There’s been a lot of talk lately about the “flu,” which people seem to have been getting from somewhere. Now, I like to take walks every once in a while as a way of shaking out my legs, which aren’t as strong as they used to be. That’s what happens when you get old — your body gets tired. Also, urinating requires more concentration. At least that’s what I’ve noticed.

What do I see when I take these walks? I see people blowing their noses into Kleenex tissues or, less commonly these days, into handkerchiefs, which I’ve always preferred. I don’t understand this. I’m not coughing. Why is everyone else?

Scientists tell us that these sick people have caught some sort of “virus,” which is, as far as I can tell, a kind of very small gerbil or hamster inside our body. See, I don’t understand hamsters. They’re not very entertaining and die quickly when sat upon. And I don’t know anything about medicine. But I don’t think these people are sick. That doesn’t sound right to me. Maybe they’re ill. “Ill” is a better word than “sick,” but I never know when to stop writing it. Is it one L? Two L’s? Four? Nobody knows.

I do know a lot of things can make you sick. Bad music can make you sick. A haggard, 70-year-old woman, now unrecognizable as your wife, in bed with you. Gerbils, apparently.

Do you know what makes me sick? Just take a look at this headline from the Topeka Capital-Journal: “Critics Say Dairy Labels a Confusing Cash Cow.” I don’t like this headline. It’s confusing. Critics say what now? Why do I care about dairy labels? I can’t imagine a topic I’m less interested in reading about. I don’t own any cows. I’m not going to put any effort into reading that, because I’m a busy man with other headlines to read.

I’m not going to read this one, though, either: “Castro Steps Down.” Who’s Castro? Steps down from what? Why do I care? I don’t, that’s why.

What’s this one say? “DISASTER!” Just nonsense.

Or look at this sign, for instance: “Caution: High Voltage.” Hoozywhatsit? Blahblahblahblah? That’s all this is to me. It’s no Thurber, I can tell you that much. Sounds like a load of futuristic horseflop, if you don’t mind the coarse language. I remember a time when signs said something and pecan pie was a nickel. And women couldn’t vote.

Another thing that makes me sick is basketball. Bunch of people in ridiculous outfits just running around looking for the goal. Who designed those sticks they carry? Those look just plain dumb. And whose idea was it to put the game on ice? Ice is for Wisconsin, is what I’ve always said. And raccoons! You’ll find them in Wisconsin, too.

Can you imagine what the world would be like if Wisconsin were real? What a crazy universe that would be! Unicorns, elves and Wisconsin. I’d be sick all over the place.

Another thing that makes me sick is corndogs. I’ve eaten a corndog for lunch every Thursday since 1958. Do you know the name of the man who invented the corndog? We know Thomas Alva Edison’s name, and he invented the peanut, but we don’t know anything about corndogs. They could be from anywhere. And I, personally, think they are from anywhere. Every time I eat one, I end up ralphing six ways from Sunday. But I keep eating them, and I will continue right on eating them until someone passes a law against it.

That’s just the way I feel about this.