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Texas Variant's First Cattle Drive

YeeHaw! Let's Ride!

By Jeremy CairnsPublished 3 years ago 3 min read
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Texas changes ya. The music, the food, the friendly people; it all culminates in a rich culture that gets inside and won't go away until yer dead.

The first time I saw this infertile hellscape I thought to myself, "Nobody in their right mind would want to live here." And I was right! Nobody in their right mind does, but there are millions of 'em, and that's what matters.

As a virus, I'm like the tumbling tumbleweed, bouncin'-and-a-skippin' from one lung to the next. That wheeze you hear is just my harmonica singin' in the dark, soothin' the cattle.

It ain't easy bein' the "mysterious stranger" blowin' into town, droppin' off a few million untreatable pathogens, and then movin' on. Some might call it downright lonely, but heck, I wasn't lonely in the bar or the restaurant where I came from. Nope, the music was corporate, the dancin' was coordinated in a line close together and breathy, and the talkin' was drunk and spitty, just like I like it.

Some call me a varmint or even a villian. I suppose this black hat don't help none. I'm just expressin' my F-R-E-E-D-O-M. And ain't that what this is all about?

Think about it, wearing a mask obstructs both our freedoms, yours to not have to smell your own breath, me to be able to get in your body and start a hootenanny. We git out the fiddles and the poofy lime green skirts and start to:

“Spin your partners round and round,

See a white blood cell, knock it down,

Tip yer hat and dosey doe-sis

Create a new partner using mitosis.”

You never know who might mutate in the process. Heck, we can’t all be the same, otherwise, that would be boring. And a bored pathogen is a dead pathogen.

But with stopping the mask mandate and opening up businesses all willy-nilly, it’s like a good ol’ fashioned tent revival!

There’s the preacher standin’ in front of the congregation, white robes wrapped around his protruding Spike Glycoproteins. They’re a singin and raisin’ their arms up high because right outside resides evil; the devil vaccine. Covids dyin’ here, covids dyin’ there, covids dyin’ everywhere! It’s like the war on Christmas…but with covid.

In the face of unprecedented uncertainty, the poor defenseless viruses turn to the preacher seeking answers and some solace. And the preacher says, “No fear! Get in a line and I shall heal and protect you with thine grace.”

Then, one by one, he reaches out and grabs firmly onto their hemagglutinin esterase, babbling in tongues, causing them to shake like hoooooooly pop rocks until suddenly, BAM! They mutate.

Like a debutant in her lacy gloves, frilly hat, and come-hither ball gown, the congregation exits the revival tent and enters a whole new world. They bat away one vaccine, then another, and another.

Then I come out…and hell comes with me. Using my open carry license along with loosely written and vague firearm laws regarding self-defense, I start shootin’ the vaccine like a routine traffic stop in the wrong neighborhood.

“Remember the Alamo!” I yell, referencing the viral infection ravaging the Alamo that prevented James Bowie from effectively commanding the troops leading up to the attack.

Pow! There goes Moderna. Pow! There goes AstraZeneca. Pow, Pow! There goes BOTH Johnsons!

Blowing the smoking ends of my genomic RNA stands, I settle back and light a smoke. You don’t mind if I smoke, do you? Is that you coughing? Is the smoke thickening your blood?

Yee-doggy, you sound bad. You should probably go to a bar. Or better yet, go see your grandma. That’ll make ya feel better. I’d love to meet ‘er.

satire
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About the Creator

Jeremy Cairns

Writing in the front, ink in the back.

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