Suki v. Streptococcus pneumoniae

die, mo'fickers. die

its death match time.

*ding*

all right you, mo'fickers. I've had enough. get out of my goddamned lungs. take your little unwanted, trespassing, opportunistic, parasitic asses elsewhere. I kinda like breathing.

you've already won a round with me, by sneaking your funky biznitch asses in in the first place...and even scored another major coup by forcing me to take antibiotics. but I've got your number now, you chode ass punks.

I see your little rally action. making your last stand. commendable...but ill-advised. making me angry (even in a weakened state) is not a good call. I'm going to wipe the floor with you, you wart-hog-faced baffoons. suki don't play dat.

so consider this your last warning. leave now or die a horrid immuno-induced death at my hands. I'm focusing my chi, centering my energies and seeking you out.

I'm tired of feeling like ass...

and its time for me to end this.

bitches.