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Chip Brown.

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Worse Things

You know last week I wrote that I thought I had Anthrax? Well, it turns out my wife may have not been wrong...it was just a cold as she speculated. But it's a stupendously severe cold!

There I sat last week trying to type out my articles for my readers whom I can't let down. Plus the few papers I write for, don't pay me if I miss a deadline. Typing and sniffing, snotting and cursing I typed out two articles I don't even remember writing. Then when I finished with a loud curse I shouted, "How could things possibly be worse?"

One should never tempt God to do your misery one better. The guy created the universe, did I think he couldn't work the same miracles in misery?

Not since Lonnie Schwartz stuck his tongue to the goal post in 20 degree weather has anyone been more willing to take up a challenge. God and I have a long history. It's been true through my life that anytime I say, "things can't get worse," God shows me that they can indeed. God has a sense of humor.

This morning I tore a chest muscle.

Now this may not mean a lot to you, the mortal reader, but I see the irony in this. Let's look at the timeline. God gave me a cold. I wasn't satisfied and asked him to magnify my misery. God tore my chest muscle this morning.

So what's the irony in this? Shortly before I tore my chest muscle I had developed one of those deep coughs. The cold had began to settle in my chest. Deep down hacking lung cough, coupled with torn chest muscle equals pain. Although I used many four letter words to try to describe it, as I lay in the floor coughing like a TB patient having a heart attack. The only four letter word that seemed to fit was pain.

But now I lie here in my recliner gently trying to type out this week's articles. Surely, I don't deserve all this misery I seem to be falling into. Well, maybe I deserve it but I'll bet you there are many people out there that deserve it more.

How about the guy that told Brittney Spears it would be real cool to rip her clothes off at the beginning of every song? Surely he should have a share of my misery! Hey, don't get me wrong, I like fake boobs as well as the next American male. But the fact is, if you're going to call yourself a singer at least try to sing. Leave the stripping for the nudy bar.

In fact, I think Anna Kornikova should rip off her clothes before every tennis match. It might make me forget that she stinks at tennis.

Now surely everyone who has ever walked up to someone with the phrase, "I hope this doesn't offend you," deserves a bit of heavenly retribution.

How about idiots that call your house with a wrong number at eleven o'clock? Don't these imbeciles deserve a bit of misery or well placed bad luck? Heck for that matter so do all the idiots that call me at eleven o'clock at night with the right number.

How about the moron who sits at his desk and decides the best time to close five miles of interstate for repairs is during rush hour? Who among us hasn't wished this guy a good case of plague?

So what's my point? Well, first off my point is I don't feel good. When I don't feel good you get angry articles, so live with it.

My second point is this. I don't care to take my share of the misfortune, bad luck and ailments God sends my way. Heck I deserve it! I just hope that God isn't so busy dishing out misery to me that he forgets everyone else.

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