The worrisome thing is that even if all the “mandates” demanding that people wear a “mask” were rescinded tomorrow, a large portion of the population is likely to continue wearing them forever.
Hypochondria has been normalized.
Having worn a “mask” for six months or longer, the “masked” now associate their not being dead with the wearing of a “mask.” It is hard to give that up, just as it was hard for Linus to let go of his blanket. The difference being that Linus was a small child and small children sometimes need a security blanket in order to calm their fears. Adults used to understand that this was unhealthy beyond temporary; that it was necessary to the child’s transformation into an adult to wean him off the security blanket.
Today, adults encourage their children to wear the equivalent (worse, actually, because of the obedience conditioning it imparts) over their faces. Which shows that the parents are still children themselves, psychologically.
And need their blankie.
But the “masks” work! I haven’t died and the cases! the cases! have dropped by about half since the president was selected!
How “masks” halved the cases! the cases! almost just-like-that, practically overnight – after the selection – but weren’t “working” for all the months prior to the selection is an act of mental discernment beyond the bandwidth of people clinging to their Face Blankies. These Face Blankies also prevent those clinging to them from wondering about the efficacy of facial effacement in other countries where “masks” have been plastered on practically everyone’s faces – everywhere – for months and yet the cases! the cases! continue to increase regardless.
But the flu has been tamed! Haven’t you heard? Almost no “cases” of that and deaths from flu have all but disappeared.
Of course, all that’s happened is that the ordinary flu has been rebranded – and the deaths previously attributed to ordinary flu-triggered pneumonia and so on shifted over to the ‘Rona, which is of course another species of the flu . . . but never mind that.
Bandwidth and all.
Even if the WuFlu disappears, the regular flu will return – because it never left – and thus some variant of flu always be present – and thus, the Face Blankie, forever.
And probably accepted, the basic idea of it already having been accepted. If everyone must put on a Face Blankie because someone might get sick otherwise and some of those someones might die of complications from that sickness then how do you rationally argue against the forced wearing of the Face Blankie for the sake of other sicknesses that can also lead to complications that in some “cases” will also result in some people dying?
What is the Granny Might Die threshold? Is it two grannies per 100,000 general population? Ten?
If it saves even one granny?
The latter – if it saves just one life! – has already been announced as the Gold Standard and not just for effacing the face. It has been put forward as the justification for government-decreed “safety” equipment in new cars, such as the back-up camera systems all new cars are required to have and is openly touted – Vision Zero – as the goal of future regulatory fatwa’ing.
It all sounds nice – it’s sad when someone gets run over or dies from the ‘Rona (or some other variant of the flu). But the cost of attempting to prevent every death regardless of cost and no matter how improbable is measured in more than just lives supposedly or even actually saved. It is a strange thing to make living all about avoiding anything that might result in dying – in view of the fact that we’re all living on borrowed time and only have so much of it, regardless. That death is going to put an end to living, eventually – no matter how hard we try to avoid it.
The Face Blankie isn’t going to keep the reaper at bay.
But we have the option to live before that day comes; the choice to not live in trembling fear of that day – which is a kind of living death in waiting that makes being biologically alive a thing hardly worth maintaining.
Especially over an unreasonable terror for most of us of a ‘Rona Reaper whose scythe is dull and who moves so slowly you can just step out of his way before he makes a pathetic, Monty Burnsian swing at you with it.
Maybe shove the blankie down his throat while you make your escape!
. . .
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