What with this string of Dark Guest Bloggers through here I guess I owe you some sort of explanation.
Don't fuckin' talk to me about Intelligent Design, OK? That's gonna get you some ridicule. What's been afflicting me makes the Vermiform Appendix and the Wisdom Tooth look like models of acute cogitation. If a second-year student of engineering had designed something quite this awful, he'd have been taken out behind the gym and beaten with sock full of soap until he apologized.
Nevertheless, here I find myself.
Trust me, I'm in no mortal danger. The thing that's wrong with me will, if allowed to progress, lead to nothing more than a series of indignities.
Meanwhile, it's mainsail set for the Isle of Vicodin, with a hearty yo ho ho and a bottle of humility.