An Open Letter To My Body #2; Stop Feeding Me Corona, You Retard!

Dear Body,

I’ve asked you this question before, but seriously, are you a fucking retard?!

Are you trying to kill me?! Stop force-feeding me corona.

I understand that you think it’s cute when you make me rub my eyes to remove some dandelion debris, or to smudge my nose when the sniffles are coming on, or to wipe my mouth after Crystal at the Classy Cat finishes smushing her butt cheeks in my face, but seriously, Stop It!

It’s a suicide mission.

Each time you make me touch my eyes, nose, or mouth, you’re pulling the trigger in a Russian Roulette game that I did not agree to participate in.

Even as I write this, you’re constantly sending me impulses to rub my eyes, to smudge my nose, and to stick a finger up my butt.

No.

This must stop!

Enough with the trying to kill me!

We good?

p.s. That ‘We good’ directly above is not a question. It’s a threat. Try me, bitch!

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