Traditionally, I tell a joke of some sort down here. Gonna tell a story instead.

Upon upon there was a cartoonist. And then there were these tree and other assorted plants. And all that hateful flora decided that having sex inside the cartoonist’s sinuses would be hilarious.

And it wasn’t, because the cartoonist died. Of sneezing. And itchy eyes. And coughing. And from jumping off a bridge because he couldn’t take it anymore, oh god, when does the sneezing stop,¬†when does the sneezing stooooop.

The end. Blugh.