Tribe Proteae

If that blood in you urine hasn't got you down yet, those colicky waves of mind exploding pain will soon enough. After about 30 days of recurrent, gut-wreching pain, the docs hook your family jewels to a modified car battery and flip the switch. After spasming, screaming and Swingers-esque swearing, that kidney stone crumbled on itself like an anorexic cheerleader. A year later when you showed with the same syptoms and predisposition to liken the nursing staff to lazy hookers, they decided to run more tests. Your MacConkey agar plate dispelled that pesky notion that you could metabolize lactose. And, your urine tested to be so akaline it could be used to bleach those stubborn whites. A couple rounds of anitbiotics should help since those kidney stones are recurring and harbor all those nasty bacteria holed up in your johnson.

Congratulations! You are infected with proteus mirabilis.

Tip of the Day: Proteus Mirabilis broken down means (old sea god + plant species). Given that all forms of sickness are signs from the gods in your primitive religion, you are now required to build a green house at the bottom of the atlantic.

Cupid's Disease!

Looks like you've been shot in the name of love. Years ago, you noticed some lesions, half a year later, it was an annoying rash and bubbly lymph nodes. Then it all went away. You chalked it up to all that time you spent looting the empty houses around Chernobyl. Twenty years later, you are getting an increasing itch to invade neighboring countries and nominate your horse to rule the roman republic. If your goal is to make it into the history books, you're in good company with the likes of Idi Amin, Hitler, Henry XIII, Al Capone, Ivan the Terrible, Lenin, Howard Hughes and Nietsche suffering from the same affliction. However, if you're not into killing most of your fellow countrymen, beheading your exes, advancing communism, peeing in bottles, or depressing college students, I suggest you get thee to a round of Penicillin.

Congratualtions! You have Syphilis.


Tip of the Day: Save your sugar coated love until the antibiotics take effect.

Influenza, how do I love thee?

Sure, you knew it was risky going to a clinic that barters services for chickens, but they cured your Dengue, right? Problem is, there are thousands of type of flu. And, that crapheap you call a hospital could only afford the salmon flu vaccine. Only they didn’t tell you that. Confident you had avoided the influenza season, you returned to your post as the crack dealing goat-herder. When your goats start coughing and sniffling and then you pursue the same course of illness, your vaccine doesn’t help too much. Rather the opposite. Your body thinks that because you are infected with Salmon Flu because you mainlined dead salmon flu last week. Your immune system is about as picky as a horny teenager. Seen one flu? Seen ‘em all. So, it treats the Goat Flu like it treated the Salmon Flu. Takes it to the same movie, restaurant, place to park for getting’ busy. Then, it accidentally calls Goat Flu “Salmon Flu” while getting all hot and bothered and Goat Flu pulls back. “You call me that ho’s name? I will END YOU!” All because Body mistook Goat Flu for another ho flu and treated her thusly.

Congratulations! You are suffering from Original Antigenic Sin.

Tip of the day: Use your idiotic tendency to mistake identity to tell the fat lady that runs the corner store that she looks like Carmen Electra. Someone’s getting lucky!

Bonecrusher Disease

While walking around Ankor Wat last week and getting your zen on, a mosquito perched on your arm for a quick snack. In deference to the bhuddist temple, you waved it away and, with a quiet ‘namaste’, bade it farewell. A few days later, you wake wretching onto the plush carpet of your 4 star hotel. A quick check reveals your temperature is hotter than the Cambodian cuisine and your platelet count is lower than their GNP. The joint pain from your 'break bone fever' doesn’t start up until after you steal a water buffalo from a cross-dressing drug addict ranting about the price of bananas. By the time you reach the clinic (which is really just a mud hut converted from a toddler’s lemonade stand), your skin is covered by a red spotty rash which you have begun playing connect the dots on. Eventually, the nurse pulls you from the beast, gives you a titty-twister causing spontaneous bruising and checks your diminished breath sounds. She stabs you with a large needle to drain your excess fluid while handing you water to chug. After 4 days of bleeding from every orifice and occasionally hallucinating that you are Celine Dion from the pain, you are delighted that you only have 3 more days of this. And don’t worry, your impulsive decision to change your tickets from HOTlanta to Phnom Penh didn’t cause this, this disease is prevalent in the US as well. However, your refusal to don mosquito netting because it wasn’t ‘manly’ puts the blame squarely on your diseased, shrunken shoulders.

Congratulations! You have Dengue Fever.

Tip of the Day: Turn your pain into song. The world is waiting for the next haemorrhagic fever ballad.

Pimps down.

Despite your frat brothers insistence that you’re just worn out from the Pimps and Hos rager last night, you’ll instinctively feel something is off. The party consisted of you, ankles high, duct-taped to the wall, and handcuffed to Sherri. Being the designated party foul, you gamely did keg stands from this position until you finally blacked out. A fitting end to a fine evening, no? This morning, when the fellow pledges took turns pelting you with ketchup packets, they took your occasional blinking as a sign of a killer hangover. Only when you failed to respond during the induction rites (complete with ceremonial paddling) did they finally pull your body from the wall and push you from a moving vehicle onto the Emergency Room patio.

Congratulations! You’re in a Persistent Vegetative State.

Tip of the Day: Hire an agent. You’re going to Terry-Schiavo it all the way to you 15 minutes of fame!

Rheum to breathe

You will wake this morning fearing you are a vampire. When you were poking at your newly bumpy wrist, you realized, to your horror, that you have no pulse. A quick check in the mirror dispels notions of vampirism, but reveals a definite need to get your roots dyed. Who’s going to believe you’re a natural blond now? Of course, now you remember that you missed your appointment last week with Claude, a faux-swedish-straight-gay-man that charges $200 to burn you with bleach. Last week, the CDC quarantined you with a sadistic form of streptococcal pharyngeal infection. While you were bedridden, all that molecular mimicry caused cytokine release and tissue destruction. It’s okay, it won’t ruin your plans to stay in this weekend and get bumped up the transplant list for a new heart valve. Side effects to look forward to include temporary arthritis in the larger joints (such as the one connecting your self esteem to your personal appearance), a swollen heart resembling a spaghetti-O, icky fibrous tissues in random body locations, a snakelike ring rash (once again, resembling the aforementioned spaghetti-O), and your facial muscles will dance like an epileptic at a rave.

Congratulations! You have rheumatic fever.

Tip of the day: Get yourself ready for Major League Baseball tryouts, because you’re getting steroids, baby!

Please Pass the Salt, General

Yesterday's illnesses be damned, you still think eating contests are the way to go. Perhaps you should have listened to your girlfriend when she didn't think it was a good idea for you to inhale pound after pound of hot dogs? Sure, protein packing to look like King Leonidas is always a good idea. And it might get you a sexy illness like cruedzfelt-jacobs (how foreign!). However, pale as boiled chicken, your anemic pallor and gastrointestinal distress suggest allergies to protein. Your eyes may say no!, but your distended abdomen says YES!

Congratulations! You have hypoalbuminemia.

Tip of the day: Use your ballooning figure to score some paid maternity leave. There's nothing like a vacation steeped in deceit.