Wow-de-wow-wow, you guys, I still have the vestiges of the plague, and two nights ago my fever peaked at 102.4, the highest I can remember its ever being and quite respectable, as my therapist says, for an adult. I know, for the cheerful reason that this almost happened to my father once, that at around 105F your organs start to fail, and I really like my organs, I am using all my organs, so I was kind of worried. Now I am no longer feverish and the main point of contention between me and the plague seems to be when it will deign to vacate my poor beleaguered intestines. My plan is slowly to replace it with General Tso's tofu. If the Taiping rebels couldn't stand against General Tso, I don't see how the common cold can.
If you have been attempting to contact me I apologize, because my behavior when sick is much like that of a cat, which is to say that I hide at the back of the closet and peer out at you with wary, gleaming eyes, or in practical terms that I turn my cell phone off and lie in bed under all the blankets I own, watching the Killer Shrews episode of Mystery Science Theater 3000. It's not that I don't like you, I'm just stressed out and need to be alone. And in a couple of months you'll discover that I've chewed big holes in all the plastic bags you've got back here. It soothes me, OK?
All of which is to say that yes, today's comic is an old sketch, though it is somewhat relevant because I do have a stiff neck. No spinal meningitis, though, which I know because I can touch my chin to my chest. I actually like to do that every now and then even when I'm not sick, just so I'm sure that's not another thing I should be worried about. It's like how back when one bought subway tokens in bags of ten I used to count them before opening the bag just on the off chance that there were only nine. It's a lot like that.