Wearing masks

Welcome to World War III


Hell, man, we were all expecting a nuclear conflagration. But T.S. Eliot was right when he wrote: This is the way the world ends / Not with a bang but a whimper.

Damn, the World Powers have spent years and billons of dollars building up an almighty arsenal of nuclear weapons that would blow the whole planet to Kingdom Come.

But who’d have guessed it — a creepy little microbe, so small you need a microscope to see it, comes along and begins wiping out the human race.

And it’s not even close to being over. Like the two world wars which lasted four years apiece, this one will last at least that long.

Four more years of this. Wearing masks every time you go out — if you’re even allowed to go out in this new police state nightmare — social distancing (what a farce), not being allowed to go to the beach or a baseball game or a musical concert or shake hands or kiss a girl or a guy without fear of catching the goddamn bug.

Holy hell, man, life ain’t worth it. No wonder suicides are up. That’s one sure cure for Covid-19 — a shotgun to the head.

It’s okay for guys like me in our seventies, we’ve lived our lives, but to be a little kid just coming up, or a teenager, or a young married couple with children, what a nightmare scenario lies ahead.

And it’s no use turning to God for help. Oh, He may love you to bits and all the rest of it (strange way of showing it, but whatever), but he sure as hell ain’t gonna save you.

You’ve got a better chance in summoning the Silver Surfer. In fact the more I think about it (on this my sixth gin), he is our only hope. Meanwhile, the shotgun is loaded.

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