The Covid-19 extravaganza has brought out the best and worst in people. Heroic doctors and nurses risk life and limb in the slimy corridors of virus-ridden hospitals while pea-brained college students cavort mindlessly on Florida beaches. Properly masked responsible citizens guide their shopping carts in the correct direction down the aisles of the local Publix while unkempt yokels from Bunky’s Trailer Park sneeze on the vegetables. Adhering to a revised code of conduct is an agonizing experience for goobers who can’t resist swimming in a 20x30-square-foot pool with 500 other clodhoppers, adhering to their scheduled bowling night or slobbering all over one another at Big Al’s Chili Cookoff. These denizens of the not-so-deep consider themselves pseudo-residents of New Hampshire, where Live Free or Die is the state motto, members of a delusional army they call The Resistance. The only resistance going on here is a resistance to rational thought, the modus operandi of Nitwit Nation.
That said, the monitors of Social Correctness, in their relentless drive for Purity, sometimes steer the ship onto suspect shoals. More is not always better. For starters, here is a report from England, where usually they know better:
Blimey!
Earlier this month, a change in English law was enacted banning two people from different households from gathering in an indoor private place during the coronavirus lockdown. Say what? The amended bill specifically reads, “No person may, without reasonable excuse, stay overnight at any place other than the place they are living.” Gee. Do dorm rooms count? What if, say, you have a date which gets exceptionally friendly and the shenanigans go on after midnight? Do you ship her out at 3 a.m. when only the wormiest Uber apples are still prowling? What does the babysitter do when Mom and Pop are running extra-late--break the law by staying or break the law by taking Baby Snooks back to her place? Anyone in violation of the law can be fined as much as 100 pounds.
Human rights barrister Adam Wagner tweeted shortly afterward, “I can’t believe I am reporting this but as of tomorrow, sex between two or more people who do not live in the same household is officially a ‘gathering’ and is therefore illegal.” Another attorney, George Pertez, issued a modicum of hope for a few by tweeting that “Someone could potentially have sex with an escort in their home, as it might be deemed legal for work purposes.” Pertez argued that it was unacceptable to publish the new legislation with just 14 hours notice and that not having it voted on in Parliament was very likely unlawful.
In the meantime, it will be interesting to see how the clever Brits will negotiate this thorny path. Some of them undoubtedly will resort to the age-old suggestion of the uninhibited Patricia Walker: “Hooray! Hooray! It’s First of May. Outdoor f***ing starts today!” Keep your gates locked and report all strange noises to the local constable.
Close The Door, They’re Coming In The Windows!
Clown-president Donald Trump has banned virtually everyone from the country at one time or another, so nobody should get their feelings hurt. Latest on the persona non grata list are the Brazilians, whose laissez-faire president’s own slogan is “Let the virus roll!”
Meanwhile, Canada’s wily Prime Minister Justin Trudeau has covered his bases by banning….well….everybody. In a fabulous burst of irony, the Mexican government, which gleefully recruits third-world Guatemalans, Hondurans and anyone with a pulse, has demanded a border crackdown on incoming Americans. In the U.S., Florida doesn’t want any New Yorkers and northern Floridians are building a wall to keep out Sunshine State residents from the south.
Attention all potheads: Marijuana shops, outlawed a few years back, are now considered “essential” in Colorado. Eco-happy San Francisco has recently banned those adorable reusable grocery bags. The Mafia is losing money for the first time in history because there are no sports to gamble on. Desperate casinos are now taking bets on the weather.
It’s an ill wind that bloweth no man--or beast--good. With a dearth of humans patrolling the streets, animals are busting out all over. The other day, a jaunty penguin went into an ice-cream store in Simon’s Town, South Africa for a creamsicle. And after Hong Kong’s Ocean Park Zoo closed its doors, two pandas, Ying Ying and Le Le (and why do pandas always have these silly double names instead of something more distinguished, like, say, “George Mitchell?”) were finally able to mate after 10 years of unsuccessful attempts. “How would YOU like to boink your wife with all the world looking in?” queried a highly offended Le Le. A reasonable question for man or beast.
"Up Your Nose With A Rubber Hose."---Jimmy Lavery
Covid 19 or not, sooner or later you have to go to the butcher, the baker, the candlestick-maker. When you’re pushing 80, repairs are in order—constantly. The other day, prior to having a surgical procedure at North Florida Regional Hospital, I was told I was required to get a Covid-19 test at a tiny NFRH facility nearby. I made my appointment and turned up bright and early, along with 750 other masked marauders. Seems some people have appointments and other riff-raff who are getting tested before they can return to their jobs, etc., are “worked into the schedule.” Right. This means that a mere half-dozen folks can fit into the tiny screening room and the rest are consigned to the parking lot, where vehicles are constantly circling like vultures looking for meat.
Being a valued customer with several thousand bed miles, I was taken in right on schedule. The nurse, a pleasant young lady of eastern European origin, had me trade in my awe-inspiring Red Sox mask for an official hospital model with little charisma. Then she sat me down and explained the procedure, which until then I assumed was something of a snap. I mean, you see these cars at the drive-thru medico tents zipping through post-haste with nothing more than a nose tickle, right? Nope, not at this place.
The nurse—we’ll call her Katya just for fun—showed me a very long, thin wiry-looking critter, which unbeknownst to me would soon be visiting my tonsils. “That thing is long enough for Pinocchio after ten lies,” I told her. I’m not sure she knew who Pinocchio was, but I could feel her smiling inside her official mask. “Squeeze my finger,” Katya instructed, leading me to the belief this could be more than a walk in the park. I never turn down a lady who asks me so squeeze any bodily part, so I complied, and just in time. That little wire went deeper and deeper and DEEPER into the tunnel, almost reaching Gag Country. And it burned like the Devil. I looked at Katya’s finger and it was almost purple. She kept advising me of my progress, similar to the encouragement a bench-presser gets from his mates. “Okay, you’re doing good…hold on…a little more to go…very good…just a little more,” etc. Finally, she struck gold and the wire returned to Earth. The bad news was there was another nostril to go.
I looked at my benefactor and asked, “Do you ever have a little TROUBLE with people who freak out in the middle of the test?” She laughed. “Oh yes, many times every day. Yesterday a big guy who looked like a football player, 6-6, weighed about 300 pounds, started to get up, hollering and waving his arms. I had to push him back in the chair and scold him very much.” The big sissy. She told me I had done very well and my results would be available in three days. If I didn’t hear anything, no news was good news.
On the way out, I passed a slumping, worried looking fellow who might have been a linebacker for the Chicago Bears. I tugged my Red Sox mask down around my chin and looked him in the eye. “Stand up straight,” I told him in my best Sister Louise Clara voice. “Buck up! Be a man! It only hurts for a little while.” He stopped, turned around and smiled. “Thanks,” he said. “I needed that.”
Sex And The (Blighted) City
Who knew that in 2020 the old curse of sexual abstinence would rise up Phoenix-like from the ashes? Since a person is barely safe more than six feet away from another, what contortionist measures might be taken to bridge the gap? Maybe we can all learn a lesson from the hospital operating rooms where everything is covered but the critical area. Maybe Hazmat suits with properly placed zippers will make a comeback. Most of that won’t do any good, of course, if Covid-19 is transferred in semen. In the wake of conflicting recent studies, apparently nobody really knows the answer to that one.
Three Boston hospitals have released sexual health guidelines describing the riskiest behavior and offering some clever advice about when to wear masks. Said guidelines, published in the Annals of Internal Medicine, regard any type of “in-person sexual activity” as Covid bait. Nobody has told us what other kinds of sexual activity there are involving more than one person, but we digress.
The study ranks habits from the safest to the riskiest through the CDC’s social distancing model. The first brilliant revelation is that sexual abstinence and masturbation are the safest moves. Well, no shit. After that come phone or video sex, which comes with its own risks, the authors warn without explanation. We’re going to assume that has something to do with an ex-boyfriend sneaking the video onto the screen during movie time at Physical Hygiene class. Anyway, next is sleeping with a live-in partner, if neither has been exposed or is asymptomatic. Sexual activity with a person other than those you’re quarantined with is, of course, the riskiest behavior. In that case, the researchers recommend wearing a face mask. Before long, those raunchy Mexican film-makers will be releasing movies of couples wearing only masks and black socks.
“We recognize that it may come as an unusual recommendation, but wearing a mask during intercourse with someone from outside the home may reduce risk,” says Dr. Jack Turban, lead author and resident physician at Massachusetts General Hospital. “Unfortunately, the virus is easily spread via respiratory particles, making kissing a higher-risk behavior than other intimate acts.”
This is terrible news for practitioners of lengthy foreplay, not to mention teenagers looking for their first kiss. There’s no longer any going to first, second and third base, everybody gets an intentional walk. This makes it much tougher on the demure young thing sacrificing her virtue grudgingly in a series of seventeen or more steps. Oh, and forget about those kissing booths at the county fair. Now we’ll be relegated to butt-pinching the thong girl. Hey, everybody has to make sacrifices in The Age of The Virus.
Better Than Love Potion #9
If you wish to avoid all the niggling concerns of Covid-19, you could, of course, saddle up Old Paint and ride off to the Kaal Bhairav Temple in Madhya Pradesh, India. It’s an easy two-week trip if the weather holds. Once there, temple devotees will be offered packets of Corona Nashak Oil, a mustardy product with powerful juju. It is common knowledge that when a believer waves the oil over his head seven times and then offers the oil at the thatched roof of the temple, all ailments—including Covid-19—will be cured immediately.
“For centuries, people have been cured of all diseases and problems by Kaal Bhairav and there is no reason why Coronavirus will not also be cured,” promised temple priest Mahant Sumit Upadhyay. “The seeker will use the oil as described, then say a prayer to banish the deadly toxins.” And whoomp!—there it is—instant gratification.
The priest tells us the belief in Kaal Bhairav is so great that every leader or diplomat who comes to the area visits the temple before doing any work. The Mahant says the area has been sanitized just in case. Make your reservations early, you’ll want to show up before the crowds get unwieldy. Authorities assure us there will be no politically correct spacing since salvation is guaranteed. If you’re not cured the first time, you can pass through again, just like at the carwash.
Representatives from The Flying Pie visited the area recently and talked to several temple devotees in the parking lot. “Are you kidding? Of course it works,” said Mahatma Patel of Pimple Saudagar. “My nanni had a vicious bout of goat fever, hives and the heartbreak of psoriasis. She was cured overnight and dancing the Kathakali by morning. Hey silly American—don’t knock it if you ain’t tried it.”
Who are we to argue?
That’s all, folks….
bill.killeen094@gmail.com
