If I’ve overused any single hashtag during the purgatory that has been this pandemic, it’s #MakeItMakeSense. Because in case anyone hasn’t noticed, it doesn’t.
None of it.
It started with the mask madness. “There’s no reason to wear them,” felonious Fauci declared. Then it was masks might work … but people are dumb and we wouldn’t know how to use them properly so we’d wind up fiddling with them and introducing germs into the very orifices we were trying to protect, ergo we certainly should not wear them. Then they probably definitely did work, but only the surgical N95 kind and those needed to be saved for frontline workers, so some of us could/should wear them but only in certain circumstances and situations. Then magically, they worked! All of them! In any form or fabric, even a dollar store scrap of bedazzled lace or a strip of jersey with a snarky saying emblazoned on it (“Calm down, Karen. It’s allergies.”). Even though we were never mandated—or even asked nicely—to wear a face diaper to protect ourselves and others from any other virus on the planet, ever, overnight they were life-saving accessories even if none of us could pass Mask Wearing 101. Oh and by the way, THEY WORKED BETTER THAN A FLEA COLLAR ON A HAIRLESS CAT* AND YOU WERE NOT ALLOWED TO SET FOOT IN THAT RESTAURANT IF YOU WEREN’T WEARING ONE. Unless you were eating. Or drinking. Or just, you know, sitting at your table. Then obviously you were fine and not contagious at all. Until you walked to the bathroom without it, which everyone knew was riskier than spring break sex. For that, you’d get booted out on your ass. Or stabbed. (Seriously, google “face mask stabbing.” This is not one-off; it’s an actual, widespread thing.)
*Except according to a preponderance of scientific evidence, the types of masks most of us wear *might* block a whopping 3% of airborne particles, and also can cause a host of medical woes from “maskne” (also a thing) to pulmonary toxicity (sadly, ditto), an unfun byproduct of breathing in a nonstop stream of the mold, fungi and bacteria scientists have found parading all over our muzzles. Not to mention what they’re doing to our children’s physical, social and mental health,which wouldn’t be all that bad if we were intentionally trying to raise a generation of irritable, easily distracted sociopaths. Of course, if you take time away from your busy soccer-momming schedule to argue this at your local school board meeting, you will be given a shiny new Domestic Terrorist Card. At that point, you might as well slap a MAGA sticker on your forehead and move to Wyoming, you filthy Trumper.
Of course, masks were just the beginning. Six feet apart was going to keep us safe. But definitely not five-and-a-half, so back the fuck off, asshole. Bringing your own grocery bags to Trader Joe’s would be a reckless comingling of contagion but accepting the store-supplied bags that the germy Hawaiian-shirt guy handed to you from around his eighteen-inch plexiglass partition was a sensible way to safeguard your health. If we caught the dreaded c-word, safe, effective, Nobel Prize-winning medications would definitely kill us. Thankfully we didn’t need to worry becausea “vaccine” its maker bragged about developing in just a few hours was going to protect us and keep us from needing horse de-wormer in the first place! Sure, the “vaccine” wasn’t an actual vaccine until they changed the definition of the word vaccine so they could call it a vaccine, and yes, it had zero safety or efficacy data to support its audacious, widespread promotion and use, and fine, the developer had been forced to cough up billions of dollars in penalties for falsifying data, suppressing adverse trial results and fraudulent marketing in the past. But it was SAFE AND EFFECTIVE because they said it was, and besides not getting it would kill your grandmother so shut up and stop being so selfish. Now roll up your sleeve.
Only a few months later, now that billions of shots have been administered, it turns out they’re not particularly safe and they’re a transatlantic flight away from effective. They don’t prevent infection and they don’t stop transmission (but boosters! It’s all good!) and tens of thousands of people have dropped dead after getting them and millions more are suffering heart attacks, strokes, immune system disorders, miscarriages, menstrual irregularities, tremors, paralysis, impaired vision, gastroesophageal reflux, thrombosis, cellulitis, sepsis, and subdural hematomas, to name but a few of the thousands of side effects you can peruse by searching for “COVID-19 vaccine” on VigiAccess, the World Health Organization’s frighteningly detailed database of safety reports from around the world. The ones who aren’t dead—the granny-loving, CDC-believing, disinformation-denying disciples who hate you (me) for not bowing down to the clown show—are now being told their fabulous, pharmacological “immunity” (to dying I guess, since the clot shot doesn’t prevent transmission or infection, remember?) lasts anywhere from a few weeks to a few months, if they’re lucky.
They should be pissed, right? I mean, there was a deal: do the thing, get your life back. They did the thing! Life is not back! But instead of digging in their heels and joining the conspiracy-pointer-outers in our rage against the machine, they blame us for their woes (my tequila only gets me buzzed if you drink, too, so bottoms up, bitches!) and line up willingly, eagerly, for a lifetime of being stabbed with a menacing chemical cocktail. You know, the one they have to keep getting because it doesn’t work.
And now—and this is the part that chaps my ass harder than sandpaper panties—they’re giving this same broken-at-best-deadly-at-worst elixir to their children! AND BRAGGING ABOUT IT! They’re posting photos of tiny band-aided arms and making vile TikTok videos threatening to “sneeze all over you antivaxxers,” and hoping our kids get taken away from us for not poisoning them. They’re signing their infants up for clinical trials; the same precious, pure, innocent creatures they refused booze and bacon and brie for while they were incubating them but now have no problem gleefully handing over to scientific study like Mini Boden-wearing lab mice.
For the record, the FDA advises against putting sunblock on babies. But experimental medicines that don’t work for a disease they’re not at risk of catching, spreading or dying from? Line ‘em up, mamas! Obviously it’s fine, since Big Bird got his shot and didn’t die or anything.
I’ve written about the obvious cognitive dissonance around this topic before, but this is next level. Our job as parents is to keep our children safe. That’s it. We’re supposed to love them and keep them alive. It’s harrowing work; take it from a veteran. I pre-chewed my girls’ food when they were wee and sliced their hotdogs lengthwise until they were teens. I padded sharp corners and taught them about stranger danger and stood in line to have their infant car seats installed by firemen specifically trained in this skill. I taught them that a creepy guy might try to sneak scary shit into their drinks at a party and that they should aim for the nose, throat or nuts if they ever need to throw a life-saving punch. Am I now going to let a bunch of corrupt, money-hungry bureaucrats force a faulty pharmaceutical into my perfectly healthy progeny?