Next time I get sick, I'm not going to forget my mp3 player at work.

I wish I could sit and read, I can't. The only way I can sit relatively motionless is sleeping or watching tv. I can't even listen to audiobooks without walking (albeit a little glazed over depending on the selection). I don't know how I earned a degree.

Past few days, I've been down for the count. I'm reasonably convinced I have the flu or I was beat up with a baseball bat and didn't remember it. I'm still in some intense pain, but it gets worse when I see the following:

Dr. Phil - Yes Doctor, I blog because I'm an approval junkie and suffer self-esteem problems caused by ... my parents of course. Thanks Dr. Phil, I no longer want to drive sharp skewers into your eyes.

The woman on FoodTV who creates crap from sugary crap, I think it's called Almost Homemade. You know, the woman who dresses to match her kitchenset's colors. Her creations hurt my eyes.

Paula Deen. I watch because I want to witness that day when her severely altered michaeljacksonesque face falls off and into a huge frying pan of butter, sugar, maple syrup, salt, butter and fat - mid giggle.

Are Victoria Beckham's breasts bolted on? Stop pushing them up and smile.

Does every guy on an infomercial wear a toupé?

There's a channel that rotates among all the traffic cams in Columbus with a Muzak accompaniment. It's a little boring to watch, but it's the only way I can shake the anger I feel when I see the insipid gals at The View.

There, I've vented. Thanks Dr. Phil.