I've been sick.
Night before last I downed a hearty shot of that medical elixir that Denis Leary so correctly described as Green Effin Death flavor -- NyQuil. I then sat down on the couch and fell flat asleep -- during the Victoria Secrets fashion show, I might add.
Not that halfway nodding off, head bobbing like a dingy at sea kind of sleep, but the chin on chest slobber dripping kind of comatose sleep usually reserved for the tequila and Jaegermeister abusers of the world.
Did I mention that my slumber occurred while a parade of scantily clad women were traipsing across my crystal clear hi-def big screen?
Generally speaking, that sort of thing is something I can stay up for. (Pun somewhat intended)
If that is not evidence enough of my illness, I offer further proof. I was supposed to go hunting this evening, but I am forgoing my pursuit of filling the freezer with Bambi's kinfolk in lieu of staying home to rest. My guess is that this is the result of an evil conspiracy from PETA. They probably have secret agents working out in the field to breathe germs upon suspected hunters and meat eaters just to keep them indoors just as the rut is starting.
Or maybe that is simply the NyQuil talking.
Either way, I've rattled on long enough on here when I would have preferred to do my rattling out in the wilds in pursuit of a big whitetail buck. Pheasant season starts here tomorrow as well, but I won't be making it out for that either.
I know some of you are going to comment and say, "Travis, if you ate some lettuce or other veggies you probably wouldn't be sick."
To y'all I say, "I drank something green. Isn't that good enough?"