A while back an individual posted online that I needed medical help, based solely on my blog picture viewed on their mobile device. Pretty insightful. So, I immediately headed to the ER for help. The staff was waiting for me (since the government now reads all posts and follows everyone with drones) and I was rushed into a state-of-the-art diagnostic suite where I was subjected to a battery of tests of which I just received the results, in a tweet, on Snapchat, Instagram and Pinterest.
The Prognosis: first, I am terminal. It has been determined I am going to die, they just don’t know when or of what, but it is a certainty. Bummer. However, there was good news, my levels of D.T.Y.T.S. are all exceedingly high for a man my vintage. (You know, D.T.Y.T.S.: Don’t Take Yourself Too Seriously).
So, a prescription was forwarded, by e-mail of course, that I just filled at Walmart. The directions read: Laugh at yourself daily, for you are the funniest person you know. Every time you walk into a room and forget why you are there, laugh. When the coffee cup, eyeglass, car keys gremlin moves them from the last place you are certain you left them, laugh. When you find yourself at the grocery store opening the glass doors in the frozen food section to “see” what is on the shelves, laugh. When you find yourself waiting for the light to change at a stop sign, laugh. And most importantly laugh when some know nothing self-important chucklehead chooses to point out your shortcomings and character defects uninvited. And then say a silent prayer for them.
Miracles Of Recovery
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