Photo by Karolina Grabowska on Pexels.com

Am I going to have to start doling out wedgies?

Last time I checked, it’s the year 2020, the middle of the full-blown future, and meanwhile I haven’t been able to eat at a restaurant in over two months because all the world’s best and brightest are apparently dragging their feet instead of curing this coronavirus.

No one’s asking you to invent vaccination, you geeks. Edward Jenner covered that. Just get off your Star Trek message boards, get on the shoulders of giants, and get rid of this freaking pandemic already. Do you have any idea how bored I am?

Maybe you think these things shouldn’t be rushed, and that it’s “important” to “follow protocol” and “ensure safety.” OK, Poindexter. Tell that to someone who has had a haircut since fucking February.

And yeah, I’ve heard about how scientists have made “significant progress” in figuring out how to treat and prevent the spread of the disease, but you know where significant progress gets me? Not into the goddamned movie theater, that’s for sure!

Here’s what I need before the end of the week: A 100% effective, completely safe, inexpensive, easily produced antidote. Don’t come at me with something that mitigates symptoms. I’m not trying to mitigate symptoms; I’m trying to go to spin class in a cramped, sweaty room. I need a cure, as in C-U-R-E, as in the Jonas Salk shit, the “Friday I’m In Love” shit.

Here’s what I can offer in return: Not giving you a swirlie, first and foremost, but also a Nobel prize, global adulation, a bunch of fawning magazine profiles and then, like five seconds later, all the worst things you’ve ever thought discovered and thrown back into your face to cancel you.

Get to it, dweeb. I’m almost all out of new episodes of Ozark.