Huh? What? Moar Cold Medicine!

I had to leave the house today: too soon.

It could not be avoided but, I'd say,

It set me back some days. Inopportune?

Try horrible. Now I just want this day

To close, though there is much yet to enjoy:

My folks came bearing dead cow for to grill

(Indoors, I think. The wind would sure destroy

Attempts to barbecue; though he's the will

My dad's a one-eyed monster just now, for

He got his mad bionics this morn, wears

An eyepatch while it heals up, all the more

To keep him indoors!). And, yes, meanwhile, there's

Some baseball game tonight, I hear. I might

Not make it through all that, though, not tonight.

In Which I Rant A Little About A Stupid News Story

"Dude, listen to this; it will get you high!"
"What? I can't hear you; my drugs are too loud!"
"These beats make me like Lucy in the sky!"
Oh, crap like this just really makes me proud
That I was ever in the fourth estate,
With off'rings such as this still getting seen
And taken with such seriousness. It's great
To see how science education's been
Successful. Guys, e'en if it's proven true
That these binaural beats can change the waves
Of someone's brain, that's nothing. Pull on through
The water with a paddle: it behaves
Perhaps as though a boat traversed it, but
You didn't make a boat appear, you nut.

In Which I... Er... Try To Think Of Stuff (Achoo)

It's someone's birthday, I am fairly sure.

But I can't find it eas'ly in the haze

Of Nyquil. Facebook shows me naught. Endure

With me this anguish. If it's you, don't laze

And brush it off. I'm feeling bad enough.

My springtime trip through Hades has begun.

It happens ev'ry year; I've not the stuff

To beat it just by resting, it seems. None

Of my most trusted remedies have stepped

Up to take on this crud -- though I have just

Remembered I have Mucinex. I get

Confused on sick days, as I 'spose one must

Whose clock is out of whack, who is on drugs

Whose life's reduced to battling with these bugs.

In Which I Am Fascinated And Repulsed By A Television Show

A simple concept, it would seem, our health,

But it gets weird, elusive when a trade

Develops. It gets ugly when there's stealth,

And dealings 'neath the roses, then, are made.

And it's not organ thieves, apocryphal

Or not, that trouble me just now, for I

Am watching Breaking Bad, in which a cull

Is made from Albuquerque, on the sly.

A teacher who cooks meth is funny, sure

In that high concept TV way, but then

Because a hero's motives must be pure

He's made a cancer patient so that when

He deals in poisons, sickening the mass

He's noble. Stealing health, though, has no class.

In Which I Am Not Making This Stuff Up

Now comes the news from ol' Down Under way,

Of wallabies who get as high as kites --

They like to eat the poppies, so they say.

Then crazily they -- no, don't get in fights --

But run around in little fairy rings

Until they fall down dizzy and they crash.

While I still favor ordinary things,

Like ropes and boards and scissors, I'll not trash

This tale as yet another theorem

For how crop circles come to be out there.

Marsupials on opium? Condemn

Them not! They like a good time, to be fair,

As much as aliens and people do,

And naturally some mischief will ensue.

In Which I Am Bowled Over By A Multimedia Webcomic Featuring A Guy With A Bra On His Head

One day post-migraine and I've just blown out

My brain on a web comic (and a flick

But Wolverine's not what I'm all about

This afternoon) that tripped me out so quick

I read the whole thing in one sitting, well,

The whole thing that is posted thus far. I'll

Need rehab to get past NAWLZ and - oh hell! 

Prepare yourself for weirdness nonpareil;

A multimedia bludgeon there awaits.

Thought-casting, mad bionics, trip and trance,

Internal serotonin taps, hot dates

With triple-G bras and with cars that dance

(Or stomp at least). The future here is weird;

Exactly what the likes of Falwell feared.

Bonus Sonnet on the Casper Star-Tribune

Reducing costs by cutting back on staff
Instead of on the less essential things,
Has come to be so common I can't laugh
To learn that a newspaper also clings
Fast to the thought reporters aren't a need.
That they are what the news can't do without
A quaint idea held just by those who read,
But one the publishers can surely flout.
Cut to a scene just days after the news
Came out and cops and ambulances and
Whatnot were all on scene searching for clues.
But it was no ex-worker out of hand.
"You lost your job? Well here, just have some blow"
Some joker thought, and mailed it, as we know.