If you don't already know that I'm allergic to wasp stings, then you haven't been paying enough attention to me. If you could pull your thumb out of your ass for three minutes and martial your powers of concentration long enough to read this to the end, I will elaborate on this condition and the recent events surrounding it.
It was Friday night last week, and I'd finished watching my rental copy of Cruising, starring Al Pacino (which, by the way, no one told me was a totally gay film for gays about gays!) and had fallen asleep. My window was shut (due to the wasp nest outside my room). I had also finished taping up the hole in my fireplace because the wasps were coming down the chimney like little black and yellow santas, carrying sacks full of venom to make me die. Somehow the little bastards are still getting into my room but with less frequency now that I've taken preventative measures.
4:35am and I roll over onto a wasp which stings my arm. Angry. I pull the sting out of my arm and punch the offender against the wall, which by now is starting to look like a waspy Jackson Pollock. I don't have any epinephrin, only over-the-counter stuff. One specific antihistamine doesn't work for me and instead of writing down which one it was I decided to remember it. I didn't. So I just knock back four different tablets and go back to sleep. Fifteen minutes later and I'm woken up again after a wasp lands on my face and stings me on the eye. On the eye! I jumped up, turned the light on, grabbed the nearest object and flip-flopped the mother-fucker out of existence. By now, I've already taken an unhealthy dose of antihistamine; other than go back to sleep there's nothing else I can do. I did swear and shout quite a lot, but it ended up not being as productive as it felt.
9:00am and I get up for work. The arm is fine. A bit itchy but nothing I can't live with. My eye on the other hand has completely closed up and is weeping from one side (from rage, I presume). I go to work anyway, like an actual hero. Seriously, my mettle is phenomenal. Apparently, working in a kitchen is more than a little dangerous once you've lost binocular vision. Perspective and depth perception, turns out, is rather reliant on two eyes. I managed to burn every single knuckle on my right hand. Not at once, but on four separate occasions over two hours. Ok, so the fourth time I was angry about the previous three burns and I threw something into a fryer and the oil splashed my remaining knuckle. I take no responsibility - it was the Universe's fault.
Four burnt knuckles
Two wasp stings
One eye
That Saturday I have never been more livid in my life, but with nothing to focus my anger at. It's series of events like this which cause people to go mad and do genocides and that. I bet Mao was lactose intolerant and got locked in a cheese factory as a child.
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