The Empire Takes One In The Mouth

"Cut me, Mick, cut me."

Never have more bold and foolish words been said. But knowing no better, I marched my easily convincable ass into a doctor's office this week and let a man who's sworn duty it is to improve health and well-being drill four giant vacuous holes into my jaw and lower sinus region.

So, what now? You ask. Well, now there is no booze, no peanuts, no red pepper flakes, and definitely no steak, and we all know how The Empire feels about steak.

Basically it's a huge downer. The haziness, the swelling, the queasy feeling when I try to do complicated things like say STAND UP. And that's not all. Because I'm a major schmuck, I dragged myself through the streets of Boston (in a Yankee hat to cover up my scarily matted hair) and up into the Prudential tower to work, where I can now enjoy the vertigo of my window seat and the learing eyes of the chippy pink interns. It's almost like they're seeing facial hair for the first time.

And here I sit. Grouchy, stinky, achey, woozy. Wishing all of you a happy Monday. The Empire's not snarking anyone until it can at least bite down on a microwavable noodle.