Mr. Histamine is not your friend

The Valley of the Sun is wheezing its way through one of the worst allergy seasons on record, with the needle of the newspaper pollen count consistently pegged at eleven, and woe is me.

Usually some generic Claritin is enough to get me through the peak of allergy season, but this one simply laughs—laughs, I say—at that puny chemical. So it was time to bite the bullet and get an appointment with an allergy specialist. Called one up and was cruelly informed that you have to be off the Claritin for a week before coming in, as the drug skews the results of the battery of allergent tests I will soon be subjected to. This news made me feel like Keith Richards on a trans-atlantic flight where the whiskey has run out.

So we’re on day four of Claritin detox, and my only desires are to rub my eyes, blow my nose, and sleep.

Damn vegetation. We should raze the planet. I’m putting that at the top of my agenda for when I become an Evil Overlord.

Soundtrack: “Say Hello To The Angels” by Interpol