This may be my last Diaper Report of 2021 and – sadly – I have some not-so-good-news to report.
I stopped by Earth Fare – the “crunchy” (non-GMO/organic) supermarket in my part of Virginia – which I frequent regularly to gauge the etiolation of weaponized hypochondria.
For the past several months the ratio of sick (in the head) to not – as displayed by the ritual wearing of the accoutrements of pathological, media-induced hypochondria – had held steady at roughly 50-50.
Sometimes going as healthy as 60-40.
I took this as a sign that the sickness – mental illness – was finally waning. That a viable majority of the afflicted had recovered their sanity.
Or so it appeared.
Now, it is likely true that a significant number of the people who appeared to be sane were merely medicated – literally. Having been Jabbed with the liquid poultice, they felt it was “safe” to remove their hypochondriacal garb. Much the same as a person pathologically afraid of vampires feels safe in the daylight.
But night has come, again – or so it appears.
Notwithstanding the absence of bodies stacking up in double digits, even, people are once again afraid that it’s about to happen.
Because you never know.
Having been encouraged to feel that way by the doctor who doesn’t practice medicine and the squint-eyed, whispering old man who wasn’t elected – and would rather you worry about something else.
Having been duped to take a Jab that doesn’t work much better than the “mask” they were told they absolutely had to wear – not so much to protect themselves but so as to protect others, from themselves . . . if that makes any kind of sense.
Which it does – like the wearing of a leaky raincoat to keep other people dry.
In the desert.
Still, they felt it was ok to remove their “masks,” since now they were protected by the Jab. But – surprise! – it turns out the Jabs do not work any better than the “masks.” The Jabbed are getting sick. And so back on with the “masks” – which you’d think might beg the question in their minds about wearing what didn’t work to salve what hasn’t worked.
They’re “masking,” again.
Alarmingly, all of them – again.
This foray into the Hot Zone, I found myself – once again – the only sane person in the joint. The only person not “masked.” And probably also the only person not Jabbed. Me feeling fine about both, because I don’t quiver in fear of a virus that stands a 99.8-something percent chance of not killing me.
But – me aside – it looks like practically everyone else is afraid of catching a cold.
Which is what the Moronicon “variant” appears to be, judging by how many people haven’t died of it. In the entire United States, that number is in the single digits. As of the other day, one man is reported as having been felled by the latest “variant” and he was – per usual – someone already sick.
But that one death – out of some 330 million alive – seems sufficient to reboot generalized fear of imminent mass death. Like a skipping record, the same track plays – again. As if on cue, they all Face Diaper, again.
Can it last?
And that is likely to be determined by one of two things. The first being whether the Moronicon turns out to be exactly what all the evidence thus far indicates it to be – which is a variant . . . of the common cold.
Sniffles, some aches and pains. Not much more – and so, a whole lot less.
If so, it will be very difficult – well, one hopes it will be very difficult – to maintain the fear that has been used so effectively to turn tens of millions of people into militant sickness psychosis performance artists; people so afraid of becoming infected with a lethal sickness that they’ll risk going shopping with a disposable “mask” over their faces pulled from a box that clearly states it provides no meaningful protection against respiratory virus transmission or reception.
Kind of like a Jab that is maybe 45 percent “effective” – and falling – but which makes the Jabbed feel better.
If, after a month of the common cold – and no worse – maybe they’ll realize that they’ve been protecting themselves from nothing worse than the common cold, if they even catch it.
But it’s also possible they’ll attribute their “masks” – and Jabs – to having prevented them from catching cold. Or making them sniffle a little less.
In which case, expect “masking” – and Jabbing – to become ritual fixtures of the New Abnormal. And for sanity to become as rare a sight as the number of people who’ve been felled by the Moronicon.
. . .
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