Yesterday my doctor basically gave me a death sentence.
Well, when you wake up in any morning and greet the sun, you've gotta realize that's it's a death sentence: this is one more day leading to your demise. Oh shut up: tell it to Linda McCartney. Don't matter how reeligious or how VVEEEEGAN or how Taliban you are; you are gonna die. It's only a matter of how, after a while.
But obviously we don't want to be beheaded by an insane posse of beard-wielding Afghanis or get hideously kidnapped in Peru and marched through steaming forests for eight years . . . I knew you'd understand that that wouldn't be optimal.
But diabetes? ME? I don't have diabetes. The guy is a charlatan. "Your blood test indicates that you have diabetes."
All I have to say to that is, PARTY ON, DUDES, BECAUSE WE DON'T HAVE LONG TO LIVE!
But I will take my Crestor.