some Sudafed and a bottle of Old Grand Dad and a bucket of KFC and you really should know what you're getting yourself into. I don't want anyone to get hurt. BY MY SEXINESS!!!