I Give Up

It’s not as bad as you think, but it’s still bad. I haven’t given up the fight—that’s not possible. Maybe I’ve given up on the manner in which I engage in the fight. But for sure, I’ve given up any effort to protect myself from the tidal wave heading our way. This means I am not storing hundreds of cans of beans in my basement, or turning all of my savings into gold and silver bars. Nor am I buying guns in Virginia and sneaking them up into Canuckistan to use against the health department marauders who are sure to storm my house, hold me down with a jackboot to the neck, and plunge dozens of mRNA vaccines into my butt.

They’ll have to hold me down—I’ll fight ‘em. But I won’t be shooting them or setting booby traps in my house. And when the mask fun starts up again, I won’t be wearing one. I won’t be complying easily. But if I can’t buy a box of cookies without wearing a mask, one will go on. I’ve gotta eat, right?