She dreamed their visions were something within their law

On the Seventh Day of Crimbo, AlGore's invention gave to me:

Seven Hours of Dry Heaves

I should mention in due dilligence that this didn't acutally occur on the seventh day, but since today's "Day O' Crimbo" is doubling up with New Year's Day, I think it's the appropriate gift du jour.
A couple of days ago I was flat-assed on the floor of my shower puking my guts out and trying to clench my ass as tight as possible, so I wasn't letting go from both ends at once. After a few short minutes, my stomach was as empty as the DNC's book of new ideas... but my sickness wasn't abated one bit. I had been registered for 24 hours of gastro-intestinal distress, and by Jove I was getting every nanosecond worth of it.

So seven hours later, when I was once again able to keep water and a few saltines down, and was back on the path to solid stools, I found myself faced with a dilemma: Most of my day was spent in the embrace of cool linoleum, clinging onto the porcelain throne. What kind of an asshole would blog about that in a Christmas series?

Apparently, I would. But then, you already knew that.


Six A-Capella Wookies
Five Gooo-hoooold Ringtones
Four Minutes of Jibba-Jabba
Three Absolutely Unexpected Violent Incidents
Two Turtle Dentists
And A Hastily-concieved blogging project!