EVERYBODY HAS WAYS OF KNOWING WHETHER OR NOT THEY'RE DEPRESSED
And I know that I'm depressed because I just cried while watching Dick Vitale talk about Jimmy Valvano's daughter having cancer during a basketball game on ESPN.
Which, by the way, isn't really that pathetic, because Dick Vitale can get very emotional when he speaks, and how can your lip not quiver a little when he's all like, "Just hang in there, baby!! Don't give up, don't ever give up, just like your daddy used to say! He was a fighter, he was a magical man, a man among men, baby! We're gonna beat this disease, you and me and all these beautiful people!"
There are ways you can channel that sadness. For instance, there's the V Foundation, which actually has nothing to do with the Pynchon novel, but should.
Or you could get a dog to help with the depression. Dogs are always happy to see you. Maybe you should get a King Charles Spaniel/Doxson mix - I hear they make great pets.
I think your Dickie-V-diagnosed depression is a sympton of things being kept inside you. You're all pent up, baby! I recommend doubling your intake of Metamucil (fiber absorbs bad energies), tripling your water intake (preferably scalding hot to burn away bad energies), and forcing yourself to throw up in the morning (bad energies collect in your digestive system during sleep hours). Either that, or you can give me a call tonight and we can talk about how great things are going for me right now and about the buxom beauty that I've been seeing for about a month now.
Both recommendations are sure to make you feel better.
Just hang in there, baby!! Don't give up, don't ever give up, just like your daddy used to say! He was a fighter, he was a magical man, a man among men, baby! We're gonna beat this depression, you and me and all these beautiful people and JTony!
I actually do have cancer. And to be honest, I wasn't that mad or anything that you called me a jerk. I was just sort of getting a little sad and stuff, thinking back to that time you raped me.
We're gonna beat this depression, you and me and all these beautiful people and JTony!
It just goes to show how little time we have on our collective hands when name-checking JTony at this blog presumably gets a laugh from everyone reading.
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Which, by the way, isn't really that pathetic, because Dick Vitale can get very emotional when he speaks, and how can your lip not quiver a little when he's all like, "Just hang in there, baby!! Don't give up, don't ever give up, just like your daddy used to say! He was a fighter, he was a magical man, a man among men, baby! We're gonna beat this disease, you and me and all these beautiful people!"
Come on!
*sob*
There are ways you can channel that sadness. For instance, there's the V Foundation, which actually has nothing to do with the Pynchon novel, but should.
Or you could get a dog to help with the depression. Dogs are always happy to see you. Maybe you should get a King Charles Spaniel/Doxson mix - I hear they make great pets.
I think your Dickie-V-diagnosed depression is a sympton of things being kept inside you. You're all pent up, baby! I recommend doubling your intake of Metamucil (fiber absorbs bad energies), tripling your water intake (preferably scalding hot to burn away bad energies), and forcing yourself to throw up in the morning (bad energies collect in your digestive system during sleep hours). Either that, or you can give me a call tonight and we can talk about how great things are going for me right now and about the buxom beauty that I've been seeing for about a month now.
Both recommendations are sure to make you feel better.
You just have a big heart, my friend. That adorable little pugnacious attitude of yours isn't hiding that.
Just hang in there, baby!! Don't give up, don't ever give up, just like your daddy used to say! He was a fighter, he was a magical man, a man among men, baby! We're gonna beat this depression, you and me and all these beautiful people and JTony!
(I was just kidding, by the way. It's because you're a pussy. Also, cancer is kind of depressing.)
I actually do have cancer. And to be honest, I wasn't that mad or anything that you called me a jerk. I was just sort of getting a little sad and stuff, thinking back to that time you raped me.
We're gonna beat this depression, you and me and all these beautiful people and JTony!
It just goes to show how little time we have on our collective hands when name-checking JTony at this blog presumably gets a laugh from everyone reading.
"I was just sort of getting a little sad and stuff, thinking back to that time you raped me."
Sad sad, or wistful, nostalgic sad?
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