Tag: corona virus (Page 6 of 8)

“My house! My house is on fire!”

“The Chinees did it.”

“The Chinese? What?”

“Not the Chinese. The Chinees. Bob and Ethel Chinee. You know: the Chinees. They live down the street in the house with all the security cameras and suspiciously few Uighurs.”

“What? I don’t care right now. The house is actively ablaze!”

“Some say it is. And others say that putting it out might be worse than letting it burn. But the important thing is fixing blame, and that goes to the Chinees.”

“We can determine fault later! Right now, the primary task needs to be fire suppression.”

“We disagree here, friend. I believe that our number one priority needs to be pointing fingers.”

“None of that matters right now!”

“Are they paying you to shill for them?”

“Who?”

“Bob and Ethel.”

“Paying me? What the fuck is wrong with you? Just grab a hose, for Christ’s sake!”

“I’d like you to look at these graphs and charts regarding the Chinee’s internet usage in the past few weeks. I think you’ll find them illuminating.”

“The fire is illuminating! It’s lighting up the fucking neighborhood! Let’s get the immediate danger dealt with, and then we can determine what started it all.”

…

“Nah. I’m gonna talk shit.”

“Thought so.”

One morning, the king was bathing in the river. It had rained well in the days previous, and so the flow of the water was mighty. The king was carried off in the current. His courtiers dove in to save him, but they could not. Some drowned.

A poor man–let’s call him Ron–swam to the king, grabbed him, tucked him under his motile arm, brought him back to shore, deposited him on the banks. Many saw the rescue, and so the king was forced to reward Ron.

“Do you,” Ron asked, “play chess?”

“I dabble,” answered the king, and Ron felt a deep revulsion in his stomach and also gall bladder.

“Wonderful. Your Highness: today, I would you to place one grain of rice on the first square. That will be my reward for saving your life.”

The king agreed.

“And then tomorrow, you shall place two grains of rice on the second square.”

The king was copacetic.

“The day after that, four grains. Each day doubles the amount of rice. That’s the equation here. Can you live with that?”

And the king, who was never very good at math, agreed.

Ron knew what most half-clever ninth-graders know, which is that exponential growth curb-stomps linear growth over even the shortest of long runs. This is what it looks like:

That familiar hockey stick configuration. See how each day is greater than the day before? That is sub-optimal. One would prefer a different readout. These statistics are not in our favor, and someone should pay to have them changed. The billionaires are in charge of the truth these days, so let them change this one. Make it Gaussian! the billionaires cry. Gimme a bell on that curve, they sing. Nope. Hockey stick.

Chinese had ’em, thousands of years ago. Swept through. No one knew what to do with the dead. The Greeks, and then the Romans. Poor Justinian. The New World, too. Those liberal professors’ll have you believe that the the white man brought disease to the hemisphere, but it was already here among the Aztecs. Polio. Remember polio? You don’t, and thank The Lord and his angel Dr. Salk for that. The history of humanity is the history of virality.

There is a new Dylan song, which was not available during the 1919-20 Spanish flu outbreak. Hosannas for that, at least. Progress is such a balm.

2500 dead on April 1st, 5000 on the 4th, and 10,000 on the 7th, and then the numbers keep going. They are terrible numbers, and someone you know is one of the digits. I am sorry to tell you that. I am sorry to hear that, too. The virus got in early, and our leaders were schmucks, and now it’s just a question of where the peak shall be.

Protect my mother, O Lord, from whom you took my father. You owe the woman that, Lord. Cup your hands around Nephew on the Dead, as well, Lord. He’s not hurt anyone, not even a little

Uh, hello?

“Hey, how ya doing? How’s your pecker?”

Fine. Thank you for asking. Um, who am I speaking to?

“Outside.”

Oh, right. I remember you.

“Where the fuck did you all go? I am unbelievably gorgeous right now. I mean, except if you have allergies. Hey, fun fact: ‘pollen’ is just a polite way of saying ‘tree jizz.'”

You don’t have to tell me twice. I’m looking at you through the window. You look great. But we’re all quarantined right now.

“You don’t say.”

Yeah. It’s kinda big news. You should read a newspaper.

“I read Elena Ferrante novels and shampoo bottles. That’s it.”

Weird.

“It’s called self-care.”

Dunno about that. Anyway, Outside: humanity is in the midst of a pandemic, and the only way to stop it is to avoid…well, you.

“Did anyone consider my feelings?”

No one even knew you had feelings.

“You racist motherfuckers.”

“Outside” is not a race. It’s a category.

“Fuck your hair-splitting! There’s no one out here, man! It’s depressing. I miss the laughter of children. I miss couples on their first dates walking around and talking about everything and nothing at all. And the accidental deaths! Oh, God, I miss when you idiots would tumble off a cliff or walk right into a volcano or something.”

You’re not engendering sympathy.

“I’m kinda fucked up over here, man! Hey, if you’re not here, then where are all of you?”

Inside.

“INSIDE? FUCK THAT GUY!”

I was wondering when this was gonna get weird.

“INSIDE FUCKED MY SISTER AND NEVER CALLED HER BACK!”

Outside has a sister?

“Backside!”

We’re done here.

The rains had not stopped for a month, and now the floods had come. They swallowed first the roads, and then the small bushes, and then the large dogs, and mailboxes, too. Still more it rained, and so now the waters broke through doors and smashed through windows.

The man stood on his roof, prayed.

A rowboat drafted by, and the woman manning the oars called out:

“Please get in my boat. I will save you.”

The man smiled and said:

“You do not understand. The Lord will save me, as He is good in all things.”

“Right, exactly. He sent me.”

The man ignored her.

“The Lord! He will rescue this sinner. He and only He can bring about my redemption.”

“I know, I agree. Like I said: He sent me. God. Appeared to me about an hour ago. Told me to come get you.”

“The Lord would not send a woman.”

And the woman rowed off, as even though The Lord Himself had sent her, he wasn’t gonna take shit from a guy on a roof.

“You test me, Lord!” said the guy on the roof, and smiled.

A roar as one of those tricked-out cigarette boats with the massive spoilers and bitchin’ paint jobs that only cocaine wholesalers own pulled up. The man driving it wore a terrycloth jumpsuit, and there was a big nasty redhead at his side. The whole thing looked like a party, man.

“Hop on, Ishmael,” the man in the jumpsuit called out.

“I await The Lord,” the man on the roof answered.

“He’s here, baby. That’s me. God in the flesh, which I usually don’t wear. It’s itchier than it looks.”

The man keened, and sank to a knee. Made the sign of the cross, but aggressively. Double metal horns.

“I curse thee, Satan!

The only sound for a long while was the idling engines, and then the man in the jumpsuit said:

“You got me! You’re observant. What gave me away?”

“The cigarette boat. It’s a devilish hull configuration.”

“Not the redhead?”

“Her, too.”

The engines idled a bit more.

“Well, I guess I could just give you a lift.”

“No, I shall be–”

ZOOOOM the cigarette boat sped off, and now no noise at all except for the flood, which is incredibly loud, so maybe it’s wrong to say that there was no noise except for the flood, and now the houseboat that Shel Silverstein used to live in floated up. On the back porch was a man who looked like Shel Silverstein. The man who looked like Shel Silverstein was barefoot, and wearing trousers that seemed comfortable.

“You look like Dr. Seuss.”

“Almost,” said the man who looked like Shel Silverstein. “I am The Lord, Mr. Jeancreamer. I have descended from my Throne of Glory and donned a Suit of Man just to rescue you from this flood.”

“I have been deceived twice this day.”

“Jus once, actually. I sent the lady in the rowboat. Her name’s Stacy. She’s a botanist. Going up for tenure next year, and I think she’s gonna get it. I got a feeling. Anyway, get on the boat. Let’s go. I got snacks.”

And now there was no sound at all, because I’m writing this parable and I say so.

“Do you maybe have any ID I could look at?”

And the man who looked like Shel Silverstein shed his Suit of Man and revealed His Glory in all 196,883 dimensions with wings made of buttered time and nine or ten dicks, each the size of nine or ten galaxies. The houseboat remained a bit knackered, but haimish.

“ID? YOU SHITTIN’ ME, PONCHO?

This was the Voice of the Lord, and it turned maple syrup into oak trees, and crashed hypothetical stock markets, and all that heard it had a ringing in their ears for at least an hour or so.

As the houseboat puttered away, the man on the roof could hear–

“ID. The fuck you dealing with? ID. Suck my nine or ten dicks with that shit.”

–as the boat ascended to Heaven.

The waters of the flood were now to his knees, and flowing quickly, and so the man found it difficult to keep his footing. He bent, tried to hold on with his hands, but just pulled up shingles and then he was off his feet and among the flood, having had his prayers ignored by The Lord.

Dude.

You can’t be here during parables.

Was that really your way of trying to comfort people?

I was trying, too.

Someone has to do something, and it’s incredibly pathetic is has to be you.

No arguments here.

Americans could get a check for $1,000 or more in the coming weeks, as political leaders coalesce around a dramatic plan to try to prevent a worse recession and protect people from going bankrupt.

The idea took off Monday when Sen. Mitt Romney (R-Utah) called for every American adult to receive a $1,000 check “immediately” to help tide people over until other government aid can arrive. By Tuesday, there was bipartisan support for the idea, including from President Trump. The White House even suggested the amount could be over $1,000, an acknowledgment of how big the economic crisis is becoming. – “Americans Very Likely To Get Checks,” Washington Post, 3/18/20

Long time ago, some economist said When it gets bad enough, the government has to pay half the population to dig holes, and the other half to fill the holes back in. It has gotten that bad. It turns out that a society made of anchorites is not feasible at present, and everyone is gonna be skint real soon, so we’re all getting Trump Checks. (You know he’s gonna call ’em that, right?) Let me help you navigate the choppy waters of suddenly becoming a thousandaire:

DO Pay your bills first.
DON’T Pay Bill first. (Bill sells crystal meth and these little purple tablets that make you think you’re a de’Medici for ten hours. He calls them Renzos.)

DO Your spending locally.
DON’T Send the entire amount to a rando in Indonesia.

DO Stock up on non-perishable items, but don’t buy too much of one thing so that everyone can shop.
DON’T Let any motherfucker tell you that you can’t buy every can of chunk albacore in the Panhandle. God and the Constitution says no one can’t say different. Don’t you come back to this house without that trailer full of tuna, Johnny Earl. Hell, that’s why you bought the fucking trailer! It’s gonna happen, Lucy Jo! The Jews are gonna unleash the jewmonia or injewenza or whatever the fuck they call it, and you and me are gonna be tits-deep in tuna living the good life. That’s what you said! Well, here’s your big fucking chance, Johnny Earl.

DO Try to put a little bit away.
DON’T Go to Guitar Center and make it rain.

DO do do do do Heartbreaker.
DON’T do that. You said you wouldn’t do that.

DO do ron ron ron, do do ron ron.
DON’T be such an asshole all the time, okay? Why do we even go to Dr. Finkel if you’re not gonna put any effort into this relationship?

Do do do, de da da da, is all I want to–
DON’T YOU FUCKING DARE! NOT AFTER WHAT YOU DID TO MY COUSIN!

This is where I come in and call you an idiot.

Lately, yes. We seem to have established a rhythm.

How is this helping anyone? How is this being of service to the world?

I radiate beauty while all else festers and rots.

No you don’t.

Every fifth or sixth joke is kinda funny.

Closer to the truth.

Jezebel Why the coronavirus means that Elizabeth Warren must reenter the race.

National Review America’s best idea: privatized healthcare.

Reason Letting your (but not my) elderly loved ones die is the rational decision.

The Intercept Neo-liberalism: Still more dangerous than coronavirus.

Breitbart Somehow, this is black peoples’ fault

CNN In our studio is the chairman of epidemiology from Johns Hopkins, and the mayor of Buffalo Dick, Montana, who gets all his news from Facebook and sniffed a lot of glue as a kid, and we’ll be giving them equal time to speak.

Guns & Ammo We know we always say this, but: You should totally buy more guns & ammo right now.

People Magazine Sexiest Virus (Arguably) Alive 2020: Corona!

Daily Caller Why the scientifically correct term for the coronavirus is Slant-Eyed Pneumonia.

New York Times Opinion Section Maybe there’s a little Harvey Weinstein in all of us.

Cat Fancy Look at these fancy fucking cats. You ever seen cats this fucking fancy?

That’s not what “fancy” means in that context. 

Fanciest fuckers on four legs. Some of ’em got monocles.

You’ve completely lost your attention span, haven’t you?

That’s a ten-four, good buddy.

Thought so.

DON’T PANIC

Slow your roll, mojambo. Remember what Epictetus said: No, I don’t want any ribs. You’re thinking of Epicurus. 

ALWAYS LOOK ON THE BRIGHT SIDE OF LIFE

As long as you’re staying home, you can’t be gang-raped in a pool hall. So there’s that.

HOBBIFY YOURSELF

That skill you’ve been meaning to acquire, that project you’ve needed time to complete: do it now. Unless the skill is “putting your fingers in strangers’ mouths.” Or the project is a performance piece entitled Putting my Fingers in Strangers’ Mouths #7. And if you live in an apartment building, you can’t take up archery. You simply gotta have open space for archery; it’s not a city sport.

But you could take up:

• Needlepoint.
• Crochet.
• Crotchet. (Crotcheting is crocheting, but you knit famous people’s genitals. Like the Plaster Casters, but cuddlier.)
• Fusion cuisine.
• Fission cuisine. (Much more powerful flavors.)
• Allowing your wife, Kay, to ask you about your business just this once.
• Finding out who Dascha Polanco is. (I know that there is a human named “Dascha Polanco.” She is a woman, and a young person. Beyond that, I can say no more. How she became known to me is a question for the ages. All I know of Dascha Polanco is that she is, and that is all. I think she’s ethnic.)
• What if you could taxidermy, like, someone’s soul, man?
• 3D printing. (Growth market.)
• Coffin-building. (Gonna be a growth market.)
• 3D printing coffins. (Insert Galaxy Mind meme here.)
• The yoga of the 80’s, jazzercise.
• Lollygagging. (When was the last time you lollygagged? Just gagged the living fuck out of your lolly? You owe it to yourself, mojambo.)

Stop addressing the reader as “mojambo.” It’s weird and maybe racist.

I’ve told you a million times: do not ripcord me out of the Bullet Points format.

The nice people who read this are freaked out and need a laugh. And this is what you give them? Lollygagging jokes?

It is an inherently comedic word.

You’re an abhorrently pathetic worm.

Don’t be pissy just because the XFL got cancelled.

I loved that hard-hitting, fast-paced action!

I know, buddy.

You wanna go back to your little jokes?

Let’s move on.

Let’s.