Fed Up with Plandemic: Eat Inside – Don’t Get Shot

As of September 30th, New Yorkers can dine in.

All you have to do is submit the color of your bowel movements for the next twelve-hundred hours.

The mayor and the governor (a.k.a. Dumb and Dumber) won’t ask whether dinner was followed by sexy-time, after all, it could never be as deviant as their preferences. Nipple piercing aside.

It’s amazing how the Tweedles managed to totally destroy New York. Businesses are closing. Good people are moving out. Children are disintegrating mentally and spiritually. Criminals are in control of the quality of life and it’s beginning to really, really suck.

Still, all the dictator and the bozo care about is the virus. Maybe because more people have died from it than people who actually like these assholes.

The sad thing is, I have friends who think Big Bird and Pepperoni Nipples are doing a good job. Even think one of them should run for office! Maybe if my friends lived sandwiched between two homeless shelters like me, they’d change their tune. But as it is, the city that never sleeps is overdosing on Benzos and turning into a wasteland that even Snake Plissken would reconsider entering – no, to see the light, it’ll take more than that.

A collapsed Broadway? Stupid children? Vampiric Quarantiners? Coin Vending Machines?!

The virus is real, the danger is not. Take off your masks, get back to work, and read a good book for a change.


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