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Covid-19 Comedy: You just gotta laugh

(In a past life I was a comedian. This little piece about Covid-19 just came to me last night as I was trying to fall asleep.)


I grew up with PIDD. No, that’s not a sexually transmitted disease. Or, a bladder leakage issue women in their late middle life get. (Holla atcha girl, Poise pad sisters!)

It stands for Primary Immune Deficiency Disorder. It’s like the boy in the bubble disease.

Except with no bubble.

And, no boy.

Basically this means if someone within 5 miles of me sneezes, I’m going to end up in the ICU with pneumonia.

Now you know my super secret weakness. The cold germ is my Kryptonite.

This has led me to be a lifelong hypochondriac. If I cough, I think I’m dying of black lung. When someone in my apartment complex burns toast in the morning, I think I’m having a stroke. Should I stub my toe, my entire foot needs to be amputated.

I’ve become so much worse since the Covid-19 pandemic began. I wear a hazmat suit to go the mailbox. Clorox wipes are not literal enough in my life. I wear a mask in my own home.

People used to get annoyed that I asked them to take their shoes off outside our door. Imagine how they feel now when I tell them to strip naked, put their clothing in the basket I have provided outside my house, streak past me into my bathroom, and scrub themselves down in the shower like they have been exposed to nuclear radiation.

At least I provide a complimentary robe and fuzzy bunny slippers. (That I burn once they are gone.) My robe and slipper budget has quadrupled since the whole “family and friend” pod thing started.

That’s the thing. Barely anyone knows anything about this virus. (Thanks, Trump.)

You know what I wonder? How is it that there have been 18 other Covids before this one and no one ever gave us the heads up that being Covid-y was a thing? How did it take until e 19th Covid? I would think that 1 or 2 Covids should have been enough to raise the alarm. But, 19?!?!? That’s just someone at the WHO being asleep at the wheel of disease prevention.

This is a great time for introverts, though., At last they have the silence and lack of social interaction they have always dreamed of. Blanket forts away! They don’t even have to make excuses for avoiding social events anymore. Quarantine. Lockdown. It’s the gift they and their cats have been waiting for.

Ambiverts, like always, are just “meh” about the whole situation. I mean, they could go out, but they’re okay if they just stay in. Masks are itchy, I’ll just stay in. But, it’s sunny out, I’ll tie a bandana over my face and go for a walk. They could give a shit less unless their sourdough starter dies, then they will break a wine bottle and cut a bitch.

On the other hand, this is like the 6th ring of hell for extroverts. They are liked coked out cats trying to scratch, claw, and chew their way out of their homes and apartments.

At least they aren’t meth gators.

Yeah that’s a thing now. Along with murder hornets and swarms of locusts taking over India.

That, my friends, is the shitshow that is the year 2020.

I’m convinced that pretty much any day we’re going to be overrun by frogs falling out of the sky, it will start raining blood, and four horsemen are going to saunter up my street.

This is not catastrophic thinking.. Look around you, the end is neigh. I mean, for chrissake, Donald Trump is STILL president. That should say it all.

That’s my time, thank you so much, don’t forget to try the veal and tip your waitresses. I’ll be here all week.