When Jtron was in Egypt’s land, let my Jtron go.

I can’t tell if it is the month of March that hates me, or if this is just god’s terrible vengeance for not giving up anything for Lent, but I am ready for this month to be nothing but a really long, unfortunate, bad memory.

This year, I have been visited by six plagues:

The plague of pregnant women: It is particularly difficult to describe the horrific nature of this plague. Imagine sitting in between three pregnant women as they discuss morning sickness for three hours straight, in painstaking detail. Follow this with a thorough discussion of poop consistency, a litany of things that you do that are bad for their developing fetuses (the smell of your sandwich is killing my child!), and then a lengthy diatribe about the awesomeness of being knocked up. Sure, ladies. You don’t get your period for nine months. But guess who is eating a block of bleu cheese with her 40 of Schlitz while headed to the roller coaster ride? This childless bitch right here.

The plague of assholes from the past: Much like those biblical locusts, the plague of assholes descends upon the world, blacking out the sun, to feast upon the lush and fertile crops of feelgoods. They can actually smell (by some freaky, preternatural means) when the feelgoods are at their peak, and that is when they amass. When the swarm finally disperses, one is left with feelings of general malaise, but also with the lingering knowledge that things could have been far worse—you might have actually been dating/married to one of them. Those locusts are somebody else's problem now.

The plague of job stress: While I am loathe to call this a plague during a time of slow economic recovery, when so many are still jobless, I have to say, anything that haunts one's dreams and gives you IBS is worthy of an honorable mention.

The plague of torrential downpours: I don’t think this needs any explanation. This rain has been positively ark-building weather. P.S. My ark is DeLorean shaped, and there is only enough room for me and three other hot dudes, to be determined.

The plague of food coma: This plague is actually the result of the massive food intake incurred by the above four plagues, and results in long periods of debilitating fatigue and sweatpants-encrusted couch-slutting, as all the blood in your body rushes to aid of your stomach, which has become like Ground Zero. As you lie in this gluttonous stupor, you ask yourself questions like, "Why did I eat that seventh piece of pizza?" and "How could I have possibly polished off that whole bag of cheeseburger flavored Doritos all by myself?" and "Big Baby Jesus, what have I done?", and then follow it up with assertions like, "I'm going to the gym for six hours tomorrow, or until I burn 6,000,000 calories", but you don't really mean it, because you have already passed out from the exertion of digesting what your fat ass just consumed.

The actual plague: Just when you thought you were home free of this infernal month of karmic retribution for past-life baby-raping (so Atron informs me), fate smites you with pestilence, which, thankfully, did not spread to your best friends during an evening of drunken DreamPhone revelry. But it still infests your every waking moment with pain, which is only broken up by interludes of seemingly endless regurgitation.

Thus, you see, I have accumulated so many bad karma points from this month alone, that according to the mystical laws of natural balance, April absolutely must be better. This isn't me being uncharacteristically optimistic--this is a fact. If April does not improve, the universe will actually implode, killing us all. So, it is in everyone’s best interest to ensure that next month goes smoothly for me, or god help you all.

Sayonara, March. Don’t let the screen door hit you on the ass.