Technology is sold to us under the guise of improving our lives. Each new generation of electronic gadgets touts faster service, fancier graphics, sleeker and more compact designs, and a grander chance of getting you laid when showing off whatever piece-of-shit-de-jour you just spent your hard-earned slave-dollars acquiring.
But guess what, chief?
It’s all a fucking lie.
Smartphones, internet, Wi-Fi, laptops, tablets, and all things related, exist for one reason:
To control your feeble fucking brain.
Instant “information” at our fingertips has never been less informational. “Truth” has never been so full of lies. To believe you can tap a few keywords into a google search, and confidently “learn” facts about the things that keep you healthy, safe, and secure, is complete fucking folly.
From the first advertisements spoken on vacuum-tube radios, to the headlines-of-the-day automatically pinging your iPhone, the soulless motherfuckers controlling our tech have always had only one thing in mind:
That’s right, controlling your feeble fucking brain.
Consider how absurd it is to sit down and watch an infomercial — knowing the host, audience, and airtime have all been paid for by the asswads hawking their worthless, “made-in-china-by-slaves” shit — yet find yourself pulling out your credit card at the end of the session, to buy a 2-for-1 deal that’ll expire in less than 10 minutes if you “DON’T ACT NOW!”
But, in fairness, who can pass up a free Sham-Wow?
The infomercial format is, of course, the extended version of the 30-second snippets laced strategically throughout your favourite fucking piece-of-shit weekly program on the Telescreen (the show you lovingly define as “my program”), and they exist for the exact same reason — because some ass-diddling CEO authorized paying top-dollar to showcase toxic, humanity-destroying garbage, in hopes of procuring a golden parachute to float safely into Hell without snapping an ankle.
Free speech no longer exists. It’s owned by the highest bidder.
Have you ever seen a SuperBowl ad featuring, say, an indigenous group — people desperately trying to bring to light their enslavement at the hands of European oppressors who systematically took over their land, raped and murdered their families in the name of God, and forced their red-skinned asses into shitty little concentration camps?
Cuz the injuns can’t afford a million-dollar time-slot between grown men brutalizing one another as they play with a ball. And even if the true natives of this land amassed their funds through some gay fucking Go-Fund-Me campaign, I’m willing to bet a scrote-sucking media mogul would kindly thank them for their interest, but declare their message too controversial for public consumption, opting to run a minute-long abomination featuring CGI dancing cans of Bud Light swarming the erect nipples of a bikini-clad, 18-year-old blonde dancing shamelessly on a Floridian beach.
TV ain’t about sharing truth. TV don’t giveth a fuck about knowledge, wisdom, nor enlightenment, and it will never be a forum for the oppressed, mistreated, or abused. The telescreen, and all its variants, exist for one specific reason:
Yeah, you remember, to control your feeble fucking brain… to make you feel like it’s the most natural thing in the world to high-five your buddy at the bar while shouting out:
“Did you see the titties on that bitch! Fuck yeah! Let’s get another pitcher of Bud, the Packers are soooo gonna win this game…”
The media is owned by psycho-fuck monsters, who only care about how many numbers exist in their bank accounts, how many 8-year-old boys they can fuck, and the quality of their cocaine.
The worst, and scariest thing about the genocidal, dickwad sociopaths running this planet is that they’re fucking patient — calm, cool, and collected. Whatever hints they’ve leaked about future agendas to “conspiratorial” nut-jobs like myself, are only more systems of control, subtly directing fringe-thinkers into boxes intentionally built for their radical minds.
Hmm, perhaps this is the appropriate spot to link back to the Divide and Conquer trilogy…
While the motherfuckers running this show don’t think twice to wait out 10, 20, a hundred, or a thousand years to further their agenda, they’ve cleverly instilled within us the exact opposite of their tactic — as sheeple, if we don’t have immediate gratification, reward, or access to whatever we want when we want it, we’re unhappy, unfulfilled, stressed, anxious, and miserable.
Although this goofball author has been completely suckered by fictitious and insidious manipulations many times over, he’s learned much. Yes, he’s still a junkie, doing his best to play out his shitty little ego-game on Planet Earth, but the nuggets of truth he’s uncovered over the years can’t be unlearned and can’t be ignored by burying his head in the sand, like most of humanity loves to do.
So let’s get to the crux of this post…
I can’t speak experientially about the Black Plague. I can’t speak experientially about Spanish Flu. I can’t speak experientially about Polio, Smallpox, Measles, or any other micro-organisms that we’ve been told have maliciously wiped out droves of humans doing their best to tend farms, bake bread, and raise their kiddies.
But I can speak experientially about H1N1. I can speak experientially about Ebola. I can speak experientially about SARS, ZIKA, AIDS, Swine Flu, and fucking CAPS. Not because I contracted any of these so-called “diseases,” but because I was heavily entrenched in all the up-to-date, cutting edge, “information” that the media pumped out each time a new, invisible death-sentence reared its ugly head.
You wanna know what I know about viruses, germs, and plagues?
They’re fucking bullshit.
Each iteration of the latest “killer virus” I’ve witnessed over the last 30 years has been utter fucking nonsense, much like the ever-morphing Influeza bug — another demon that requires yearly vaccinations to keep you safe from mutating strains that the best medical experts on this planet predict with the accuracy of an Alzheimer’s patient smoking crack.
Each campaign is nothing more than media-fear-mongering-bullshit, meant to keep the denizens of this world forever unbalanced, stressed, and supportive of authority figures who wouldn’t think twice about pissing on freshly murdered proles dumped into a shallow, Arizonian sandpit.
Each campaign has been orchestrated patiently and intentionally, to slowly condition our brains to the scenario we now have before us:
Put a mask on, or people will die.
Don’t travel, or people will die.
Don’t socialize, or people will die.
Stay six feet apart, or people will die.
Sequester yourself from family, friends, and loved ones, in never-ending 14-day stretches, cuz if you don’t, there’s a good chance they’ll die.
Wear a mask, gloves, and condom when you fuck, or people will die.
And if you’re a corrupt, puerile, power-mad cop, insecure about the size of your penis, kill as many people as you want, just don’t fuck with the dark-skinned. Their lives matter most.
Technology has paved the way for the insanity we’re unquestioningly accepting as the “new normal.” And I don’t foresee anything getting better until we collectively wake the fuck up, and stop kowtowing to the absurdity of what our “news” describes as reality.
The media’s message is always a variation of the same shit:
Let us think for you! It’s easier than doing it for yourself, or attempting to engage in futile critical thinking. The information we provide will keep you safe! Follow our rules, and you’ll never again have to fear crazy Arabs, armed with laughable box-cutters, expertly flying into steel-structures that collapse like playing-card pyramids constructed by a five-year-old. Acquiescence is what true freedom is all about!
People die all the time. But it ain’t from fake fucking plagues, epidemics, or a sequence of RNA discovered by plugging a bunch of genetic shit into a supercomputer. They die from toxic shit dumped into their water supply. They die from chemical-laden shit sold to them at the supermarket disguised as “food.” They die from industry-poisoned air, medically-poisoned drugs, and emotionally-poisoned information.
And sometimes they just die ’cause they’re fucking old — has nothing to do with a “novel” strain of frilly-haired cells that exist within their bodies when a doctor declares their time of death.
So here’s your wakeup call.
There’s no Flu. There’s no Ebola. No AIDS, no SARS, no fucking COVID. They’re all red herrings to keep you in the dark about the real reasons people get ill.
And what are those reasons?
Living in environments and states of mind that go against every natural instinct instilled within our animal-bodies — instincts screaming out from our guts:
“Hey, this ain’t fucking right! Why the fuck am I doing this? Why am I living like this? Why am I accepting this bullshit? Why the fuck am I worried about following whatever the herd does, instead of living the life I imagine?”
Evolve on whatever timetable suits you, and I’ll do my best to support your madness, but I’ve drawn my personal line in the sand.
A line that says NO FUCKING MORE!
I will never put on a mask.
I will not conform. I will not obey. I will not sacrifice morals, ethics, common sense, or critical thinking because of an artist-rendered image of a sphere covered in red fluffy tassels, plastered on the telescreen, that justifies the social decimation of the very nature that makes us human.
If businesses choose to refuse my patronage because of it, then fuck them. I won’t support assholes hellbent on blindly following the orders of morons and psychopaths.
Oppressors aren’t overthrown by acts of violence. They’re not swayed by protests or demonstrations. They’re beaten by non-compliance. They’re rendered impotent when the masses stop giving in to their lies and deceits, and stand together, united by love, empathy, and respect for one another.
You want to inspire your fellow man?
Lead by example.
Take off your fucking mask, and go give someone a big hug. And maybe the people standing 6 feet away from you will feel a little less ashamed to do the exact same thing somewhere down the road. If enough of us do it, we’ll realize that the pitiful groups of bullies carrying guns will never be able to stand against us, contain us, or force us into submission.
We’ll only be free when we start acting like it.
We all want to be loved, right?
How horrible would it be to one day find out your beloved personality quirks irritated the hell out of 98% of the people around you?
Pretty crushing, I’m sure.
No need to fret. The following test has been scientifically formulated to put you on the right path of social normality — simultaneously determining the 2 major factors that currently affect your life the most:
A. Am I Respectful, CoronaSmart Human?
B. Am I a Fucking Douchebag?
Go grab a pen and paper.
Read the following questions, and add 2 strokes each time you answer Yes/Correct. If you respond with Nay/Erroneous, only stroke once.
If you stroke more than 108 times during this quiz, you likely have a masturbation problem.
1. Do I wear a top-of-the-line surgical mask and disposable gloves when I drive in my car, all by my lonesome, to pick up a half-priced treadmill waiting for me at the Canadian Tire curbside pickup, committed to shed the 30 pounds I’ve gained during lockdown while watching Netflix and boredom-eating?
2. Do I feel guilty walking 2 feet down a supermarket aisle to grab a jar of Mushroom Ragu, knowing I’m in clear violation of a decaying one-way sticker on the floor?
3. When someone sneezes, is my go-to comment: “Ooh, COVID, hahaha!”
4. Do I elbow-bump people instead of shaking hands?
5. Do I apply hand-sanitizer after masturbating in the shower?
6. Do I routinely purchase meat products that contain mechanically-separated pork, chicken, or turkey?
7. Do I step off the sidewalk curb to avoid being within 6 feet of some diseased douchebag motherfucker gleefully walking their yappy, piece-of-shit micro-dog?
8. Have I ever referred to Game of Thrones as GOT?
9. Have I ever refused a family member to visit my domicile because a guinea pig might count as the 5th in my household?
10. Have I ever said to anyone: “Hey dude, wanna binge-watch season two of Felicity?”
11. Have I ever gone down a playground slide in the dark, possibly while drunk, and suffered near decapitation because some COVID-fearing-fuckface wrapped a piece of orange fencing around the middle of the apparatus to deter public usage?
12. Have I ever been hit with a bag of bread because I encroached within 6 feet of a ninety-year-old fossil at Giant Tiger who was bulk-buying toilet paper, pasta, and slices of Wonder?
13. Do I realize “no-contact pick-up” doesn’t mean jack-shit if a 48-year-old cook in the kitchen rubs his balls religiously before slapping each burger on the grill?
14. Do I wear a cloth mask all day at work because I fear germs, then go home and suck my husband’s cock?
15. Am I secretly aroused by the smell of hand-sanitizer?
16. Have I wiped my bum in the last 3 months with toilet paper I bought because it was “on sale?”
16. Have I refused to go back to work because I fear “unsafe” conditions, knowing I make waaaay better money on CERB kickbacks?
17. Have I been part of a recent demonstration to show the world Black Lives Matter, while ignoring my previous mantra of, “Staying Home Saves Lives?”
18. Do I feel homophobic when my girlfriend sticks a finger up my ass?
19. Do I have a sign on my front lawn saying “I support front-line workers,” ignorant of the fact nurses are being laid off in droves because hospitals are empty?
20. Did I secretly hang a noose in Bubba Wallace’s garage?
Okay, nice work. Your test is now complete.
Determining Your Score
Spend a moment to tally your strokes, then click here to uncover your status:SCIENTIFIC ANALYSIS
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*although hats used to be $12.95, and many times given away for free, adhering to government regulations is a costly element we cannot ignore. We sincerely apologize for the drastic markup, but hope you will continue to support our local business during these difficult, troubling, and ass-reaming times.
[The following snippet is from Original Sin: A Creative Guide to Living and Dying. Message me to buy a copy. Fuck Kindle and fuck Amazon]
Let’s look at our reality from a slightly different perspective.
We’re fixated on the physical world. That’s a given. The game is always about making money, acquiring possessions, maintaining our bodies, eating food, banging whores, and on and on. We develop our externally-oriented obsessions because that’s how our culture conditioned us from birth. We fall into lifelong funks because we prioritize “doing the right thing” before acknowledging the turmoil in our guts — that queasy inner voice crying out to us, “I have no desire to follow through with this shit!” before our egos respond with, “but I guess I have to, because those are the behaviours of a responsible adult.”
The mind is every bit an integral part of this physical universe as a house, car, or fancy new snowblower. So are our emotions. Though thoughts may seem intangible compared to big tits and bottles of wine, they’re every bit as important to survival as wearing warm clothes in the winter.
We give our thoughts and emotions low priority in situations that matter most, and let them run-wild over us when the price of a Tim Horton’s coffee goes up 15 cents. Thoughts and emotions are the building blocks of every decision we make in life, yet we wield these tools like oxygen-deprived chimps playing with Charlton Heston’s shotgun collection.
Perhaps the problem starts when we begin adopting ideas that aren’t ours, or building lives according to the suggestions of corporate entities who will never have our best interests at heart.
I remember a Stuart Wilde talk that used airline companies as an example of this “humans-come-last” business philosophy. The gravity-defying machines, and accompanying services we’ve come to rely on to facilitate rapid transit anywhere in the world, have evolved with only one thing in mind — maximizing profit. Catering to human comfort is an afterthought. The seats are too small (unless you’re a stunted 4-year-old Asian girl)… the food is processed, microwaved shit, not fit for wild dogs… a lowered tray table will crush you if the person in front attempts to recline… and the toilets are nowhere near big enough to fuck in anymore.
If you can’t pony up enough dough for a VIP spot at the front of the plane, you’re relegated to conditions that worsen each year, to the point oxygen-masks and life-vests will probably get removed from the “coach” sections to save billionaires an extra few cents per flight on fuel costs. And I haven’t even begun to comment on the insanity of not being allowed to carry a bottle of water or toothpaste past an x-ray machine, while Bic lighters, scissors, and electronic devices that “may interfere with control frequencies of the cockpit unless turned off prior to flight,” seem to be just fine. Are you fucking kidding me?
We continue using and supporting services that treat us like shit, and accept these practices as normal, knowing full well that share-holders and golden parachutes of CEO’s trump the priorities of Joe Average — despite the fact that without him, the business would never exist.
While on the topic of flying, I noticed another interesting quirk about the biz on my last trip — people are not boarded onto a plane with common sense in mind. They’re herded aboard with priorities based on how much money they’ve spent, or how early they booked their ticket.
Let’s say you want to fill a plane as efficiently as possible — how would you go about doing it?
You would start with everyone at the very back, and fill the rows from there, one by one, which would eliminate the problem of assholes standing retardedly in an aisle — made for anorexic super-models — trying to stuff baggage (which they have absolutely no need for on the flight) into overhead compartments, while the rest of the passengers stand stupidly inside an enclosed mobile bridge, wondering if someone may have had an untimely epileptic seizure up ahead.
That method of loading does not happen though. Big business dictates you obviously start with first-class — all the people sitting at the front of the plane, which of course gets the gridlock underway right off the hop. But that’s the only fair reward to the superior travel humans who have deeper pockets than the scum at the back.
Next, they funnel cripples and parents with snot-nosed punks into the metal tube, creating another clusterfuck of chaos, which sends a subtle message that being debilitated, or an active breeder, somehow puts you in a more important category of human than a single, able-bodied traveller who has the ability to walk onto an airplane and sit down without fuss in under 12 seconds — which would easily free up the aisles for the retards and gimps to fumble about.
And, even more bizarre, they hand out boarding numbers based upon when a ticket was purchased. It doesn’t matter that you’re sitting one row behind first-class in a window seat. The punishment for buying a last minute fare — diminishing interest accruement in the savvy, airway pioneers’ bank accounts — is to get lumped in with the “last-boarding-call” group — an unspoken and subtle statement to suggest you’re among the least important humans to be transported — the very opposite of first-class.
Filling window seats first would be far too logical — much better to have 3-deep seating where the aisle passengers need stand up two more times to add more traffic to an aisle too narrow for Jack Skellington to pass freely through without kneeing people in the face.
Now I personally don’t give a fuck about being last on any vehicle, and I’ve learned an infinitude of patience by standing behind old people in supermarket check-out lines, but it’s fascinating to note the system has been designed for the sole purpose of glorifying the almighty dollar, not to pamper the users supporting it.
Business first, people second.
As humanity gets squeezed out of the equation, no one seems to notice. Services get shittier, less effective, and more expensive on a daily basis, yet we keep going back to the trough for more.
Because were fucking idiots, and no one believes there’s a damn thing we can do to change our construct of dependence.
Let me share with you another story. Because I decided one day to cast off the usual routines of society, and begin a life of travel, I made the decision to give up my road vehicle. When I did that, I also gave up paying car insurance, renewing licence plates, worrying about maintenance fees, and buying gas.
You know the funny thing about no longer needing to buy gas? You stop caring about what price-gouging plots the crude oil barons are cooking up to fuck with the world. You stop the unconscious, mental note-taking of the most recent cost-per-litre every time you pass a petrol station, and you stop investing wasted energy into bitching about unfair prices — a game designed to keep you in perpetual emotional bondage.
[Side note: Even funnier to consider the outrage knowing that “dead dinosaur guts” were pumped out of the Earth, refined, put on massive tankers, and shipped all over the world for you to purchase at less than the price of a bottle of “spring” water]
It becomes highly entertaining to witness people in heated discussions about the fluctuations at the pumps (much like I used to do). Stuff like:
“Gas is up 10 cents today, what fucking bullshit!”
“Haha, I was smart, I filled up cheap yesterday on my way home, I knew it was gonna go up!”
If we added up the amount of time we spent thinking about filling our cars with fuel, we’d probably be shocked at how much energy we’ve squandered stewing over a problem we have no desire to rectify.
People will happily show up late for work to line up for an unplanned stop at the local fucking Esso if the price looks tempting enough, waiting in a car line for 20 minutes to save themselves a whopping 50 cents to top up a tank that was 10 litres shy of being full.
It’s nutty to consider that fluctuations in gas prices can slip people into foul and crusty moods just as easily as they can make it seem a lottery has just been won. It’s not until you emotionally divorce yourself from a specific situation that you’re able to glean any kind of unbiased insight.
So now we’re getting into the nitty-gritty of this chapter.
Why exactly does money control us the way it does? Is it just about necessity and physical survival, or have we missed something so completely obvious that, once learned, might just break us free of the endless grief and stress we fill our days with?
The answer lies in the same reason for quitting watching TV and following the news. Money is not just a facilitator for convenient trade, it’s an emotional mind-fucker we’re manipulated with on a daily basis — a control system we can break free from once becoming aware how it’s used against us.
Think of it this way. When you spend money on the latest electronic gadget, a car, house, new clothes, whatever, you’re not just trading paper dollars acquired through the physical labours of your job or career, you’re engaging in an emotional investment of happiness and self-worth. The more you spend, the greater your entanglement.
Money is more than a symbol of trade and wealth — it’s a form of emotional energy.
Television only exists for one basic purpose now — to control your mind, manipulate your emotions, and keep you in a dysfunctional marriage with the almighty dollar. It’s not a system to uncover solutions to life’s problems by sharing information to help our species evolve, and it’s not a means to provide comfort after a hard day’s work. It’s a tool to keep your true energies — the ones scientists call hokey, intangible, and not worthy of study — soaked up in an ocean of water-logged garbage.
Instead of paying attention to our simplest of feelings and intuitions — telling us what’s right or wrong, what decisions will serve or torment us, which humans we should or shouldn’t be spending time with — we choose to allow the outside world to mold and manipulate our desires, as we blow our loads on movies, TV shows, the tragedy-porn we call news, and the almighty dollar, leaving us too drained and exhausted to emotionally service ourselves.
Have people stopped driving or buying gas since I got rid of my car? Of course not. Has the world gotten any worse or better since I stopped following politics or watching the news? Nope, it’s all the same shit it’s always been. But one major change has occurred — I’m no longer emotionally invested in it. And that gives me the opportunity to constantly go deeper into myself, learning to trust and listen to the inner voice that’s always been there, the one drowned out by the manipulations of a world obsessed with material shit and ridiculous, contrived dramas.
You know what I’ve found? That voice is far more important to my physical health and well-being than any item I could ever purchase, or any advice suggested by corporations, religious institutions, or fancy government studies.
You don’t kick your woman to the curb when a relationship’s healthy, you do it to be rid of emotional insanity destroying your life.
Society has become our new psycho-bitch. If you’re looking to find some inner peace and tranquillity in your life, consider putting on your arse-kicking boots again.
The physical world is supposed to be our playland. But, as of late, it seems we’ve somehow given the swings and teeter-totters the power to control us. We used to ride, but now we’re ridden. We used to play, but now we’re played. We used to run, but now we’re being run over.
We’ve skewed our focus much too far away from where our true power lies — within. If you have the nerve to put your explorer’s hat on one more time, that might be the place you consider heading next.
The physical world will always be in bloom, but the true adventure into the unknown lies within.
From time to time, people accuse me of having a negative outlook on life. I’m not really sure why this is, considering I’m absolutely positive 90 percent of the humans walking this planet are entirely fucked in the head, but I’ll never be one to repress another’s right to express their opinion. That’s what freedom’s all about. When we start censoring ideas that the media tells us are “dangerous” (which of course would never, ever happen in our highly advanced and open society), that would be the time to start questioning whether our beloved regulators have our best interests at heart, or if they have an agenda of their own we might not be privy to.
So in order to demonstrate my spirit is riding high during these “unprecedented, difficult, and trying times,” I’ve amassed a list of some of the unexpected benefits and opportunities that have come to light in the midst of our planetary medical dictatorship.
The perks are unending! We’ll start with the basics: hideous people. No more fear of walking out of the house worrying you’re not quite up to snuff with Brad Pitt’s good looks. With a surgical face-mask, baggy coat, and slicked-back hair, there’s a good chance you’ll be mistaken for a young George Clooney! Though it’s difficult to chat up the ladies while standing 6 or more feet away from them in the check-out at the local Giant Tiger, when the bars and nightclubs re-open again 2 years from now, Miss Right will never have a clue how impossibly far you fall short of her physical ideal. With a few carefully practiced pick-up lines and witty anecdotes about surviving the lockdown, you’ll have had your hands in her pants a dozen times before she ever realizes you’re missing 18 teeth, and your breath smells of half-priced dog food.
Up next: people who like to rob shit. Society rarely considers how much grief and anxiety is involved standing in front of a liquor store, debating whether the pantyhose or ski mask are the appropriate attire for the task at hand. Well, forget that! Toss away your doctor prescribed antidepressants that bung up your sphincter, and enjoy culturally-approved anonymity, drug-free! You can also forget the stress of planning your next heist. If you choose to go out in public now wearing a rubber Ronald Reagan mask, I can guarantee no one will bat an eyelash. So as you approach a bank-teller with a question about usurious account fees, or stand in front of a cashier with a bottle of whisky or 6-pack of Hamburger Helper somewhere down the road, let your heart decide if it’s the right time to pull your gun to exercise a little “unsanctioned capitalism.” Spontaneity is the spice of life! Freshly ground pepper is pretty awesome too.
For the Ladies? Makeup. How much wasted time do you spend every morning “putting on your face?” Kiss those tedious hours goodbye, and keep your energies focused where they belong — updating your Facebook status and watching reruns of Friends. Aside from feeding the kiddies, and a lengthy line-up to roll through Tim Horton’s to pick up a disease-free latte, starting a new day will become as simple as donning a hat and mask. Forget the showers and leg shaving as well. No one’s ever gonna get close enough to you again to realize how badly your ‘pits smell, or how many Goldfish crumbs are lodged in your pubic hair. It won’t be long before the “North American Burka” becomes the norm, dispelling your holier-than-thou judgments about the backward, mysogynistic cultures you’ve been taught to hate. Sure, maybe you’ll want to keep a little eye-liner in your pocket o’ tricks to impress the hunky guy who hauls your trash once a week, but you’ll never again be part of an ongoing experiment by beauty corporations to find out what 10,000 chemicals, secretly buried in lipstick, foundation, or shampoo, unknowingly do to your body. Forget showing off cleavage, eyes are the window to the soul!
Here’s an unlimited opportunity. I’m no sleeping prophet, but I’ll go on record predicting that “social distancing” ain’t gonna be forgotten any time soon. So why not then make the best of a situation that’s been forced upon you? If you can earn a few bucks creating ideas that help save lives, by preventing disease-spreading-motherfuckers from approaching you, I say run with it.
Idea 1: Spike vests.
If you’ve ever watched the absurdity of a fashion show — you know, where tall, weird-looking, anorexic humans walk down a runway wearing outfits that some emotionally-disturbed queer designed for shock value because trending media dictated he was the latest “in” thing — then this idea might not seem so ludicrous.
No need to fear anyone contaminating you with their filthy diseases while wearing this fashionable number at your next bar mitzvah. Huggers can go fuck themselves. Forced social distancing is IN!
Idea 2: The Sawbrerro.
Pretty simple. When someone tries to approach you unwantedly, shaking your head to indicate, “no, don’t do it asshole,” will take on new meaning if the disease carrier gets too close, and quickly finds their nose separated from their bacteria-laden fuckface. It’s a mistake they’ll never make again.
Idea 3: Winter Wear.
Already done. If you copy me, you’re just a sad, pathetic shill.
Idea 4: Bear Trap Mittens
Can you believe some assholes out there still consider hand-shaking to be a normal activity? Un-freakin-believable. So here’s one to deter those gropey mass-murderers from ever sticking their diseased hands in your face again…
That’s all for now. Hopefully I’ve inspired a few readers to feel as bubbly as I do, as we patiently await a single miracle vaccine that will one day eradicate this heartless, microscopic scourge from the face of the Earth. As we stand in line at our forced vaccination clinics a year from now, still wearing face-masks and maintaining a 6-foot personal radius, life will finally start returning to normal.
We can only hope our miracle cure is as effective as the one we developed for influenza. I’m positive medical science won’t let us down.
Next Post: Viral mutations, and why thrice-yearly COVID shots will become as natural as brushing your teeth. See you then!