So I’ve contracted a fierce case of this Martian Death Flu that’s been going around — phlegm, migraine-level headache, Vic Tayback vocal stylings, etc — and nothing seems to be putting a dent in it. (Nyquil actually seems to make the sumbitch stronger and more virile, much like pollution and Hedora the Smog Monster.) Last night, in desperation, I reached for my dusty, unopened bottle of Oxycontin, prescribed for a previous back injury but gone unused due to worries about a possible interaction with something I was taking at the time. No fool I, I decided to take half of the recommended dose.

7 hours later, I’m finally able to somewhat move again, and my pupils continue to exist only on a purely theoretical level. My question is this: How in the hell do teenage abusers (to say nothing of Big Daddy Rush Limbaugh, allegedly) of this stuff function on a daily basis? I mean, Jesus, in my current state, even the general concept of algebra seems like some crazy, Lovecraftian moonman language.