Props to Forester et al. It all belongs to you. Please don't kill me like you did my poor Archie. And Wellard. And Clayton. And Chadd. And all those people. So there.

And additional credit to the inspiration of Shel Silverstein, for writing the original "Sick". Thanks.

"I cannot go and sail at sea"

Said little Archie Kennedy

"I'm having fits and aching guts

Assaults and burns and lots of cuts

I'm going deaf, my eyes are blind

Now something's poked me in the eye

My bruises are as big as rocks

I'm surprised I've no smallpox

I remember of my tortures past

I've fallen from up on the mast

My legs all break, I have heat stroke

This really isn't a big old joke

I cough, hiccup, and cry in the dark

My leg is bit off by a shark

I have bad migraines in my head

I might be better suited dead

I'm always doused, my body's sprained

And now my blood is being drained

My chest is shot, my toes are smushed

I panic when I'm being rushed

My head is hurt, concussed again

I've never felt such awful pain

I'm dehydrated near to death

Those authors never let me rest

Possessed by demons, a vampire too

Now I'm stung by jellyfish, ew!

Struck by lightning, personality split

And am I getting a big zit?

I have a fever, and my brain is—what?

What's that? What's that you say?

You say that I'm not dead today?

Hey hey, let's all go celebrate!