Chapter 2,077: In which our hero's ribs are sore

Chapter 2,077: In which our hero's ribs are sore

Or, in which the unpleasantness continues.

No more puking. Not that I can foresee. I say again, without hyperbole, that I threw up more in the 13 hour period from 11 PM Christmas night to 12 noon yesterday, than I have in any similar period in all my life.

Sad part? After the first initial incidence, where the remains of my dinner came up, I'm didn't bring up anything more substantial than water and bile. And honestly? There wasn't that much water. Couldn't keep more than a couple of mouthfuls on my stomach at a time. I went through half a bottle of Listerine trying to get that nasty taste out of my mouth.

Of course, my count doesn't count the amount of time I spent crouching in front of the toilet, dry-heaving.

Gross, I know.

But I tell you that to tell you this: I think my status for the next couple of days should be considered Questionable. Ribs are sore. From all the expectoration, but also from the attempted expectoration.

Big Stupid Tommy, Q, Sore Ribs.

It being the final week of the regular season, I might just play a quarter or two, and rest up for the playoffs.