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QAnon Quackery

Why can’t they see the light?

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I’ve gotten my COVID vaccine, and I hope you did, too. 

If, on the other hand, you’re an anti-vaxxer, I hope you end up in a Deer Park parking lot with your Chuck Taylors melting in the tar so you’ll stay put until Thanksgiving—when it will finally be cool enough to unlace your Chucks and walk home barefoot.

If you’re an anti-vaxxer, you need to wash off your damn war paint. Look at it this way: you gotta get the vaccine because this is Texas, and our fragile electricity grid can’t be trusted to keep your ventilator going.

Last I looked, the vaccination rate in Houston was only 66 percent. That means if you’re on the bus with two other people, one of you is playing Russian Roulette with a contagious bug that eats your lungs.

Let’s make this simple: you don’t have a clue what the dickens is in Tylenol, Pepto-Bismol, or Tums, but holy cow, you put all that stuff in your body. Hell, you don’t even know what’s in those Peeps things you eat at Easter, and you still eat them. But because Trump has messed with your brain, suddenly you’re an expert on messenger ribonucleic acid and spike-protein shedding. 

Next up: those loons who think there’s a tiny wiretap embedded in the vaccine shot so the government can track them. Yes sireee, they believe Big Government wants to know every time they go bowling at the Lucky Dixie-Boobs Lanes. 

These are the same loons who already carry phones in their pockets (precariously close to their privates) that they often hold right up to their ears. Some of them even wear wristwatches that track their heartbeat, oxygen levels, and whether or not they’ve fallen down. 

So when they say the government is trying to track them with some kind of James-Fricking-Bond-Meets-Rand-Paul stuff, we start wondering if there’s loco behind their eyeballs.

This brings me to those QAnon loonies. Sweetie, those people make me roll my eyes so far back in my head that I’m checking out my own butt. 

QAnon folks earnestly implore you to “do your own research” on the vaccine. Do my own research?  Back in about the ninth grade, when I was trying to learn physics (with a spectacular lack of success), I made a deal with the science people. I would not mess with science, and they would not critique Shakespeare or correct people’s grammar. I was so bad at physics that even the Home Economics teacher asked me to put down my spatula and walk away from the mixing bowl. I can barely operate a shower curtain, but my critiques of Shakespearian sonnets will make you weep the tears of the typewriterless.  

But if you’re gonna insist that I do my own research, I will. For starters, I do not have an autoclave, but I do own a barbeque pit (which is basically the same thing, or maybe better).

I also do not own a test tube or a Petri dish, but I do have a Ball jar. It has pickles in it right now, but give me a couple of days and …okay, okay, I’ll eat the pickles right now. 

No electron microscope here, but I have a handy magnifying glass that does a decent job with the fine print on my over-the-counter medicine bottles.

Okay, I’m doing my research now! (Also no centrifuge here, but hitting the puree button on the blender should work.) And my heat source? The carburetor on my Mitsubishi Mirage while it’s driving uphill.

I still need something to test how those COVID cooties will react to antibiotics. In the science world, that’s known as a reagent. In my world, that’s known as Aunt Thelma’s potato salad at the Fourth of July picnic. As far as an antibiotic that I can test, I’ve got rubbing alcohol, Neosporin, hydrogen peroxide, and plenty of Tito’s vodka. There ain’t no slack in my rope.

Now I just need to get hold of some
COVID 19 bugs to grow them and figure out what kills them the fastest. My best guess at the moment? A hammer. 

Anyway, what I ended up learning is that you can fry an egg on Idris Elba’s butt during a day at the beach more quickly than you can do your own research on a coronavirus.

That’s all until next month, when
 I’ll reveal how I broke into Area 51 to do my own UFO research with just a baseball bat, a compass, and Idris Elba.

This article appears in the September 2021 edition of OutSmart magazine.

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Susan Bankston

Susan Bankston lives in Richmond, Texas, where she writes about her hairdresser at The World’s Most Dangerous Beauty Salon, Inc., at juanitajean.com.
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