That's no joking matter, Mighty Louse!
If you'll think about something/someone, other than yourself, for more than a mouse-turd's length of time, it may dawn inside your black walnut-shell-sized skull that this, indeed, may be his secondary and ostensible malady.
We're talking about Oly, here.
Only he, and his strange Gods, know what he may do with an elbow (his) and a small, live rodent. This, of course, involves his primary malady.