Before I was married, I simply used tissues when I was sick. Now that my wife’s hillbilly state has corrupted me I’m married, I use toilet paper. Or paper towels. Or napkins. And now that my work cut costs and my last bastion of hope no longer affords me such luxury, I’ve resorted to using paper screen cleaning wipes to try and rid myself of this blasted head cold. Maybe in another three years of living here I’ll think it’s perfectly acceptable to put my car on blocks in my front lawn while my chickens mill about aimlessly.

The depths of incivility to which I’ve fallen cannot be measured by anything but the sound of gently weeping, well-mannered angels. Angels who console themselves with plush Kleenex™ coated with aloe-y goodness.

Lucky bastards.