I'm sending out an S.O.S. This is my message in a bottle. I won't win any originality points, but I am infirmed, boys and girls. Go on, you know you want to do it. TOUCH ME, I'M SICK!
So what kind of sick am I? My face is a warzone. My sinuses have entered against me and entered into a state of rebellion. They thought one day they could be as powerful as the rest of my head. They were cast into the lake of burning sulfur. Some people call it Hades. Some people call it Hell. I refer to it as allergies and a possible with a side of sinus infection. A lesser man would allow this quest to write 365 consecutive entries go by the wayside and go to bed. I'm chalking my dedication up to another kind of sickness altogether. There really is a song for every occasion though, isn't there?
If I were to invent a device to cut into my head and remove my sinuses, it would probably sound like this Mudhoney song. Listen, people, I didn't just choose it because of the title. I can do better than that. Listen to the sinister riff and the squalling guitars. The fuzzed distortion has a cutting edge to it. This is the sound of back alley surgery being performed by a hacksaw in some apocalyptic, third world alternate universe. You can feel it. If this song hasn't been in a soundtrack to some slasher B-movie, it's because Mark Arm wouldn't license it. I promise you someone has heard this song and thought it would be perfect for one of those gruesome scenes.
Speaking of gruesome scenes, there is my face. I'm doped on legal pharmaceuticals and my sinuses are laughing at them. If this doesn't let up I'm going to get serious and bang the Ny-Quil. You won't want to miss tomorrow's VCV if I write it under the effects of orange juice and Ny-Quil.