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I think I’m a hypochondriac.  Most of the time I think I am dying.  If I lose weight, I think I’m dying.  If I put on weight I’m going to have a heart attack.  If I get a spot, it’s a tumour.  I’m not far away from being one of those people who wear the equivalent of a gas mask on their daily commute for fear of catching some killer bug.  And the thing that could finally push me into this course of action is those people on public transport who cough WITHOUT USING THEIR HANDS. 

People who are obviously really suffering too.  I mean it’s not a tickly cough.  A gentle ‘ahem’.  No, these people are hacking.  Phlegm is raining down on their feet like a tsunami.  The sort of cough that irritates the throat so much that it encourages another ten coughs in close succession, none of which are protected from public consumption by a hand.  These people have no respect for their fellow traveller.  They don’t care if they cough in someone’s face.  Maybe they think that if they cough so openly the bug they have will transfer itself from their body into someone else’s?  But it’s disgusting.  I don’t want to be coughed on.  Not by anyone.  You could put a supermodel in front of me, strip her naked and have her cough on me, and I still would not be happy about it. 

You Want To Cough On Me? Kinky... But NO THANKS.

So I really don’t want some middle-aged, sweaty businessman spraying me with spital as he struggles to contain his latest coughing fit.  Some people don’t have the good fortune to have two hands.  Look at Luke Skywalker.  But I bet if he had to cough he’d find a way to cover his mouth.  YOU have hands!  You’re better than Luke Skywalker.  So PLEASE – use them.


About Twenty8Later

A brand new podcast mocking news, sport & entertainment in handy 28-day chunks. Good times in a terrible, terrible world.

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