The data is pretty clear. As espoused by America’s unofficial voice of reason Dr. Fauci, wash your hands, stay six feet apart, wear a mask. Wear. A. Mask. This last directive almost resulted in the reunion of a boisterous soul with his maker. This surprise dispatch from the land of the living would have been delivered via weed decapitator. Yes, you read that right. A weed decapitator is a thing. Google it, it’s true.
What is this weed decapitator you ask? It is a device specifically made to reunite weeds with their maker. I am not speaking of weed of the marijuana variety, which has already helped millions of people find religion, or what they believe to be religion. I am speaking about the gate-crashers of the plant kingdom. These fearless invaders will sprout seemingly out of thin air and make themselves at home in your previously beautiful garden, before proceeding to rob your plants blind. They will do this with a ruthlessness that will shame even the most seasoned robber. If left unchecked, your flourishing garden will soon be a pale shadow of its former self, where weeds thrive, and aphids rule the land.
After weeks of watching marauding weeds attempt to overrun her garden while she was confined to her house in observance of the lockdown, Julie decided that she would be damned if she had beat cancer, only to be defeated by weeds.
It is this impending doom that caused Julie (not her real name) to venture outside her sanitized home to purchase the bane of all weeds, the weed decapitator (read this in a spooky voice). When she got there, she encountered a member of the RTB™ (Right To Breathe) brigade- whose claim to fame is one positing that masks rob them of their right to breathe freely. To give you an idea of the persona who embraces this movement, I hereby submit a verbatim quote from a RTB™ member who resides in the peculiar State of Florida “I don’t wear masks for the same reasons I don’t wear underwear. Things got to breathe”. You read that right. A grown woman, who is fully aware of the fatalities resulting from Coronavirus, went to her local council meeting and made that statement in full view of the viewing public, TMI be damned.
Anyway, as you can imagine, when Julie encountered a member of the RTB™ who defiantly entered the store sans mask, it was all she could do not to test her newly purchased weed decapitator on him. When she reported his scofflaw ways to the store manager, the RTB™ member glared at her, and after a few choice words and finger gestures, sauntered out of the store, mask free nose defiantly stuck up high, daring Coronavirus and any of its vile brethren to come within an inch of his American right to breathe freely.
Last Night was Independence Day 1.0 (for White Americans). Independence 2.0 (for Black Americans) would commence roughly 100 years later. The irony of declaring “Independence” while continuing to enslave fellow human beings is jarring and a discussion for another day.
Be that as it may, when July 4th rolled around the corner, one of my neighbors who we will refer to as Happy Drunk, emerged from his home in a very merry mood. He proceeded to walk up and down the sidewalk while belting out various tunes, one of which was Luther Vandross’ “Dance with my Father”, and my favorite, Maroon Five’s “Nothing Lasts Forever”. He was, to quote American Idol judge Randy Jackson, “not too pitchy”. I can confidently say that based on the volume of his singing, he was, knowingly or unknowingly, a member of the unmasked RTB™ Brigade.
It remains to be seen if Coronavirus is conversant with the United States Constitution, and whether it has signed the dotted line promising to steer clear of the unmasked masses, yearning to breathe free.