The crippling effects of my Existential Boo-Boo

Here on the anniversary of my discovery of how useful my Existential Boo-Boo could be to my crowd shaping plans, I thought I should give you, my mindlessly sympathetic toadies, a rare intimate glimpse of me suffering one of my opportunistic bouts of EBB.

You can plainly see from the empty prescription containers that, even with the quantities of medicine I must consume to keep the Boo-Boo primed to strike when a surge of mass sympathy might serve me best, I can still suffer terribly and unexpectedly from vertigo, disequilibrium, nausea, vomiting, and, worst of all, kathisophobia, the dreadful fear of suddenly being attacked by an aluminum folding chair.

There, but for the grace of me, go you. Have you heard about my book proposal proposing to write a book on certain multi-level marketing opportunities in newly emerging nations? Have you pre-ordered your soon to be proposed copy?

Knowing that irrevocable payment has been made toward the purchase of my soon to be proposed book would go a long way to relieving the terrible stress caused by the anxiety of not knowing, stress which the EBB virus exploits at every opportunity to have its diabolical way with me.

Please pre-order your copy today so that we all may quest into the unknown together, as brother and way younger, reverentially servile little brothers and sisters.

If anyone out there happens to have a stuffed toy replica of the the EBB virus I can hold up in an extreme closeup selfie to utilize as a branding meme in order to even more intensely focus attention on me and my status as helpless victim to be subsidized by you, my target audience, that would be cool, too.

A Southern Boy, Too Many Parisian Oysters, and the Stressors of a Good Life

Apparently making a good enough living typing at home about God and Man that his wife doesn't have to work, banking a near million dollar book advance and hectoring others about how to live while eating Parisian oysters on multiple elective vacation trips to Europe is far more stressful and unhealthful than anyone knew. I asked my invisible, anonymous friend Maria, the journalistic source of all my unverifiable anecdotes and a single mom of four who cleans bathrooms at the Greyhound station when her Walmart shift is over, what she thought of this:

So, I went to see the rheumatologist about my chronic mono. Tests were ordered, but his considered opinion is that my immune system has broken down because of persistent and serious stress. He will see me in three weeks to go over the test results, but predicts that the answer for me will be “trying to find inner peace.”

He said that, this physician, talking like a priest. He told me he sees this a lot in his practice these days: people’s immune systems being unable to cope with multiple stressors. Who knew?

Tears streaming down a face pallid and doughy from years of night work at two jobs and a diet of Big Macs and takeout tacos, Maria could only shriek in agony at the top of her lungs, "WHO KNEW!? WHO KNEW!?", and then she broke down completely, and then while trying to console her I started sobbing uncontrollably with her, and I'm sorry, folks, I'll try to finish this when I can finally compos