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UW Hypochondriac Tends Own Wounds After Being Hit By Bus

 

Matthew heads down University towards Union South with his scarf pulled up over his face, not to avoid the bitter sting of the February air, but rather to filter out airborne pathogens larger than his knit gauge. He is now 12 minutes late for a student org meeting because he keeps turning around to go home, as he knows being outside in this weather is the quickest way to catch Ebola. He can just picture everyone in the Union right now. They’re studying on spreading germs, eating and coughing on each other, girls peeing in groups and not properly wiping to avoid pink eye. Everyone being way too friendly and trying to touch him and give him 7 different variations of the flu. He doesn’t even want to meet their eye line for fear of a new sight-borne illness he dreamt about.

 

He should have just stayed home where his shower, plastic gloves, and Bleach-all Air, Surface, & Skin Cleaner™ are located, but the lure of EVC (extra vaccine club) was too much for him. He needed more vaccines, he needed to re-boost his boosted booster shots.

 

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He approached an intersection, mentally preparing himself for the coming feat he was about to perform. He needed to be constantly vigilant of cars, while also avoiding the slush puddles as he could not risk soggy toes turning to gangrene. However, he also needed to hold his breath, plug his ears and keep his eyes shut to circumvent any car exhaust; he was already at high risk for Black Lung after his brother dragged him through a haunted house filled with fog machines when he was six. He took a step.

 

ScrrRREEEEEEEEEECH! Thud, crack. “Holy shit!” “Whoa!” “Hey, wait! I need to take you to the hospital,” yelled the bus driver as Matthew took off running. He was hit, he couldn’t feel anything, but he knew he couldn’t risk the hospital. That’s where people go to pick up contagions, or die, or both! He had only been on the ground in the slush for 3 seconds, but his ass was soaked. He only had 9 minutes to get home, burn his jeans, and wash off his butt before the mosquito larva crawled into his rectum. Plus, deal with his leg, which appeared to be broken.

 

A girl with bright red hair ran up beside Matthew, “Oh my God, are you ok? Your leg is all over the place. I’m actually really impressed that you can still run this fast. You should join running club. We had like 3 people sign up at the org fair. Oh, also, I’m Claire, can I help you?” Matthew held is head in the opposite direction as Claire panted into is face.

 

Matthew demanded, “I need you to get as far away from me as possible. My open wounds and wet ass are very vulnerable to pathogens right now, and judging by your hair you are a reckless individual and most likely the host to several diseases.”

 

“Well, fuck you too!” Claire yelled as she slowed down. “Still come to running club though. We actually do need more people. The students here are lazy fucks.”

 

Matthew continued to his plastic wrapped studio apartment, where he stripped down and bathed in Bleach-all™ before getting out his first aid kits. He set his leg by bracing it against his recently polished and sliver-free bedframe.

 

Matthew suffers from chronic hypochondria, and he needs to be fixed. (Cue “In the Arms of an Angel” by Sarah McLachlan) If you want to help Matthew become a normal human being just like the rest of us, you can donate to the “Make Matthew Normal” fund by calling toll free at 5o6-55&-669%, where you can donate in increments of $50, $100, or $1,000. Remember, you may have been born normal, but some people need a little extra help getting there.

 

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