It's All Fun and Games Until Someone Gets the Piggy Flu

Got a call from Beak about a week ago.

"I'm really, really sorry," she said, "but the pediatrician's office just called and that runny nose of Bub's that they said yesterday was just a cold was actually strep throat. He was contagious all day today"

"I'm not really worried about it," I told her.

Fatdaddy rule number one for medicine is that I'm not sure how anyone survived before the CDC and news shows like "Sixty Minutes" told us how we should all be dead. I am almost positive that in spite of the happy advancements of modern medicine, the pioneers somehow managed to survive without anti-bacterial wipes and hand sanitizer. Think about it. The last time you played "Oregon Trail", how many times did you need to heal someone with a case of strep throat before you could move again?

They used to subscribe to the same school of medicine that my wrestling coach used. If there is not a bone sticking out or copious amounts of blood gushing from an open wound, you rub some aspirin on it, eat some dirt, and get back on the mat.

Or was it eat some aspirin and rub the dirt? Didn't matter. It was all about bein' tough.

"I'm sure that my little outbreak monkeys have and will again return the favor," I told Beak.

And I was right.

Yesterday, after a quick trip to the pediatrician with Senor Squizzle, I called Beak and left a message on her phone.

"Tag, you're it! Squizzles has RSV. First kid to swine flu wins!"

I'm not sure what they'll win, but I thought the message was funny. Squizzle is not laughing though. Wheezing pathetically? Yes. Laughing? Not so much.

Like all small children who get sick, he seems to be allergic to the dark. What I mean is he will stay up all night long, gasping and moaning pathetically and reminding you with sad little groans that he must be held in just the right position to be comfortable.

Then, as soon as it's light outside and Dad has things he has to do and can't go back to bed, he'll sleep comfortably for the bulk of the afternoon.

And I wonder why I'm so %$#@ short tempered around here all the time.

I noticed that my super bowl review seems to have incited massive amounts of apathy. My boy Jess is the only one with a favorite commercial? Nobody thought my line about the Four Horsemen stopping at the Flying J for beef jerky and Big Gulps was funny?

Perfectly good "A" material, shot to hell....

Now might be a bad time to mention it, but some of you may have noticed a new feature at the top of the page. I put this little collection of inane diatribes and semi-psychotic ramblings on blogcatalog in a pathetic attempt to boost readership. It seems I may have reached the limits of the Facebook advertisements and "family and friends" demographic(that's not a knock on you guys, you know I love you all) so if I want to turn this into a paying gig, I'm gonna have to expand a little.

One of the features offered is the Rate My Blog tab. If you click on it, it will take you to the Blogcatalog page for Dad's Destroying Angels, and you can rate this bad boy on a scale of 1-5 and leave comments or curses. The more reviews I get, the higher up the food chain I go for exposure. If you have a second, I'd appreciate it.

****Editor's Note
At first glance, it would appear that I narcissistically reviewed my own work, but rest assured that it was the Boss who posted the first review. She just happened to be signed in as me when she did. Even I'm not that egotistical.
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Also, feel free to share my site or use the email button at the bottom of each post to send any bits you think worthy to friends or strangers who might enjoy my particular brand of "humor".

Well, I gotta go. Gotta find a recipe for baking day. So many things to burn, so little time...