I'm sick. Aaargh! Some kinda creeping corporeal maurauder has crawled up my nose and made a home. Now it's working on the back of my throat with a steel wire toothbrush and hokking slime down my asophagus and into my lungs like it was spitting down a wishing well. Well here's one wish that's gonna come true for you my friend. You and me. Right now. Two hits: me hitting you and you hitting the floor. And then you're gonna call your little cold friends and your're gonna get outta my fucking body. You will not pass go you will not collect a damn thing, but you will leave and not think of looking back.

What about it, cold? Send me your champions, bitch!

Sigh. There's no greater injustice than not being allowed to fight for what you hold dear. Home. Love. Health. So often these things just slip away from us, stolen by a thousand thieves, evaporating like pogonip; or taken at one time by cruel hands unseen.

And every year we get older. And the promising vistas spied from the crowsnest of our youth grow more obscured by the smog and haze of the troubles which cling to us as we pass. How are we supposed to fight the air? Our troubles sometimes seem atomic in scale, yet pandemic in reach. A plague. A virus.

I'm talking on a personal level, but look on global scale. Terrorism, SARS, the economy, asiatic frickin flu. It's no wonder we went nuts to bomb Bagdad, it was something to identify and fight. As much as I hate to admit it, Michael Moore is right. There exists a strong culture of fear in the world. It's why we need the space program. Without a frontier, something new, we turn inward...