Wombat Rampant

I'd forgotten how hard Cephalexin hits me. Everything seems to take longer than it ought to and require more energy than it would take to bench-press a bus. Apparently there is a three-cornered rumble going on in my foot between the antibiotic molecules, the bacteria, and my white cells, and all my pain receptors are huddling on the floors of their apartments with their hands over their ears waiting for the shooting to stop. The idea of walking over to the Baker Block to do Weight Watchers and check the mailbox seems foolhardy...better just to huddle in my chair and play something loud and metallic so I can stay awake and not fall face first into the keyboard.

But I'm going to have to get up and go get lunch sooner or later, even if the idea of eating food makes me nauseous. So I might as well do the other stuff too.

I see that Hardee's has upgraded the old Monster Burger with one less patty but far more beefy goodness as the Monster Thickburger, and predictably, the wet blankets and whiners at CSPI (no link, those swine get more publicity than they deserve already) are out there clamoring that the burger needs warning labels, backup horns and God knows what all lest unwary folk seeking a healthy dinner sandwich order one by accident and die in screaming agony hours later as their arteries explode.

These are the same idiots, BTW, who are always going on about how Chinese food is bad for you and movie popcorn is bad for you and we should all stop eating ice cream and live on organic tofu or rocks or some such crap. They should sit on a habanero-smeared tofu dog and rotate. Anyone buying one of these Thickburgers (which have their own appealing mascot) knows full well what they're getting unless they're the kind of brain-dead moron that couldn't pronounce "Monster Thickburger" in the first place, much less manage to actually find a Hardee's and buy one.

Me, I'll take mine without the mayo, thanks. The mayo is just wretched excess.

(Tip of the wombat's helmet to Professor Death.)