- Muscle pain.
- Muscle strains.
- Muscle shoals.
- Waffle Dick.
- Inflammation of the hooty, blowfish.
- Tenderness on the block.
- I’m into feet now, sexually, like Quentin Tarantino; didn’t use to be, but now I am; no kink-shaming, but I’m calling it a symptom.
- Prosopagnosia, but only for black people’s faces, and so now I don’t feel good AND everyone thinks I’m racist.
- The heebiest jeebies you ever saw, man.
- It’s 80 fucking degrees in here and I’m shivering.
- Last one wasn’t a joke.
- I don’t feel so good.
- Poppa’s gonna lay down and call the doc in the morning.
- Assuming a morning, obviously.
- Corona delenda est.
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Feel better dude. Call the doc. Don’t fuck around. If you get confused, listen to the music play.
What he said!
Ack! Get well soon, T!
Can you check your blood oxygen level? Keep an eye on it and get to the doc stat if it gets too low.
Just to be safe – Take a fistful of hyrdroxycloroquine and 500 cc’s of Clorox bleach (Lysol will do in a pinch), 5 mg of LSD (you read that right, this is a serious medical issue, not the time for micro-dosing) , smoke a pack of Marlboro Reds, swallow a full bottle of Vitamin D, and decapitate a chicken in a stone circle in full midday sun, rub the blood on your face, then shove some grow lights up your ass and turn those suckers on full blast. That should kill anything that might be ailing you.
Still got that Corona thing happening? Drink it, quick, or foist it off on some buddies.