Chapter Seventeen

All religions have sought to leave the material world behind. Likewise, the visionary vaccinologists of the Covidian Cult promised to evolve us beyond our biology. The first experiments were underway.

The warp-speed trial had began around the world, as twenty thousands souls were shot up with the miracle formula. Following the injected commands, the subjects’ transhumaned cells would manufacture their own pharma cures and, in that way, conquer their own diseases. The invention was visionary, modern, innovative. The designers of this modRNA (“mod” for modified) were excited that the immune system did not have to be triggered by some actual dirty natural virus particle; it could be triggered by the product of the geonomicist’s pristine code, like a divine intelligence, practically immaterial, pure intellect. The experiment would work perfectly.

In December of 2020, breathless media personalities announced that the trials were done. While the cheesiest best of John Philip Sousa played, banners waved and citizens cheered, the first arm was jabbed for the flashing cameras. Then the long-awaited, final solution began to be implemented for octogenarians+ and hospital workers. The celebrated rollout was accompanied by a spate of Big Pharma mini-musical commercials, featuring celebrities kicking up their heels, spinning around street lamps, belting out arias about being able to walk out one’s door, get a haircut, and hug Grandma. No more cutting your own hair now! The vaccine’s on its way! The New Normal Musical was as exciting as anything on the Great White Way.

In January, a bunch of old people keeled over within hours of getting the safe & effective shots, but no one minded much because at least they hadn’t died from Covid—and they were well passed life expectancy anyway. And correlation does not mean causation (it’s just the basis for any and every working hypothesis, but never mind). If certain nursing homes had not a single Covid case in all of 2020 and thirty percent of residents up and croaked in January 2021 after receiving the safe & effective “vaccination,” we can blame it on Covid, which must have snuck in with the vax team (who themselves were fully vaccinated).

Finally, it will stop now, thought I.

Soon most hospital workers and the elderly western-world-wide were all double-dosed and there were only a few Internet stories about doctors and nurses with brain bleeds. We were warned: Don’t spread information that could cause the plebs to hesitate before getting a potentially lethal experimental drug.

Surely, I thought, it will stop there.

As January lapsed into February, “The Science” admitted that the safe & effective shot was less effective against variants than against the now extinct Wuhan-Fort Detrick strain, but keep injecting! Those who had essentially no significant risk of severe illness or death from Covid-19 finally got their turn. Carnival tents were erected in parking lots to receive the hoards of excited boomers, who jostled with each other to stand at the head of the line. Only seldom was a loved-one found later face-down on the asphalt, steps away from his car.

Surely, I thought, it will stop there. 

No, dozens of life-threatening reactions per million cannot stop this noble experiment.  Just as it’s heroic when a few hundred soldiers are sacrificed to hold a bridge for an hour, it is beautiful when a few thousand anaphylactic persons smack the ground for the sake of testing a new vaccine. Such sacrifice is the proles only route to glory, right? 

It’s still safe & effective, say FAQ pages and Press Releases. Doesn’t matter if you have natural immunity. Get the shot.  Doesn’t matter if you have virtually no risk of serious illness. Get the shot. Doesn’t matter if you don’t want the shot. Get the shot.

The local news stations across the land were peppered with MAGA clotshot deaths and subsequent denials from our protective agencies. The evidence isn’t hard enough to prove the vaccine was the cause, they said. Let’s keep going and see. Safe & effective.

Did we have to wait until young and hale were dying suddenly, here and there, before they would stop?  Surely not.

On March 11th, Scandinavia nations suspended the safe & effective AstraZeneca shot due to blood clots. The drug kings promptly gaslighted the Nordics with press releases insisting that blood clots and massive strokes were within normal numbers.  Get the shot.

In early April, despite the fact that no tests had been done on this group, pregnant and breastfeeding women were urged to get the safe & effective shot because antibodies were found in umbilical cord blood and in breast milk. Get the shot. A breastfed baby died. Get the shot. Miscarriages in the first trimester doubled. Get the shot.

On April 6th, that most heavily propagandized group, age 16-18, the idealistic SJWs, had already gone gotten the HPV shot without telling their parents. So eager they were to take on all the responsibilities that their parents shamefully ignored, when they were invited to get the shot that needled their parents until they caved in.

Then teens dropped dead on the basketball courts. Mothers cried on local TV news.

Get the shot.

In mid to late April there was a brief pause for the J&J shot while they slipped in a microfont warning for Thrombosis with Thrombocytopenia Syndrome. Get the shot.

Then finally, on April 27, hurray! The day had arrived. The CDC issued updated mask guidelines for fully vaccinated Americans; You can go outside without masks when walking, jogging, or biking or dining with friends at outdoor restaurants. Finally, we were getting back to the new normal! Oh wait. Weeks later, scratch that: as spring approached summer, “breakthrough” infections were making the headlines. Put your masks back on and keep getting the shot.

Surely, thought I, it will stop now that the safe & effective shot has been shown to be unable to stop infection. Nope. Talk of boosters instead. Get the shot. Get more shots.

Meanwhile, hated conspiracy theorists (anti-vaxxers and truthers) were at it again, digging into science they had no business trying to understand, talking about memory T-Cells and 2nd laws, stuff that bored us all in high school. Experts with a PhD from Internet U.   

On May 10th Pfizer expanded trials to ages 12-15. A thirteen-year-old girl suffered permanent paralysis and nerve damage, which the drug manufacturer reported to the FDA as a “stomach ache.”  Get the shot.

Headlines bemoaned the low uptake among minorities, especially indigenous people. On May 11th, a First Nations indigenous doctor in Canada blew the whistle on heart and neurological disorders in his vaccinated patients and was duly ignored. Get the shot.

On May 24th the FDA began to take a cool interest in heart problems in vaccinated teens, out of an “abundance of caution.” Meanwhile, keep getting the shot.

On June 1st, updated guidance from the Equal Employment Opportunity Commission— which was formerly charged with protecting employees from the unreasonable whims and demands of employers—granted bosses, who know pfuck all about health, the right to mandate the C0VlD-19 vaccine for their workforce. They were also encouraged to provide incentives, like cash, cookies or cannabis, and to threaten with isolation or termination if they didn’t. 

The President gaffed, “the objective is to achieve herd mentality by July 4th” and indeed they did. Get the shot.

Beginning July 12th an updated J&J label warned of Guillain-Barré syndrome. Get the shot. Summertime videos shared around the world showed magnets sticking on shot arms and women having fake-looking seizures, freaking a lot of people out. Get the shot. On August 23rd the FDA gave full approval to Pfizer.  Mandates followed; on Sept 10th Los Angeles school system required the deadly shot for all their beautiful healthy young students.

Let me stop for a moment on this pivot point, September 11, 2021. On the 20th anniversary of 9/11, all the preparations have been made for the main event to begin. Total surveillance. Check. Censorship. Check. New scapegoat identified. Check. Now it’s just a matter of tuning up the orchestra, dimming the lights, and raising the curtain. They are now ready to begin Global Totalitarianism, brought to by—well, they’re not going to name the big donors, but it’s worth noting that they couldn’t have done all this without brainwashed viewers like you. On this day, the big two-oh, the two psyops clasp hands. The reactions to 9/11 have led us to exactly the spot that we find ourselves today, with half of Americans ready to regularly top-off their experimental vaccines (which are safe & effective miracles of warp-speed science), hoping the other half of unvaxxed Americans will all die on ventilators, cut off from family and friends.

Julia, Honoré and I were stopped at the Millerton Moviehouse entrance.

“You’ll have to show proof of vaccination.”

“Why?” I asked.

“It’s our Covid policy?”

“Yeah, why do you have that policy?” I followed up.

“Breakthrough cases are on the rise, Sir.”

“Breakthrough cases are in the vaccinated,” noted Julia.

“I didn’t mean to say breakthrough cases. I meant to say Delta variant cases.”

“But why do you have policy to show vaccine proof when the vaccinated can get breakthrough cases?”

The ticket-taking young man was quick on his feet, “The vaccinated don’t spread it nearly as much as the unvaccinated.”

“Where did you get that information?” Julia asked, showing her irritation.

Long pause, then condescendingly, “The world of science.”

The velvet rope could not be crossed by us, but, one after the other, lovely young people, who had been coerced into getting the safe & effective shot so that they could enjoy this very movie at this very theater, were allowed to go in, leaving us on the sidewalk under the bright cold stars.

And now it’s time for The Children’s Crusade. It’s not enough that they’ve got the teens. They want the little ones.

For their innovative and daring product launch, Pfizer dressed up 5-11 year-olds in super-hero costumes and recorded them saying courageous things, such as real adult heroes say, about not being afraid to risk their lives. The adorable tikes flexed their little muscles and jumped off the backs of sofas, pretending to soar, by means of cape alone, to show how strong and fearless they were.

None of the children in the trial carked. There was one little girl who had to be excluded from the report because she went and developed a completely unrelated coincidental case of infectious arthritis, which was probably nothing. Autoimmune diseases could not possibly be related to vaccines, which only befuddle the immune system in ways that are not well understood and are entirely unpredictable. That whiny little brat, complaining of painful swollen joints, did not make the final hero cut.   

On October 29, 2021, the FDA gave emergency use authorization to inject these little ones. Like their predecessors the eugenicists, serious vaccinologists must be comfortable with the prospect of disposing of healthy people (mostly children) for the sake of the greater good. Like the mother who was proud when her son joined up and died like a salmon on D-Day, the mother who agreed to let her tween take part in the Pfizer trial, felt a bittersweet pang for that child when she found her seizing on the floor of her room. 

“Julia, what kind of world is this where adults ask children to risk death for the greater good?” I was speaking out of turn, again, while we were cleaning up after dinner. She was already tired of me rattling off all the developments in the shot roll out. She didn’t reply.

I went on, “Isn’t it our job, as adults, to protect the children?  I remember Gertrude warning me, when I was two or three, that I should never trust an adult who asked for my help.  He might be trying to lure me into a trap.  Because good adults never, never, never ask children for help.”

“That’s not a fair comparison,” Julia replied. “The parents think the shot good for the kids. You don’t seem to understand that other people don’t have all the information you have.”

“I get that. I understand that they’ve been hoodwinked. The point I was making—or trying to make—is that they seem to be at least somewhat cognizant that there is risk involved; otherwise they would call the kids ‘heroic’ or ‘brave’.”

“I don’t get what you’re saying,” she said and changed the subject to work schedule considerations for the following week.    

After answering her civilly, I left the house and let the iron latch noisily clang as I went to the garden.

Now they have our dear precious petite Honoré in their sights.  Already 82,000 children in New York City have been injected, so brags the news.  Meanwhile the Ministry of Truth has been working overtime to change recorded history, which had claimed, incorrectly, that young children generally don’t have strokes or heart attacks. It turns out that quite a few unfortunate youngsters have strokes and heart attacks pretty much on the regular. Statistically speaking, it’s not all that rare for an eight-year-old to clutch at her heart and keel over in gym class. What is very rare—practically impossible, really—is for an experimental gene therapy to cause any unexpected side effects.

In other news, the backtracking newscasters now explain that the vaccine isn’t really a vaccine, as such, but a sort of therapeutic, since it doesn’t stop the spread. Oh, wait. I stand corrected. As I was writing the above, Merriam Webster revised their definition of “vaccine” to include drugs that don’t stop infection but only reduce symptoms a little bit. So it is a vaccine after all.   

Now I realize that the bioweapon virus, the deadly standard of care and the torturous lockdown were just the dress rehearsal.  Now the real killing starts.  The genocide game has gone live.  Having learned from the mistakes of the Nazis, they’ve designed a way to kill millions without having to dispose of the bodies themselves. Disposing of the bodies really held the Nazis back.  It took time (to pull out the gold teeth), energy (crematoriums require intense heat) and manpower (captive Jews had to be fed to get them to keep loading the ovens).  This time the murderers don’t have to bother with any of that.

I personally knew my first victim, twelve-year-old Sophie, daughter of one of my coevals. I had seen her as a toddler at the farmer’s market tasting honey; she’d waved to me on the rail trail when she was out walking with her mom; I’d run into her with her older sister at the library. When one in ten thousand die, that’s a statistic, when that neighbor’s daughter Sophie dies that’s a significant statistic.   

According to local word-of-mouth news, she seemed fine right after the first shot, but a week or so later she violently seizured out in the school hallway. By the time the ambulance drivers carefully donned their PPE and drove to the location, Sophie had stopped breathing. But mechanical CPR (they don’t do mouth-to-mouth anymore, because Covid) got her heart and lungs going again and took her to a fairly distant hospital where they had a good pediatric ward. They vented her. Feeding tube. Life support. After several weeks in a coma, her eyes half opened, but her stare was vague, and she did not know her mother. She did seem to be able to vividly experience pain and panic, however, if nothing else, and she constantly tried to pull out her tubes.  So they had to tie her down. So it goes.

Sophie, one in about 87K.  So close to home.

A few seizures later, she was pronounced braindead and they pulled the plug. Her mother and the doctors did not want to report this vaccine injury. Her mother didn’t want to discourage people from having their children shot. Her misfortune was one in a million, the doctors said. It was probably not that the vaccine caused the seizures, per se, but that the vaccine triggered some flaw (like asthma) already lurking in the child’s body, the doctors said. The mother accepted any explanation that relieved her from the thought she should have guessed this would happen. Not because there was a pre-existing condition in the child, but because the drug manufacturer is a serial felon that has killed loads of people before. I hope Sophie’s poor mother never leaves the state of denial; her anguish is already too much. But the child’s doctors, How can they go on injecting more children?

Why were so many intelligent people brainwashed? The spell was maintained merely by the mindless repetition of the magic mantra, safe & effective.

“How is it that we saw through it all immediately?” I posed the question to Julia, yet again after we learned about Sophie. “I suppose it’s because I never had a TV my entire life.” I was watching Julia fold clothes that were strewn across the guest room bed. “About the only time I encounter mass media is when I use the gym. You know, the TV is on and you can’t turn it off, either because some other exerciser is watching it, or because you can’t figure out how to work the darn remote clicker.”

Julia had not experienced that. She tossed a pair of socks at me.

I balled them up. 

“He got his booster today,” said Julia of her soon-to-be-ex.

“Feel any symptoms this time?” I asked.

“No nothing.  He’s fine.  Not even a sore arm.”

Silence for a moment as a demon inside me wished him dead.

This early December day was too cold for a run. Fortunately, the town hall had finally re-opened the community exercise room.  I parked near the back entrance, and, as I was getting out of my car, masked Nellie pulled up and shouted from her golden Volvo.

“Winston, listen!” She hastily threw her car in park, got out and approached me wearing a laminated vaccine card with a third dose displayed. She had in her hand an envelope and a clipboard. “We have a situation unfolding at the post office,” she said agitatedly.

Oh no, I thought, someone going postal? “Right now?” I asked.

“There’s a woman, a shift worker,” she said, intoning ‘shift worker’ like “tapeworm.’ She was pulling out some papers from the envelope and holding them so that I could look on with her, “who isn’t vaccinated and she refuses to wear a mask. She’s a shift worker and—“

“You know the vaccines are leaky.”

“It’s not about the vaccine,” Nellie snapped. “She refuses to wear a mask in the Post Office.” She pointed to some wording in the letter that she was showing me. I didn’t read it. I was too distracted by Nellie’s state of panic. “She’s a Federal employee and—”

“The vaccines don’t work,” I said.

“Okay. Okay. This is about wearing the mask so that she doesn’t infect other people!”

I was not wearing a mask. Nellie had never seen me wear a mask, not outdoors or in, and she surely knew by now that I was member of the anti-masking Lawn Chairs. But somehow—because I was in her “set”, that is, I was educated, was somewhat wealthy, and had gay friends—she seemed to be hallucinating an N95 on my face.

“You are worried she might infect people—who are vaccinated?” I repeated for clarification. “Nellie, I am feeling really uncomfortable with this conversation.”

These words had a magical effect on her. She immediately withdrew, put her papers back into the envelope and started to get back into her car. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable,” she said apologetically.

I was so tempted to add, I don’t feel safe, but knew I wouldn’t be able to keep from laughing.

Nellie pulled away. I got my gym shoes out and shut the trunk. By then Nellie had made a circle in the parking lot and was passing by again, sticking her head out her window.

“I’m sorry I made you feel uncomfortable,” she shouted from her car.   

“We all going to have to get the virus,” I said with parental firmness. “The vaccines don’t work. Even if the masks worked, and they don’t, it’s just delaying the inevitable. Get your house in order and prepare to get sick. Vitamin D3 and zinc, Ivermectin if you can get it.”

In the pitifully under-equipped community exercise room—as I was goose-stepping on some 1970s isometric version of an elliptical—I learned that the New York City mayor had issued a vaccine mandate for all employers. “We’ve got the virulent Omicron as a new factor,” he explained. “We in New York City have decided to use a preemptive strike” he raised his fist, “to really do something bold and courageous to stop,” more hand waving motions, “once and for all the growth of Covid and the dangers it’s causing to all of us.”

Although the Federal government had recently had its hand slapped for illegally trying to impose a similar mandate, the New York Commissioner of Health claimed he did indeedy have the authority to mandate whatever pleased him.

In defiance of the Commissioner, people would go right on contracting Covid, no matter whether they lived in isolation, wore multiple masks, or got injected. Naturally, the Commissioner would make more rules that were even more absurd, even more impossible to enforce, and in order to blame failure on the rule breakers. 

“The Library is requiring the vax,” said Julia when I got back home.

“I heard. Can’t you get a religious exemption?”

“They know I’m an atheist.”

“Right.”

“Medical?”

“Winston, stop it. You know what this means.”

“You can get another job.”

“Where? They require it everywhere.” 

“When is your deadline?”

“December 27.”

“Okay we have time. I can probably get you a card from Amil, the pharmacist who’s with the Lawn Chairs.”

“And Honoré? I can’t ask her to lie and say she got a shot.”

“We’ll think of something.”  I wanted to tell her to let me homeschool Honoré, but I waited.

“Her father wants her to get the shot. I’m afraid he’ll just do it without telling me.”

The color left our faces as we ruminated on this. But then Honoré came into the room and we quickly (and badly) feigned that all was good and right in the world.

“Hey, punkadoodles. Want some fennel tea?”

Punkadoodles climbed into her mom’s lap and put her hands around her mother’s warm teacup. Julia embraced Honoré and held her tightly as if she thought her arms could protect her from overwhelming forces of evil.