I hope I die laughing.

I am most poorly. Too poorly even to peruse the papers and grow outraged over something or other. Too ill to be bothered giving out about drunk drivers, or lax gardai, or any of the other news my bunged up head paid scant interest in this morning. I don't care about stuff. Proof positive that I am fucked.
The cold thingie I have been crossing swords with all week has skedaddled, unfortunately it skedaddled straight down onto my chest so that it might fight me from closer quarters. We're blunderbussing each other over stacks of hay as I type.
So far it seems to be winning.
I want to go back to bed. I want to laugh mindlessly to myself. I want to stop coughing up that radioactive green stuff but apparently it's ' good that's it's coming up.'
Right.
I have discovered a way to do this however that doesn't involve much effort. I simply watch something I feel is hilarious and then cough and splutter with laughter, thus freeing my lungs for a quick slug of air.
So far this morning the following clip is the hands down winner. So in a spirit of real generosity I bring you Ratboy.
Have a good weekend y'all.