Buffy: First thanksgiving on my own, and we all got through it.
Xander: And you know what? I think my syphilis is clearing right up.
Buffy: And they say romance is dead. Or maybe they just wish it.
I remember wondering why it was that eating something good could make me feel so terrible, while vomiting something terrible could make me feel so good.
You are disoriented. Blackness swims toward you like a school of eels who have just seen something that eels like a lot.
Jim: Wait, what are you writing? Don’t write Ebola or mad cow disease, all right? Because I’m suffering from both of them.
Pam: I’m inventing new diseases.
Jim: Oh, great.
Pam: So, like, let’s say that my teeth turn to liquid and then they drip down the back of my throat. What would you call that?
Jim: I thought you said you were inventing new diseases. That’s spontaneous dental hydroplosion.
Stop dying. Am trying to write a comedy.
Sherlock Holmes: You’ve murdered four people.
Jeff: I’ve outlived four people. That’s the most fun you can have with an aneurysm.
Phil: Everyone throws up at school once in a while. If I had a nickel for every time I threw up in class, you know how much money I would have?
Luke: Thirty-five cents.
Phil: That’s right.
Sherlock Holmes: Oh what now? I’m in shock! Look, I’ve got a blanket.
For 40 years, I didn’t miss a single deadline, but since July, I have missed every one. I also, to my intense disappointment, missed the Telluride and Toronto film festivals. Having just written my first review since June (The Queen), I think an update is in order.
It is human nature to look away from illness. We don’t enjoy a reminder of our own fragile mortality. That’s why writing on the Internet has become a life-saver for me. My ability to think and write have not been affected. And on the Web, my real voice finds expression.