Kroner’s Vy-ruse

I must depart from my normal discourse regarding growing up Hammond-style, and instead focus on something that everyone else seems to be focused on. You know, when one little birdy starts to chirping, all of the rest of the birds gotta join in. Have you ever been in a nursery? It can be dead quiet, then one little baby starts to crying. Next thing ya know, you have a Mormon Tabernacle Choir of screaming babies.

There is this form of therapy called Cognitive Behavioral Therapy, in which the patient is exposed to the feared environment repeatedly, resulting in the ability to endure it endlessly. At one point in my life, I felt that I was immune to the screaming of babies. Having participated in the raising of a couple of babies myself, I once bragged that I would love to be on a plane full of screaming kids, as I felt that I was immune to it all. Later, after acquiring a grandchild, I came to realize that to be complete bullshit. But I am digressing.

This Corona Virus thing is suffering from the same treatment. Small birdy chirps cascaded into more birdy chirps, until the whole web-o-sphere was chirping that we are all gonna die. A bunch of right wing cuckoo birds, including our chief dodo bird, tried to squelch the other birds, claiming it was a hoax and a left wing democratic media conspiracy to bring down the presidency. I am not sure what changed their minds, but I do know this – once the dodo-in-chief labeled it a national emergency, all of the other cuckoos and dodos started chirping a different birdie tune.

In the “you gotta be shittin me” category – toilet paper is nowhere to be found. In fact, even Amazon has run out of most brands. I was informed of this by my son, who went to the store to pick some up, only to discover that they were completely out. I told him that I would fix him up, but sadly, I wuz wrong. Apparently, the whole world is going to shit.

The other night, I went to the Elks for one of their yearly fish dinners in preparation for Easter. What fish has got to do with Easter, I have no idea. The place was packed with blue hairs, shaking hands, drinking beer, and generally having a good old time. You’d think that if anyone was worried about dying from the Corona Virus, it would be these old bastards. Apparently not.

What are the rest of us to do?

Me, I’m hiding inside my super powerful flu blocking MAGA bubble. I’ll just soak myself in the advice of the cuckoo birds and dodos. It’s a form of Cognitive Behavioral Therapy.

All content Copyright of Christopher Hammond