Demonic possession is not an easy thing to overcome. But, after a great deal of effort I am happy to report that I am now demon free.
OK, it's possible that I wasn't really suffering from demonic possession. It is entirely possible that I was simply suffering from the ordinary, every day common cold. But I doubt that very seriously. The reason I doubt that is because if that were the case then I would have to admit that the media trend to portray us men as big, dumb, sniveling, cry babies has some basis in fact (at least in my case). And that's just not possible. Nope, I wasn't infected with a common cold, I was possessed by an incredibly clever servant of the devil which masked its possession of my body by making it appear that I had a cold.
Shortly after becoming possessed and under the impression that it was just a cold, I did my best to continue working, because, after all, I was surely tough enough to fight off a little cold. After arriving at work and making the announcement that I had been infected and should be avoided at all costs, I sat down at my computer terminal and tried to decide which of the three wavering screens in front of me I should try to focus on. The reason I was having trouble focusing was because the demon which had possessed me had decided to first try and take over my sinus passages. Once it had successfully done so it apparently decided to make everything above my neck either run, ring, scratch or see in triplicate.
So while I was trying to decide which computer monitor to focus on, my coworkers sprayed a blanket of Lysol around my desk and repeatedly suggested that I should go home. But I was tough and still under the impression that I just had a cold, so I refused. Which is when someone suggested that if I were to vomit I would feel better. The funny thing about demonic possession is this: demons have a wicked sense of humor. Up until this point my stomach had felt fine, but hearing this fine suggestion the demon within me decided that the next part of my body it wished to take over would be my stomach. A half an hour later and I had fled to my home. Once safely in my home I began to exhibit all of the classic signs of demonic possession: speaking in tongues, weeping and gnashing of teeth, head spinning, you name it.
The necessary steps to mutate a reasonably civilized man into a grunting, scratching, screaming, oozing creature with the ability to scare small children are surprisingly few and I made those necessary steps rather quickly. After sitting in my favorite chair for a couple of hours whimpering like a small child and still under the impression that I was suffering from a cold, not from demonic possession, I decided to take some medicine. This should have been my first hint that I was possessed. Because most men don't take medicine. I would much rather sit and whine about being miserable than actually do something about it. But, since I had the house to myself, I was the only one hearing the whining and I was beginning to get on my nerves. So I ordered up a shot of Theraflu with a Pepto Bismal chaser and crawled to my bed.
After several days I began to feel a little better and I started to wonder at how easily I had been kicked around by a common cold. It was then that I realized I must have been possessed by some sort of demon. Because I never would have been such a sniveling cry-baby if I had just been suffering from a cold. That's not even in the realm of possibility. It must have been demonic possession. And somehow I had fought my way through to victory. Which is a good thing, because I'm going to need all of my strength to recover from an infection which could necessitate the amputation of my left hand. OK, it could just be a hangnail.