Lemme admit something here. I haven’t been the most dedicated Covid warrior. I mean, sure, yeah, I got vaccinated and boosted as soon as I could because you’re just a motherfucking delusional piece of shit if you don’t. And, for a good while, I wore masks pretty devotedly, especially once I found one style that fit my big, bearded face decently. Hell, I started wearing a mask before wearing a mask was cool, before it was recommended. I had people in grocery stores staring at me a long time ago. I also had Covid really early on, in late March 2020, a mild case, but, still, during the scary period where each of the days I had a low fever I wondered if all that cocaine was gonna finally catch up to me, if I was gonna take the plunge into the depths of the virus’s effects, fucking up my lungs and more. It didn’t.
So what I’m admitting is that I’ve been a bit cocky since I got my second Moderna shot a little over a year ago. My thinking has been that, at some level, you gotta believe that the vaccine works. Early on, we thought it prevented you from getting Covid, but now, with that bitch Omicron, we know now that it prevents serious illness and death, which, you know, still means you’re just a motherfucking delusional piece of shit if you don’t get it.