"Warring Ideals in One Dark Body"

Dear Germs,

I recognize that the Universe in its infinite wisdom put you here and that you, too, are special snowflakes. You have as much right to be here as I do and though it’s a troubling truth, I see no sense in getting huffy about something I can do nothing about.

That said, I want you to know that I hate your asses. I know some of you are switch hitters and play both sides and it’s all the same to you whether I am itching and burning at both ends, or one end, or not at all. I know I couldn’t live without some of you, so I guess I love you too. But I still hate you, partly because now this is going to read like that fucking John Donne poem, “Oh let me live, yet love and hate me too.” It’s partly your fault that I’m even thinking about John Donne—why am I thinking about John Donne? My glands are swollen and I feel punk and not in a Bikini Kill way, and it’s your fault, and I hate your asses

Just remember this: No one can hear you scream when you’re smaller than an angstrom, even if you had vocal chords. My leukocytes and macrophages and all the rest of them white blood cell bitches were on a little holiday, but we’re putting a stop to this shit. And if you were just a little bit bigger my special friend would kick your ass.

Signed,

Your Host, Aquenigmatic