End Kwote

After it's all said and done, life's just a bunch of kwotes

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There’s a battle going on. Right now. In my body. A mucousy, cough laden, germ infested battle.

“Alright men” says the general of the army of germs that cause the “common cold”. “We must hold this position. We have to make Andrew feel as sick, disgusting, and tired as possible so that he can’t function like a normal human being. We’ll give him headaches, runny-noses, and coughs until he can’t stand. We’ll make him regret that he got out of bed this morning. He won’t sleep, he won’t eat, and he most certainly won’t do anything fun. After all, who needs to be productive or energetic while you’re in college? Who’s with me?!?”

The army of cold germs echoes the rallying speech with a roar of hip-hoorays that indicate they won’t be going anywhere anytime soon. They’re dug in deep, it seems. Nestled in the trenches of my sinuses and nasal cavity. The cold germs revel in the excellence of their position. They jovially chat with one another and crack “yo mama” jokes as they sit in their seemingly impenetrable camp.

But, in the distance, a faint rumble can be heard. The rumble grows louder, louder, closer, and closer. It sounds as if a stampede is racing towards their location. The cold germs begin to feel uneasy, looking from comrade to comrade wondering what’s advancing over the horizon.

Then, all of a sudden, with the force of a bazillion tidal waves, an army of anti-cold germs barrels over the front lines. On the backs of bits of orange pulp from gallons of orange juice that I’ve been drinking all day, armed with swords made of pure vitamin-C, the anti-cold germs race to confront the nasty cold germs.

The initial collision is horrific. Cold germs are flying every which way, attempting to fend off any advancing attacker. The effort is frantic and the cold germ general attempts to encourage his troops.

“WE MUST HOLD!!!!” screams the cold germ general. He seems pretty pissed. “WE MUST NOT BE DEFEATED!! Bash em on the heads! Stab em in the backs! Kick em in the nuts! Do whatever it takes, men!! They might take our lives, but they will never take OUR FREEDOM!!!!”

The war raged on with no clear victor emerging. Locked in a battle to the death, the cold germs and anti-cold germs continue this fatal clash.

The carnage is terrible. Little germ arms are lopped off, laying on the field of battle. Actually, germs don’t have arms, but if they did, they would be lopped off, laying in the field of battle. Shards of hardened mucous and vitamin-C are flying around the battle field like bits of shrapnel. No germ is safe from the deadly fodder. In the midst of the fight, germs yell for a medic, but, just like in every war movie ever created, a damn medic never seems to come.

The anti-cold germs swing their swords with the might of Zeus, hacking and cutting their way through the cold germ forces. Screams of cold germs can be heard as they are slashed by the vitamin-C swords. Though their effort is mighty, the cold germs seem to have met their match.

But, the cold germs fire back with their mucous canons, claiming countless anti-cold germ lives. Anti-cold germs are stopped in their tracks by the disgusting, sticky munition. The damage caused by the battle is nearly indescribable.

Many poor, poor germ souls are claimed in the awesome battle. It’s a sad day, indeed.

The smoke begins to clear, the battle seems to have come to an end. A victor is soon to be named. But who will it be? The cold germs? The anti-cold germs? Which force has won this momentous battle? (insert suspenseful violin music here)

Unfortunately, the cold germ general emerges from the haze, the last standing warrior in this tremendous onslaught. He stands alone, raising his germ fist in the air (I’m just giving them arms now) in reverent victory.

Alas, the story is not all bad. Though the anti-cold germ army was ultimately defeated, the cold germ army was greatly weakened. It’s only a matter of time until more anti-cold germ armies strike, wiping out the sole survivor. The cold germ general doesn’t stand a chance against the floods of orange juice that I’m about to consume. It’s only a matter of time.

This is what I picture going on in my body when I contract the common cold. A vicious battle between two armies of germs. I mean, it makes sense. It could happen.

Do you ever get that feeling? Like a small sickness war is occurring in your body?

I guess it’s just that time of year when people don’t wash their damn hands after using the bathroom, don’t cover their damn mouths when they sneeze, and spread their damn germs all over the damn place. Dammit, people, your making me sick. Literally…

Ohh and this is easily the weirdest thing I have ever written. Whether you like it or not is irrelevant, cause I had a damn good time writing it.

End Damn Kwote

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