Hellllooo, world! I have BIG NEWS! Listen up: 14 days ago precisely, I got my 27th COVID booster! Yup! On National Peanut Butter and Jelly Day. And now, baby, I’m COVID-vaxed up to my eyeballs! But here’s the thing: after my vaxeroo #27, I spent 17 days straight flyin’ higher than a kite! Woohooo!!!!! It was awesome! Like, watch out, here I come! Jumpin’ outa the plane without a parachute. Ooohhhhh!!!
Man, I just gotta shout it to the rooftops: I love boosters! I love roosters!! I love Muppets!!! I love puppets!!!! And I’m thrilled, simply THRILLED, to report that living life in the stratosphere has been on my bucket list for 39 years. And now I’ve crossed it off! Yessire Bob. Slam bam, thank you ma’am. Ooooooooooh la la!!!
Wait, let me take a breath…Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe out. Enough already. I’m gonna faint.
OK, but here’s the bad news. Being juiced up on boosters also brought a vast array of vaxing-related behavioral side-effects. In fact, that 27th COVID booster shot totally ruined my reputation as a clean-living citizen. Here are some ejemplos:
27th Booster Side Effects
Ejemplo numero uno: I cleaned my neighbor’s bathrooms in three minutes, uninvited I should add, using tissues, spit, and white wine.
Ejemplo numero dos: I cooked my Donnee a sweet and tart soiree of rábanos, remolacha, revuelto, riñones, rodaballo, and roscas. {Explanatory note: I’d mysteriously become hooked on Spanish foods starting with “r.”}
Ejemplo numero tres: I ran around Trader Joe’s in a dog costume I got for Halloween 30 years ago, barking at the top of my lungs, and humping customers’ ankles. {A shout out to the store’s security guards: you were very nice to me, carrying me to my car, strapping me in, and turning on the gas.}
Ejemplo numero quatro: At sunrise, I ran around our neighborhood pretending to be Mary Poppins while singing, “Stretch your mind beyond fantastic. Dreams are made of strong elastic!” at the top of my lungs. Also “Sunrise, Sunset” from Twiddler on the Loose. And my all-time fave, “I’m Not Wearing Underwear Today” (which is so true on my part) from Avenue Q.
Bucket List Crash Landing
As my life escalated outta control, I just had to take matters into my own hands. Having heard great things about Ativan, “a wonder drug for people straddling the fine line between sanity and madness,” I decided to explore the pharmaceutical landscape for loonies. But just as I was seeing the light at the end of the Lincoln Tunnel, BOOM, the axe fell.
You see, after Googling free Ativan scrips on the Dark Web, I found out that it’s the best fake-out scam ever run by Big Pharma. Turns out the problem with Ativan is that it works. Yeah, you pop a pill and instantaneously you feel super better. You start to see life as full of tiny miracles dropping their sweaty little raindrops on your head in a springtime shower of heavenly bliss. And so you pop a few more. And a few more.
And then, BOOM! You get an email blast from Ted Cruz, host of “Cruzing the Sleaze” on Fox News. “Read the fine print, junk heads, because you’ve been screwed by a cabal of leftwing cabalists dangling hope in front of your eyes, like a cherry lollipop pumped full of the devil cannabis.”
The Fine Print Always Screws You
So I Dark Web-Googled Ativan’s fine print, which even on a computer is completely unreadable unless your eyeballs are only 20 years old. Or if you use a totally embarrassing magnifying glass like some old fart who shops at Walmart in her fluffy bedroom slippers. Now don’t yell at me for being elitist. I’m an old fart myself and, if I knew what Walmart is, I’m sure I’d shop there too.
Warning #1: “Ativan is a benzo approved exclusively for crackpots, loonies, club kids, and anyone who drives while sexting. It is so totally used for the treatment of anxiety, insomnia, and sleep difficulty due to anxiety, stress, status epilepticus, not sleeping, stress, anxiety, panic attacks, epilepsy, and as a medication given right before a brain MRI because some whacked out psychiatrist from the Metatarsal Psychiatric Institute in Bayonne, NJ, thinks you have a bunch of mushrooms growing in your cranium.”
Warning #2: “Ativan is like totally habituating, habit-forming, and addicting so, even though it like totally works, you can’t take more than three milligrams every other year including Leap Year. Because, God forbid, you like feeling happy and calm and validated soooo much thanks to your Avvies that now you’ll want to keep taking ‘em. Nope! You get one shot at the golden benzo goose. And then Big Pharma deactivates your stash so 50 states, the District of Columbia, Puerto Rico, and even poor little Guam won’t sue the pants right off your favorite drug dealer – once again referring to Big Pharma and the corruptible idiots who got everyone hopped up on opioids.”
Hearing the Call: Sainthood Beckons
Then, on a Friday in some unknown month, I’d just finished watching that seriously depressing masquerade of a news show, “Silly Beans with Mika and Joe” on MSNBC. Suddenly I found myself sliding into existential despair. My hopelessness was so dystopian I felt completely worthless. You know, like that feeling you get when you’re no longer trending on Instagram?
Desperate for something to pull me out of total despairdom, I gazed at my navel for five minutes and extricated the lint for three minutes. And then BOOM, I knew exactly what I’d do! I’d become a saint. Yes, I’d put sainthood on my bucket list. Donate myself to science. Become a human guinea pig. A trial balloon. A crash test dummy. And maybe, just maybe, land a few tax-free smackerooos in the process.
Feeling incredibly self-righteous and hopped up by my newfound mission, I got into my trusty 1997 Prius, which made a rather humorous racket due to a posse of three-year-olds having stolen ye olde catalytic converter. Slow-poking my sad little way up the local hill, engine clanging and groaning, I drove to our local super mercado three blocks away.
Upon entering the premises, I immediately spied what I came for: a pile of yellowing free newspapers with cheezy ads for sidekicks, clinical trials – } “No, you moronic excuse for an intellectual! Not ‘sidekicks’! Psychics!” Well, kiss my butt! When did that happen?
Anyhowdy-doody, I pinched a bunch of papers when el dueño had his back turned and headed home, the Prius clanging, growling, and hissing steam. Using my handy-dandy magnifying glass some old fart left in my mailbox, I scrupulously studied the ads. Well, anyhoopla-poopla, what a wide variety of freakingly heroic opportunities for sainthood and maybe even stardom!
The Road to Sainthood
These were my top picks, all quite reassuring in their allegiance to professional ethics and confidentiality.
Do you have COVID auto bodies you would like to donate to science? “No, you addlepated little pipsqueak. Not ‘auto bodies’! Antibodies!” Well, excusez-moi for living. “Do you have antibodies to COVID? If so, you can make money! Just donate ‘em to us and we’ll send ‘em to a lab in China where they’ll blast ‘em with neutron rays. Like bugs getting fried in one of those bug electrocution chambers you have in your garage.“
{Personal disclosure: my Donnee has one of these in his sacred studio de la arte. Buhzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz. When we have some down time, we adore listening to the sound of frying buggers. Sometimes we sip un vin rouge, savor crispy French flies, and count the bug zaps. Our record: 24 in 30 minutes! Tres incroyable et beau!}
But now back to the antibodies advert.
“After your antibodies get zapped, they multiply by the billions, escape thru the vents, and invade Tokyo. They then do battle with Nuclear Godzilla who’s super pissed because he wasn’t invited to guest host ‘Jeopardy’.” Call us toll-free at 1-666-DonaldTrump.”
Suffering From Protruding Belly, Bloating & Constipation? “Join our study and be one of the first to undergo Uterine Fibroid Embryo-Ization. We’re not sure what that is or what will happen to you, but hey, it’s better than having your guts ripped out by a surgeon. Call for a confidential evaluation at 1-866-RiskUrLife.”
Metatarsal Psychiatric Institute: “Research Volunteers Needed! Must have a sense of humor. Call us collect at 1-800-LooneyBin.”
Research Study: Chronic Obstructive Seminary Disease. “Open to anyone who has had artificial semination, lived in a seminary and/or thinks that the word “seminary” means where your dead relatives live. Contact our study team right now!!! 1-888-ThePowerOfPrayer.”
On an Emotional Rollercoaster? “Wearing black fish net stockings to Bible class? Pretending your boobies are headlights and you’re the driver? Chatting with the TSA guys at your local airport about their dreams and aspirations? We want what you’re having. Call us ASAP at 1-866-FRISKY-AS-A-PUPPY.”
Are you suffering from Crotchety Old Lady Disease (COLD)? “Just send us a check for $15,000, payable to Scum of the Earth, Inc. We’ll send you a do-it-yourself test kit. If you can’t open the box ‘cause your veiny old hands shake, you have COLD. Questions? Call us at 1-800-YourLifeIsOver.”
The Cul-De-Sac of Sainthood
The very next day, I prepared myself to call the numbers in the ads. This mainly included filling my Fungalicious mug half full with instant coffee, half with Sheep Dog Peanut Butter Whiskey, and half with eggnog left over from Yom Kippur. I again spread out the newspapers, so yellowed with age they started to crumble, shedding newsprint all over the breakfast table.
And here’s what happened, my bucket list buddies. After the first three calls, it became clear that I’d waited too long to jump into the whole human guinea pig thing. Given that I wasn’t the only one desperate for sainthood and free cash, all the studies were closed. And even if they were open, the truthiness of it all is that I would never, ever qualify for any of these groundbreaking studies anyway.
You see, before breakfast, I had furtively faced myself in the mirror, wearing a bag over my head so no one would see me, and peered deeply into my soul. And, upon deeply peering, I realized that, no matter how desperately I craved sainthood, I was, in fact, desperately averse to two things: (1) doing anything without getting paid for it and (2) doing something good for humankind and not getting massive credit for it.
Taking my head outa the bag, I knew I’d run straight into the cul-de-sac of sainthood, and the brick wall of altruistic – huh!…what am I talking about? Who knows! Who cares? Let’s just move on, shall we? To the next BIG, EXCITING THING! Whatever it is!
It’s Not Too Late to Be Early! Invest in Bitcoin!
Bucket image by rgaudet17 from Pixabay
A great light-hearted look at bucket lists.
Great you enjoyed this! Making bucket lists light-hearted is very serious business!
Thanks for your blog, nice to read. Do not stop.
I will NEVER stop! Thanks, Mark.