Some call it Flu — I call it hell!

I weigh, I don't know, like 3 billion tons. And yet, I have to confess how defenseless, vulnerable and insanely nothing I am against germs mutating, multiplying, manipulating within my respiratory tract. The eyes are blurred. The spine is broke. The tongue is furred. The tonsils squeak. Everything tastes like grass. It's profane. Men; heavy-set and mountain-framed men, being rendered ill at the hands of viruses. So much for my spectacular ideas of becoming a Nobel winning Onco-surgeon. Right now I can just pray to see myself through. This Flu!