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Et tu, Lungte?

NOW IS NOT THE TIME, ASTHMA. NOW IS SO NOT THE TIME.

Seriously. As if my rage-induced insomnia isn't enough, my body has to take the on-the-fritz baton and go gallivanting off into the distance.

UGH. Can't a girl get some PEACE AND MOTHERFUCKING QUIET WITHOUT HER GODDAMN TRACHEA BECOMING A POORLY TUNED STRING QUARTET? Honestly.

If I don't make it through tonight, you guys, it's because I spontaneously combusted. I hear concentrated spite is extremely flammable.

Now where the hell is my codine-laced cough syrup...

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