Corona Diaries: The Truth
The truth is out there. In fact it’s so totally out there that everyone’s telling it, if only we were listening.
No doubt you’ve been bombarded with advice from a billion sources, and don’t know what to believe. Relax. Help is at hand.
So here, in all its glory, is my Compendium of Alternative Coronavirus Truths. You just have to pick the truth that suits you best. Trust me, there’s something here for everyone:
Where does the virus come from? The CIA, a lab in Wuhan, 5G masts, the Qataris, God and the Devil appear to be the main sources. Lesser known origins are a secret establishment in Krasnoyarsk, the Israelis, the North Koreans and the half-men-half-lizards that rule the world.
Two other sources I’ve yet to hear about on the internet are a meteor carrying a lethal pathogen that latched on to an innocent coronavirus, and an ancient bug that emerged from the melting permafrost.
How do you treat it? Chloroquinine, garlic, colloidal silver, plasma from a new-born baby and those old favourites: eye of newt and toe of frog, wool of bat and tongue of dog, adder’s fork and blind-worm’s sting, lizard’s leg and howlet’s wing.
Who is most vulnerable? Cats, dogs, ferrets, tigers, bats and three-toed sloths. Humans with underlying conditions, including a predilection for conspiracies, a liking for soaking themselves with with the blood of Christ and a compulsion for oral sex and self-flagellation.
And don’t forget obsession with sunbathing. I have it on good authority that the interaction between the sun and the human body creates a negative force field that sucks the virus from wherever it’s lurking and infects the flagrant rule-breakers.
What can you do to protect yourself? At all times wear a paper bag on your head, remembering to punch out holes for your eyes. Euthanise your gerbils, and keep your cats and dogs in larger paper bags. Erect a yurt in your garden (if you have one), and cover yourself with lamb’s fat in the Mongol style when you’re self-isolating.
Regularly clean your AK-47s. Shoot your postman if he comes within two metres of your door. Bludgeon passing squirrels and foxes. Microwave your newspaper. Better still, incinerate it in the oven. Install a sheep dip by your front door for your shoes. If you have to go outside, make sure you bring a cattle prod to nudge joggers and cyclists out of your way.
And finally, avoid bad language, water, the electrical grid, vacuum cleaners, barbecues and endless re-runs of Spooks.
When will the crisis be over? When your leader says so. Or when the Reverend Copeland (see below) spews slimy black demons from his mouth. Or when you run out of episodes of Curb Your Enthusiasm. Whichever is earlier.
So there you have it. Fear not. We will get through this, and we will meet again, whether in this life or the next. Or possibly in the twilight zone, somewhere between the two.
God save the Queen.
Steve, your confidence in your syndicated readers’ grasp of irony is “naïve at best, dangerous at worst – these ideas can be taken out of context” ;).
I now have a lovely handmade floral “going out” mask to add to my wardrobe; Debbie is having “at work” gourmet breakfasts and lunches kindly delivered by local bakeries and eateries in return for a Jimmy Young “mensch” on FB (including wine with lunch of course – standards of care for carers will not drop), leaving just enough time to become before driving home….Having run out of printer ink, I am happy that the digital QR code “going out” form has arrived. Fortunately my darks and blacks wardrobe is ideal for that mask…..
Portez-vous bien!
Yep, you may be right. Thank goodness our beloved postman is unlikely to read it!
Speaking of masks, I was talking to one of our daughters yesterday. She’s a set decorator for movies, TV and fashion shoots. I suggested that during her period in purdah she might like to make some brightly-painted plague masks, Venetian style, for when she goes out. I won’t say her keen sense of irony failed her, but for some reason she demurred. And yes, I can be obscure. Even my beloved wife doesn’t get my humour sometimes…
….just in time to become “stoneless cober”……(an utterance once heard from an aunt, now 92)…..
Wonderful phrase, which I absolutely don’t understand.
I didn’t understand at all, but this is what I found online:
A humorous misstatement of the expression “cold sober,” intended to sound like it was pronounced by a drunk person. The phrase is often used to imply that one is or was not sober. Hey, I’m sold cober.
Is that it?
Sounds logical. Depends on the context I guess. S