While shoveling snow the last couple of days I must have unearthed some kind of February related sickness from one of the many cloned corpses of Typhoid Mary and other disease carriers of her ilk stolen from the Center of Disease Control in Atlanta by a bunch of bad assed transhumanist bikers. They take their eugenics seriously. Why they would hide one of those critters in a snowbank in upstate New York is beyond me, but I know what I know. I'm sick and I don't like it. I haven't worked on my novel in two days. Instead, I've been lying around and moaning about how crappy I feel, between snow shoveling sessions.
good night
good night
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