I have been sentenced to complete horizontalness for the past 36 hours because some lousy micro-scum has invaded my delicious mortal parts.  For me, being ill is like having a bad vacation for I got to fasten myself inside the confines of my house.

While trying to recuperate and get myself out from the malaise that I have been subjected to, I justified and thought of the benefits and reasons why I should not go out of my house, to wit:

• I can practice mental telepathy.
• There is a good probability that I run into some bad elements lurking in the streets like hold-upper, kidnapper or kiss-napper.
• The ozone layer got a humongous hole, the ice caps are melting, the country is in the ring of fire, therefore, in case a cataclysmic event may happen, I’m in the comforts of my bed.
• I have enough time to think of a plan on how to haul the corpse of Michael Jackson in a music studio and record the sounds of its decomposition which I can sell later.
• Roger Federer or Madonna Louise Ciccone might call.

Lagnat pa lang yan…