Bird Flu

So, I don't really know how to start this.
All I can say is that I've spent the past couple days surrounded by either
1)turkey
or
2)barf.

Yeah.

Thanksgiving day was fairly uneventful.
My cousin spent the night with me the night before, then around noon on the actual day of thanks, we went to my mother's house.
A filling lunch ensued.

Then, around 4, my siblings, my cousin Sam, and I transported our fat selves to my father's place.
More food. Woopeeeeee.

My dad had called my mom's house a few minutes before claiming, "We're all anxious to eat."
Anxious to eat, my ass.
I ain't eatin nuffin, my brudda.

But, alas, one can never deny stuffing.
And this weird pineapple/cheese/whatever the frack else is in it casserole thing that Rachel makes.
It's delicious.

So, next morning, I get up and one out of the five children is missing.
It's Katie, and apparently, she got really sick around 2 something in the morning and was tossing chunks and pooping everywhere.
My mom got Katie or something, so she was over there, whilst all of us other kids were at my dad's.

My mom had gotten Katie so as to try to protect my dad from any sort of sickness, which didn't really help in the long run because my brother and I both got sick as well.

I suppose there are some benefits to Katie not being there, mostly because my dad wouldn't have to take care of her, and I guess he doesn't really have to take care of my brother and I whilst we're sick.
We can both drag ourselves to the toilet right before our stomach explodes both up our esophogi and colons just fine.

Basically, I've resolved to never eat pizza again.

I've never really liked pizza in the first place, and normally my dad or mom or whomever did the ordering will get me some hot wings or chicken strips or something.
But, I actually opted for the pizza when the food got there.

Which, inevitably, was really the better choice.
Mostly because throwing up pizza flavor is ultimately better than throwing up spicy demon chunks.

But, still, I will never eat pizza again in my life.
Because nothing is worse than looking up and seeing this vile, bile/tomato sauce-smelling thing in your toilet- That happens to look exactly like the pizza you ate just hours beforehand.

Which is probably a lie.
Because there is nothing BETTER than Conner Miller's specialty ICB pizza.
And that probably wouldn't be too bad throwing up.

Except maybe if you're on a date.
In which case, you would end up with garlic/vomit breath.
But let's just assume that won't happen.

Because who would eat garlic on a date?