Arise, arise chicken!

I think the lymph node under the right side of my jaw wants out. It's swelled up to about the size of a golf ball (well, feels like, anyway) and I get the oddest sensation that it's trying to tunnel its way into my throat and flee via my mouth. Not sure where I stand on that. If it lessens the headache or the chills, well, by all means, burrow away, li'l buddy. And every time I turn my head to the right, things get a little...cloudy. Eyes front, then.

Lore composed a poem after playing hours of Star Wars Battlefront:

Hoth
Is not goth.
Everyone wears white,
And you can't go out at night.

Much as I'm not into rhyming couplets, he's right, you know. Started playing SW:B simply to gather a few Ewok pelts. But lo, what's this? Gungans? Weesa-see Gungans? Dark side, party of one, your table is ready! The Gungans are utter pushovers -- their primary weapon seems to be exploding cooshballs, which is fine, but they don't win negotiations with repeating laser rifles. Theraputic, this game is, rrmmm? (I did accidentally try to blast Luke Skywalker with a laser turret during the Hoth scenario. He reflected it back at me with the trusty lightsaber. Okay, that's just a bit anachronistic, but point taken. Sry Luke LOL!!1!!)

The Chargers are still not in last place. The PrettyBirds, though, are, unless Sean Taylor can pick up six fantasy points tonight. C'mon, Sean. Do it. Maybe I should give a ring to KSU alum Terence Newman, tell him to keep the offense on the field as much as possible -- yeah, as if he's not trying already. At least Peyton finally performed. Too bad our opposition was made of mostly Packers. Gah. Also, Gunther, Dick, I'm sorry guys, you deserve better. Sigh.

Enough. Now meds and resume sending. Hrm. Maybe better do the latter first.