Damn You, Swine!

Forgive me for turning up my nose (pun fitfully intended!) at your “pandemic,” but 109 cases of swine flu in one household did not stir alarm in my day.

[Surgeons didn’t even wear these in 1909. However, one did have a 90% chance of dying in surgery]

Your swine flu seems more like a mild case of typhoid than the premier hog-related ailment of my time: full-on pig-transformative syndrome. If one contracted PGS, he would literally turn into a boar. Why, Grover Cleveland’s Secretary of State James G. Blaine was a pig for the last two years of his tenure.

[Blaine modified the Clayton-Bulwer treaty to include “slop, much slop”]

I hear your cries: “Dear Octave, how do you manage to stay so fit whilst the masses are peaked amongst you?” Be not afeared, for I have a few helpful remedies.

Blood-letting:
I just went through a two-hour session myself, and huzzah! I feel tremendous. Accompanied with gin assures a deep and satisfying slumber.

Burn tar:
In a large (45 cubit) container, set tar ablaze and inhale the fumes. Also works for shortness of breath.

Lavender:
Eat it, smoke it, rub it on your skin. This shit is the best!

Psyllium seed husks:
Provides for rapid, painful, and often purple defecations. Not a cure, but I just love the taste.

On my word, if you follow these remedies you will be as happy as a pig in shit! Inappropriate, I know, but it is the only colloquial allusion I have picked up.