Behold the pollen spore. Look well upon him, for he is my enemy. More so than any hateful ex-girlfriend, any duplicitous former co-worker, any whistleheaded teen pop act, any shrill reggaeton rapper or any militant Islamic fundamentalist, it is his sole mission to transform my life into an inescapable facsimile of Hell. And as of early May, he is winning the battle.
If you too are suffering, despite what I said in this post, I implore you to stay inside. I'm doped up full of Claritin, and it's not helping at all. My head is under seige.
I hate Spring.
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