The Alien Parasite

Spousal Unit: “Do you want pizza for dinner?”
Me: “It doesn’t matter what I eat. I’ll be dead by tomorrow, so sure, why not.”
Spousal Unit: “Why will you be dead?”
Me: “I’ve had an upset stomach all day. I’ve spent more time in the bathroom than out of it. I’m pretty sure that I have an alien parasite.”
Spousal Unit [laughing]: “Where did you come up with that?”
Me: “I plugged in my symptoms on WebMD, so you know it’s true.”
Spousal Unit: “I see. It’s probably from the leak soup you ate.”
Me: “I had that for lunch today, so it’s not affecting me already.”
Spousal Unit: “Lactose intolerance maybe?”
Me: “I never have an issue from the dinky amount of milk I have in my cereal in the mornings.”
Spousal Unit: “Hmmm, I guess you’re right then…alien parasite.”
Me: “That’s what I thought too. I figured I’m going to lose half my organs tomorrow because of the leak soup. So, losing the other half to the pizza probably won’t matter. It might even be a good thing. Once I’m empty inside, the parasite won’t have any reason to stay! Of course, then I’ll have to worry about blowing away. I’ll just be a dada balloon!”
My Son [laughing]: “A dada balloon…that’s funny.”
Spousal Unit: “This conversation has ventured into the ridiculous.”
Me: “Just now? It hasn’t been ridiculous the entire time?!”