I am the bubonic plague. Spread by fleas carried on rats, even have my own book:
The Plague by everyone’s favorite mad cap motorcycle riding existentialist, Albert Camus.
Oddly enough, this is one of my favorite books, and so terribly insightful There’s this guy and all he does is spend the ENTIRE book trying to scam ways to get out of the quarantined town. He can’t get out of course, until the very end, when the barrier is lifted and he has the option to leave, at which point he decides he won’t. It’s as good, if not better, than the protagonist in Milan Kundera’s “Life Is Elsewhere”. Jaromil was his name, I believe, and in the end he dies of pneumonia. He caught pneumonia when he was “FINALLY” hooked up with the cool crowd and feeling very self-satisfied. He accidentally gets stranded on a balcony in his tidy whities at “THE PARTY OF THE SEASON” and won’t go inside because a women he wants to impress will see him, and he is not wearing the ‘cool’ underwear, but a pair of totally ‘uncool’ drawers and he does not want to be ‘ruined’ now that he’s got his social stamp of approval. All takes place in occupied Checkoslovakia which makes the whole deal even more absurd. Yes, that’s life. If you don’t make something of it, it will make something of you and most likely it will be something you will not like. (See, and everyone thought I wasn't literary. I'm not, really. I had a series of shots, and was cured. You know how it is.)
Anyhoo, take the quiz and enjoy!
Which Horrible Affliction are you?
A Rum and Monkey disease.
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