I have the Ebola virus.

It's true. I have Ebola. I got it at the Gateway - the Clark Planetarium, to be precise - and I'm sitting here in my office, staring Ebola in the face. It's a deceptively kind face, not the kind of face you'd expect to find on a virus that kills 50-90% of all those who catch it. Sure, you think it's cute and fuzzy now, but wait 2-20 days and then you'll start bleeding out of unpleasant places and your liver will melt and you kind of turn into soup and die. Then you'll be rethinking your new-found relationship with the Ebola virus.

Sure, right now, you think it's just a fever. "Maybe I have the flu," you think. "Surely this couldn't be something silly like a hemorrhagic fever from equatorial Africa. Surely?" And then - BAM! - out you go. Heading to the big equatorial Africa in the sky.

Or, you recover. You never know. And don't worry about hospitals - they can't help you! Oh, no. Better to stay home. Most cases are nosocomial. That means transmitted through a hospital.

"But wait!" You say. "I am not going to an equatorial African hospital! Surely, surely, they can help me!"

No.

So anyway, I have Ebola. I think it'll be okay. I'm going on vacation today. I've got stuff to do!


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